#twwobsessed

[ssahotchhner]

could you do a blurb about hotch rubbing your shoulders/back to try to calm and comfort you? or just anything hotch and physical contact? I love your writing 🫶🏻🫶🏻

thank you for sending this in!!! i hope this is what you were looking for

tw: panic attacks, anxiety

Part of the reason you had fallen in love with Aaron had been his gentle demeanor. You knew he could be authoritative, scary even, when he needed to be. But he was never like that with you. 

The beginning of your relationship was difficult, before he knew you. It took him a while to learn your rhythms and signals. It took him longer to convince you that your anxiety wasn’t just something you had to live with, that you could get professional help and it didn’t make you weak.

But it wasn’t a cure, you both knew that. All the same, the stretches between your panic attacks lengthened. Before you met Aaron they were up to an average of once a week. After he convinced you to see a therapist and a psychiatrist had prescribed something for emergencies, it had gone down to once a month. Then once every other month. It plateaued somewhere around once every six months.

You knew exactly what triggered them, now, but sometimes it wasn’t enough to stop them in time. Though you had learned to handle them on your own, it was much easier to slow the storm with Aaron around until they became nothing more than a gentle wave against the shore.

He had been away on a case for two weeks now, promising you every night over the phone that he’d be home soon. You knew he wasn’t purposely misleading you, but with each day he wasn’t home you could feel your frustration building. It had been an incredibly stressful week at your own job and when you came home that Friday night, the first thing you did was uncork a bottle of wine that you had been saving for when Aaron came home.

Swirling the wine in your glass, you stared at that orange bottle that sat on the window sill above the sink, conscious of the pressure that seemed to be building in your chest. It doesn’t make you weak to take one, you could hear Aaron in your head, it just means you know your body and your brain and what it needs. Just like eating when you’re hungry.

You bite the inside of your cheek and reach for the bottle. You hold it there in your hand for a few moments, taking some deep breaths as you did so. Then, you opened a cupboard and placed the little bottle there, not wanting to look at it anymore.

Finishing off the glass of wine, you pour yourself another. There was a voice in the back of your head telling you that the alcohol was only going to make it worse, but you pushed that away. You were fine. You hadn’t had an attack in months, you couldn’t even pinpoint what had triggered it anymore. You didn’t need the pills, you didn’t need anything. Plenty of people open a bottle of wine to unwind after a bad week, and that was enough for them. So why was your heart still racing?

You bent your head, trying to stretch out the tension in your neck and shoulders. It wasn’t helping. You tried to pay attention to your breathing, slow it down,, but that only made you feel like you weren’t getting enough oxygen. Suddenly, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, your chest rising and falling too fast. Seemingly from a distance, you hear the front door and then Aaron calling for you. The sound of his voice becoming increasingly more concerned at your lack of response.

Then, you hear his briefcase hit the couch and his footsteps get closer. “Hey,” He’s next to you now, that soft low voice in your ear, it cuts through all the noise, “Are you alright?” He only needs to look you over for a moment before he can see what’s happening. You want to say something, but you can’t get enough air in your lungs. “That’s okay,” He says when you don’t respond, “Have you taken your meds?”

You manage to shake your head, the hyperventilation is making you dizzy. You feel like you’re choking, like someone’s standing on your chest. You’ve been through this so many times, but you never get used to the feeling. The surety that this time you were dying.

“Honey, where are they?” He’s noticed the little orange bottle isn’t on the window sill like they usually are. 

“Had wine,” You manage. His shoulders droop immediately and the disappointment there is evident. It makes you feel even worse. This isn’t the first time you’d turned to alcohol instead of your meds, knowing you can’t mix the two.

“Let’s sit down, then.” He says softly, leading you to the couch. He sits first, taking off his suit jacket and tie, before opening his arms to you, gesturing for you to sit between his legs.

When you lower yourself to the couch, his arms snake around your front, pulling you to rest your back against his chest. You close your eyes at the feeling of his body against yours. His breaths are slow and deep, the complete opposite of yours.

“Breathe with me.” He says, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Can’t.” You manage, your breathing still rapid and shallow.

“Try.” He kisses your hair, “In…” He instructs, breathing in slow and deep, “Out…” He repeats this a few more times until your breathing seems to have slowed significantly. He can no longer feel your heart racing against your back. “Good.” He murmurs.

You can feel the panic leaving you, slowly. Sometimes, it feels like coming down from a high. You’re starting to feel shaky, “I’m sorry, Aaron.”

He pulls his hands back from your waist and begins moving them slowly up your back to your shoulders, “You weren’t this tense when I left you.” He says as he gently kneads your muscles, “What happened?”

You close your eyes against his touch. With the panic having left in a rush, the wine, and Aaron’s touch, your eyelids feel heavy all of a sudden. “Bad week at work. Too much work, not enough time. The usual.” He’s quiet, continuing to work his fingers into your shoulders. He’s being gentle and calm, but you can tell from his silence he’s disappointed in you. “I know I shouldn’t have had the wine, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He runs his hands under your shirt, applying gentle pressure along your back, “Just relax.”

The shakiness has started to pass, “I missed you.” You turn in his arms, straddling his hips. 

His face is filled with tenderness as he looks at you, gently stroking your face with one hand, “I missed you too.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeat. The insistent apologies are a habit of yours, especially when your anxiety is on high alert. Always worrying that you’re being too needy, too bossy, too sensitive.

“Baby,” He leans your foreheads together, “I’m not mad. It’s okay. I promise.”

He sinks lower into the couch and you lay yourself on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat is a comfort in your ear. He slides a hand under your shirt again, running his calloused fingertips gently across your skin. “Bad case?” You ask.

“I’ve had worse.” He murmurs, “Just relieved to be here with you.”

You smile and push yourself up, connecting your lips to his. He kisses you back, his hand at the back of your neck. When he slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan softly and his hand tightens on your neck in response. He pulls away a moment, smiling softly, “Let’s go to bed.”

You nod, and he leads you up the stairs by the hand. Your panic has completely dissipated now, proving to be no match for the comfort of your sweet boyfriend.

[ssamorganhotchner]

I saw your post about the dentist, and just wanted to say I’m in a similar boat. I have to go to the doctor tomorrow, and I hate going so much. I don’t even know where my fear comes from but it’s there. And I wish I had someone like Hotch to give me all the comfort I need 🥹

hi!!! i’m so sorry!! medical anxiety is such a real thing (believe me i have it😣) and it can be the worst thing ever. however, just know your anxiety is most likely making it much worse than it actually is. 💞💞 my appointment went super smooth and i’m sure yours will too!! just remember he is there in spirit holding your hand and snuggling you close to him 🤭💞

[specialagentlokitty]

Rossi x reader - trust in you

hi, I hope you’re doing well 🫶🏻 I was wondering if I could please request something where reader desperately wants relapse with sh but instead winds up talking to her father figure hotch or Rossi (or both)? No pressure if you don’t want to write it. I absolutely love your writing 🥰🥰 - @twwobsessed 💜

TW: mentions of self harm and negative thoughts

Some cases hit people harder than others, usually you were able to remain objective about the cases, put all those normal thoughts of sadness, despite, hatred for people to the back of your mind.

But your most recent case had you finding it hard to do that, it hit a little too close to home for you, and no one on the team knew that, you carried on going through it.

You saw the case through to the end, but it was hard, and you couldn’t stop thinking about it as you flicked through the book in your lap, pretending you were reading.

You didn’t really talk to anybody when you got back, instead of doing your paperwork like normal you went straight back home.

You went for a bath, made a cup of tea, tried reading a book but nothing was helping you relax.

You had resorted to pacing back and forth along your hallway, pinging the elastic band around your wrist, trying to resist the unbearable urge you had to scratch, to try get rid of this itch that seemed to be buried deep within your skin.

You knew scratching wouldn’t work, no matter how much you scratch you would never be able to get rid of that itch.

Your brain was running a million miles an hour with all the thoughts, feelings and urges you had worked through a long time ago.

But they came back.

It was like you could never escape, no matter how well you seemed to be doing they always came back, always haunting you.

Your own mind begging you to inflict pain on yourself.

You didn’t want to, you had been clean for nearly a year, you had fought this all by yourself, you had never told anybody about your struggles.

Everybody struggled, dealt things their own way and this is how you had been ever since you were a teenager, even when you went through the academy, even as you joined the BAU, where you had been for the past three years.

You kept it all to yourself.

It was destroying you.

It was going to destroy you and you knew that.

You didn’t want to do this anymore, you didn’t want to go back into that life, you didn’t want to slip into old habits.

Grabbing your keys, you pulled on one of your hoodies and went to your car, heading to the person you knew would most likely still be up at this time.

You didn’t have your phone so you couldn’t call saying you were outside, so you settled for just knocking on the door until you finally heard somebody coming over.

Lowering your hand, you watched as the door was swung open, showing the worried and confused face of your coworker.

“(Y/N) what’s wrong?” Rossi asked.

You took a shaky breath, running a hand down your face.

“I.. I.. I need help…” you whispered.

“Come here, come on.”

Rossi held his hand out for you and you took it, letting him pull you in for a hug as he closed his front door.

Tears fell from your eyes, and you quietly sobbed, gripping the back of his shirt tightly.

“I.. I can’t do this anymore…”

Rossi held the back of your head, running a hand up and down your back.

“I need you to tell me what happened…” he whispered.

“I can’t.. I don’t… I can’t.. I can’t do this alone anymore…”

Rossi pulled away, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you to the couch, gently sitting you down.

“Wait right here.”

He rushed away to get you a glass of water, and he came back, handing it out to you and you set it on the table.

Rossi also get down a box of tissues for you, and he finally sat down, taking one of your hands in his.

“I need you to talk to me (Y/N)…” he whispered.

You sniffled a little bit, running a hand down your face as you took a deep breath.

“This case.. I.. it brought back memories…”

Rossi slowly nodded his head.

“I.. I lived the same way as the victims…”

“(Y/N) the unsub chose his victims because he believed they could never recover, he believed they were sick, and they needed help to die. You know this. He targeted people who used forms of self harm as a method to get through every day life.”

You sniffled a little bit, slowly nodded your head.

“I know… that’s why I.. I.. I couldn’t help you…”

“You said you were called away on an urgent matter.”

You shook your head.

“I lied…”

“We would have known.”

You left out a weak laugh, burying your face in your arms tapping the back of your head a few times.

“I got so used to lying that I… I learned how to tell the perfect lie…”

“(Y/N) did you do something? Did something happen?” Rossi asked.

“No.. no that’s.. that uh.. why I came here…”

Rossi slowly nodded his head and you sat up, carefully rolling the sleeves of your hoodies up.

Rossi reached out, hesitating before he gently took one of your arms.

He ran he thumb along the rigid scars that were embedded deep in your skin.

He could tell they were old, and he didn’t need to ask in order to figure out what they were caused by.

“How long were you doing this to yourself?”

“Years…”

He nodded, pulling your sleeve down for you, and he did the same to your other arm, letting you go ahead and hide them once again.

Rossi held his arms around for you.

You shuffled over, letting him hold you, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I need you to tell me everything (Y/N), okay? You can’t leave anything out.”

You nodded in agreement.

You told Rossi everything, from how and when it started, to when you managed to stop and everything in between.

Rossi didn’t speak, he quietly listened to you, and when you stopped talking that’s when he spoke up.

“Was it something in the case that trigged this emotions for you?” He asked.

You nodded again.

“Going through their lives, seeing how they all had the same trauma, the same feelings of wanting to just disappear.. knowing I had the same thoughts.. it.. it made me realise that could have been me…”

“What makes you think that?”

“Rossi he was the third therapist in my list in case I couldn’t get to the other two…”

You felt his grip tighten around you, and he ran his hand up and down your arm.

“I got the second one on the list…”

Rossi slowly nodded his head.

“I.. I can’t do this alone Rossi…”

“You’re not alone (Y/N), you’re never alone. You know this. You have a whole team, a whole family behind you, willing to support you if you asked them.”

You shook your head.

“No.. no I.. I don’t.. don’t tell them…”

“Alright, I don’t have to tell the team anything. But I need you to promise me something.”

You sniffled a little, nodding your head.

“You keep coming here, to me, if you get these feelings again. You never harm yourself again, can you promise me that?”

You nodded again.

“Good, now, I just so happened to be getting ready to cook. Your favourite in fact, would you like to help me?”

You sat up, looking at him as you wiped the tears from under your eyes.

“Do you get that funky cheese I like?”

This made Rossi chuckle a little bit.

“Yes, I got the mozzarella, and I got everything you need to make your own mozzarella sticks since you seem to enjoy them so much.”

You stood up, sorrowing up your sleeves as you followed him to the kitchen and he got everything you needed to make your favourite snacks.

Rossi noted the elastic band around your wrist, and he said nothing about it.

“Thank you for trusting me.” He said quietly.

You smiled a little at him.

“Thank you for always being there for me…”

Rossi smiled, placing his hand on your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

“I’m always here for you kiddo.”

You nodded your head, going back to making your snacks while he began cooking the actual meal itself

[the-guilty-writer]

We're All Mad Here

Request from @twwobsessed: Hi I love your writings sm🫶🏻 platonic love and care and comfort is amazing 🥰 Could I request something with Hotch as father figure to a bau reader where he provides a safe place for her to be vulnerable and realize it’s okay to lean on others around her when she’s struggling with her mental health?

Aaron Hotchner x platonic!BAU!reader

Summary: Everyone at the BAU has their days. Hotch lets you know it's okay not to be okay.

A/N: I am, once again, lacking in creative flow at the moment. Title and final line are Alice in Wonderland references because I'm hoping someone will catch onto all the weird little metaphors and things I put into my writing one day and appreciate them like I do

CW: nothing super heavy tbh other than pointing out that everyone who works for the BAU is truamatized, reader hasn't eaten dinner and opts for tea instead.

---

You were almost certain that it was Aaron Hotchner’s goal to put together the most unhinged, secretly mentally insane team in the bureau. So certain, in fact, that you would put money on it if someone asked.

At times thought it was the only reason why he hired you; your mandatory psychological evaluations showed someone extremely well-adjusted, or rather someone who knew what others wanted to hear. Your best guess was that he had seen straight through the bullshit on your file and smiled to himself… another misfit to add to his collection.

But that didn’t mean he was wrong about it. The team had the highest rate of solved cases in the country and was considered one of the most elite units in the FBI. “The best profilers, sometimes, are the unsubs themselves,” Rossi had said to you during your first month on the team. All you could do was nod in response and subtly look around at the people you were surrounded by.

If that statement was true, it sure as hell made a lot of sense why you were all so good at your jobs.

There were times when someone on the team’s demons grew a little stronger, or their ghosts got a little louder. You’d already seen it happen with Morgan and Prentiss. JJ did a bit better hiding hers, but sometimes she fiddled with her necklace a little too much. Reid would repeat the words “I’m fine” a few too many times. Garcia would smile with her mouth, but not her eyes. There were days when Hotch’s firm expression faltered. Even Rossi had his moments.

The first time you’d fallen, Morgan warned you it was coming; the initial adrenaline of working the job wearing off, causing exhaustion to take over. “It hits most people around month nine,” he’d said. It didn’t hit you until month sixteen.

You picked yourself back up and since then, you’d been okay- learned to take care of yourself, to breathe, to be still. But life didn’t always make time for stillness, and you could feel yourself falling into the hole again. The demons at the bottom of the pit got more and more demanding, multiplying without ever feeding them a meal.

Or maybe it was just your stomach grumbling. You hadn’t eaten since your lunch break and it was nearly ten at night. Besides yourself, the bullpen was empty. To your knowledge, everyone had gone home hours ago. You should have too, but the more paperwork you finished the more quiet your head would be; the less people would notice how hungry your demons were.

“(Y/L/N),” Hotch’s voice caught your attention. You didn’t know he was still here- his office light was off, the door closed for the night. Yet, he stood just inside the glass doors of the BAU, looking a bit too much like a film noir character in the dim lights.

“Hey Hotch,” you greeted him like this was a usual encounter.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked, walking softly towards your desk.

“I could ask you the same question,” you smirked, trying to evade further questioning.

“I had to be on call with the head of the LA field office,” he said as he moved to sit on the edge of your desk. “You should have gone home hours ago.”

You shrugged. “I wanted to get some paperwork done.” The casualness of your tone and the way you sat back in your chair would have been enough to fool anyone else into thinking you were okay. Too bad you worked with a bunch of profilers.

“You know,” Hotch started. “The call I just got off of in LA was because they were trying to start a unit there to lighten our caseload.”

“I- I didn’t know that.” You wondered if the team would ever take cases on the west coast again, or if life would slow down from here on out.

Hotch sighed. “They’ve been trying for the last three years, but they couldn’t keep a consistent unit. Too many agents were coming in and burning out. They’re terminating the project.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

“This job, it isn’t easy,” Hotch’s tone softened. “Every person on the team knows what it’s like to struggle. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and all of us are here to help.”

You looked down at your fidgeting hands in an effort to avoid Hotch’s gaze, but you could still feel him watching you. When you finally worked up the courage to look at him, your eyes were glassy with tears.

“I’ve been having a hard time recently,” you admitted, voice shuttering in an effort to contain tears. “Just feeling things a little more than usual.”

Hotch looked from you to his closed up office and back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You mimicked his action, glancing to the room. “How much time do you have?”

Hotch was about to reply when your stomach let out a long growl. You looked down, smiling sheepishly. Your boss chuckled a bit. “Maybe we should get you some food first?”

You sighed, knowing you had to put something in your body but not knowing if you'd be able to keep anything down with your anxiety. “I think I'll just have some tea.”

Hotch handed you the key to his office, a sign to go make yourself comfortable in the space while he prepared your drink. “It's always tea time.”

[hotchnerobsessed]

OKAY so I wrote this as requested by the lovely @twwobsessed and then had an idea of maybe it being flipped and Reader comforting Aaron because we all know that man takes on way too much and doesn’t take care of himself.

Prompt: “You don’t have to pretend to be okay around me.” 🍎💛🥰😰🏢

Warnings: comfort, trauma, Aaron overworking himself, mention of his previous marriage

This is a bit more on the fluffy side rather than comfort, but I think it still works 🥺

Be A Part Of The Celebration / Celebration Masterlist

**********

As Aaron sat at his desk, eyebrows pulled together in a deep scowl, he didn’t notice you making your way up the stairs to his office. He might have missed the soft knock at his door, too, if it hadn’t been for the fact that it hadn’t been closed all the way. Your gentle voice was what finally broke him out of his concentration, “Aaron?”

Glancing up at you, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips; everything always felt a little more manageable when you were around. That’s when he noticed the small take-out box in your hand, accompanied by some cutlery and a bottle of water. “Hi, sweetheart..” he cooed, his eyes glued to yours as you made your way across the room towards him.

This was something you’d always wanted to do for him; you’d always been aware of the fact that he never ate, and hardly ever slept, to the point of exhaustion. It wasn’t until recently, when you’d both finally admitted the feelings you had for each other, that you’d felt more comfortable showing him just how much you cared.

Setting everything down on his desk, you pointed out, “you haven’t eaten anything all day.” He opened his mouth to counter your statement, but you didn’t allow him time to speak, as you added playfully, “and don’t try to convince me that you have, Mister.”

He let out a soft laugh at that, “have you been keeping tabs on me?”

Your eyes smiled back at him, but you did your best impression of his poker-face as you admitted, “as a matter of fact, I have.”

That brought out his full smile, as he glanced down at the food on his desk, then back up at you. “You didn’t have to..” he trailed off.

“Yes,” you stated very matter-of-factly, “I did.”

“Thank you.” His eyes were soft as he motioned for you to come around his desk, and as you did, he stood from where he sat and reached his arms out to you. “I don’t deserve you.” His words were accentuated by a kiss against the top of your head.

Looking up at him, your arms wrapped tight around each other, you placed a gentle kiss against his lips. “Don’t be silly.” You knew it was his past coming back to haunt him; always feeling like no matter what he did, he would never be good enough. “You’re a good man, Aaron Hotchner. I know you might not see it, but I do. And I swear to you I do not take you for granted.” Pressing one more kiss against his lips you spoke again, “now you eat. And tell me what paperwork I can help with.”

He shook his head, “oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’m doing fine. I should be done soon.”

Glancing behind him at the stack of files still left to be dealt with, you raised an eyebrow as you looked back up at him, “you’re not asking me to do anything. I’m offering.” You could tell he was hesitant, so you added softly, “Aaron? You don’t have to pretend to be okay around me.”

His eyes softened at your words, his palm coming up to caress the side of your face as he kissed your forehead gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nodding your head once in a sort of celebratory agreement, you allowed him to sit back down in his chair, while making yourself comfortable across from him. He watched, mesmerized, as you exchanged paperwork for food, before smiling up at him, causing his breath to catch in his chest.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Tag List: @ssamorganhotchner ; @ccristata ; @anlin2058 ; @sannunah28 ; @hotchgirlsummer ; @mesnyder ; @red-red-rogue ; @chibsytelford ; @hannahufflepuff ; @mrs-ssa-hotch ; @ivyflowers13 ; @rousethemouse ; @emobabeyy

[jessbakescakes]

From the drabbles, #10 “I’m right here, okay” please please. I love your writing

Thank you so much!

“I’m right here, okay?” from this post. (Also requested by anonymous!)

This one’s a Josh/Donna, in the Gaza arc for maximum feels.

Every inch of Donna’s body hurts. She’s vaguely aware of what’s happened over what has to be several days, given the way Josh looks in the chair next to her, but it’s all still fuzzy. She reaches for the morphine clicker and presses it, summoning as much energy as she can gather to get Josh’s attention. 

At first, she’s not even sure if she actually called his name or if she imagined that she did. But he’s out of the chair in half a second, reaching for the cup of water on her bedside table and holding it out for her to take a drink from. 

“How ya doin’?” he asks, adjusting her blanket and placing her cup back on the table.

“Hurts,” she murmurs. “Everything hurts.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it does.” He seats himself on the bed, careful to avoid any wires or tubes. “I kicked your mom out and told her to go get some sleep, want me to…”

“No,” she says, cutting him off. “It’s okay.” Donna’s thoughts are swimming in her head, but there’s one that feels louder than the rest. When she would get sick as a kid, her brain would latch onto a thought or an image or a phrase and play it on repeat, a broken record tethering her to the state between consciousness and sleep. Now, she can feel herself getting sleepy, but when she closes her eyes all she can see is broken glass and blood. It feels like the thought has grabbed her by the wrist, holding tightly as she fights to get away.

Her eyes fly open and Josh is still sitting on the bed, a concerned look on his face. It feels like it’s been hours since she saw him, but more than likely it’s only been minutes, if not just seconds. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his hand instinctively moving to hers.

She’s not really sure how to answer him. He knows better than anyone what it’s like to feel held hostage by your own thoughts. Even if she weren’t completely high on painkillers, she would have trouble articulating what she needed to say. There were times when the two of them used to communicate almost exclusively in looks and vague gestures that meant nothing to anyone else but them. It’s been a little while since they tried, but now’s as good a time as any. Donna just looks at him, hoping that she can convey anything he needs to know without saying a word.

Apparently, she does, because he squeezes her hand after only a moment. “What do you need me to do?”

“Talk to me,” Donna says. 

“About what?”

“Anything,” she insists. “Please.”

Josh launches into a story about Donna’s mom and Donna closes her eyes, willing herself to focus on his voice. Slowly, it becomes less anxiety-inducing to let herself relax. Images of glass and blood fade in favor of vague snapshots of memories from the campaign trail, or late-night talks in Josh’s office, or tuxedos and ball gowns and champagne. 

The last thing she remembers before she drifts off to sleep is Josh’s voice. 

“I’m right here, okay? Just get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[twwobsessed]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Madam Secretary Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Stevie McCord, Russell Jackson, Elizabeth McCord, Henry McCord Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Support, Depression, Anxiety, Family Summary:

Russell sees something about Stevie that worries him one day at work.

[jessbakescakes]

@twwobsessed​ asked for either 89. I noticed or 90. you can tell me anything from this post..

I accidentally deleted the ask, sorry! 

This one spans across the series... it also got way longer than I anticipated. Oops?

“Want some chips?”

Donna looks to her left to find Josh holding out a bag of barbecue potato chips he insisted on getting from the store across the street before they loaded up the bus to South Carolina. “Thanks,” she says, taking a couple from the bag. 

“Take as many as you want. It’ll probably be a little bit before we can stop to get something to eat, and we didn’t get a chance to eat lunch.” He places the bag between them, but doesn’t so much as reach for the chips again.

~*~

“Pizza’s here!” CJ announces, dropping several pizza boxes on the table in the center of the room. 

Josh tosses his pen on his notepad. “What did you get? I’ll grab it for you.”

Donna looks up from her note cards. “Oh, no, I didn’t get anything.”

“What? Why?”

She thinks back to the intern who came around asking for everyone’s orders about an hour ago, and the excuse she gave him. The Massachusetts Democratic Party catered a lunch with a sandwich spread; she told the intern that she was still full from lunch, but Josh would see right through that. He sat right next to her while she ate half a turkey sub and a just-this-side-of-stale oatmeal raisin cookie before they were ready to head to their next meeting. 

The truth, of course, is that she’s made a pretty big dent in her already modest savings account since rejoining the campaign. Her parents, in an attempt to impart some financial wisdom upon her during her teen years, had declared that half of each paycheck from whatever after school or summer job she held at the time was to be deposited into a savings account. She managed to make it all this time without having to dip into it; selling her car and sleeping on the floor had made it easier to stretch her limited budget. But it won’t last forever.

Before she can answer, CJ interrupts, calling out everyone’s orders. “Looks like we have some breadsticks on top, here, and some wings… here’s a cheese pizza for Kevin McCallister over there,” CJ says, motioning toward Josh as she opens the box, places it beside the stack, then closes the lid. 

“Hey now, Donna and I are splitting this pizza, I wanted to make her feel at home,” Josh retorts, grabbing a plate and handing it to Donna before pulling two slices of pizza out of the box CJ just abandoned. 

Donna turns to Josh. “I’m fine, Josh, really.”

“Donna,” he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her up from her seat.

“I don’t want to eat your food.” Josh gives her a pointed look, and she lets out a sigh. “How much do I owe you?”

Josh laughs. “What’s mine is yours, Donnatella.” He places his hand at the small of her back and ushers her toward the pizza box. “Eat.”

~*~

They manage to find a 24 hour diner in Little Rock two weeks before the convention. When their server approaches, everyone’s either staring blankly at their menus or engaged in subdued conversation. They were already tired, but they were pulling hours even longer than normal due to what should have been a minor PR snafu turned media beast that just wouldn’t die. 

Josh had gotten Leo to agree to bring Donna on as a salaried member of the campaign once the Governor was no longer the presumptive nominee, but the official nominee; all Donna needed to do was make her last few dollars stretch as far as possible for just a little longer. Her stomach growls loudly as the server moves next to Josh.

“I’ll have the chicken and waffles,” Josh starts, handing the server his menu and sliding Donna’s toward him. “She’ll have an omelette with spinach and feta.”

By the time she opens her mouth to protest, the server’s gone and Josh is listening intently to whatever it is Sam is saying to his left.

~*~

“I’m just saying,” Josh starts, putting his half-eaten box of Chinese food on the table in the Mural Room, “if Thompson thinks Braun and Miller will pull out, we need to plan for that now.”

“You really think they’ll do that?” Toby asks. 

Josh nudges the container toward Donna. “I do. At least, that’s what Braun was hinting at earlier. I don’t know what the hell that guy’s up to; he’s harder to read than any woman I’ve ever dated.”

Donna reaches for the food and peeks inside, noticing that it’s honey garlic chicken - her favorite.

~*~

“I think you’re not giving theoretical physics enough of a chance,” Josh insists. “I think you have some weird, unfair bias against it.”

Donna holds out her hand and takes the wrapper to Josh’s chicken sandwich. “Well, considering physics was the only class I ever came close to failing, I think my biases are perfectly fair.”

Josh laughs. “Donna Moss almost failed a class?”

“I stayed every day after school for a month and pulled it up to an A minus. But for a little while there I was in the mid-C range.”

“Painfully average,” Josh teases. 

“Shut up and eat your salad,” Donna sighs.

“I’m full, you can have it.”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Josh, you ordered this salad. You said you wanted this salad, and I didn’t question you…”

“You’re about to go back to work, and I know you won’t have time to stop and grab something for another… seven, eight hours? Eat the damn salad.”

~*~

The Hawk and Dove is nearly empty; it’s just CJ, Sam, Donna, Charlie, and Josh in the late hours of the snowy evening. 

“Toby was mentioning that earlier,” CJ says. “I don’t buy it.”

Donna pulls Josh’s untouched tray of cheese fries toward her and begins to eat, expecting a grumble or a whine from him. It never comes.

~*~

She’s not invited to this particular State Dinner. She could have gone home an hour ago, but she decided to take advantage of the rare opportunity to catch up on some filing while Josh wasn’t around. 

Donna works through the last stack of files and returns to her desk to find two plates full of hors d'oeuvres.

~*~

Donna opens her eyes and stretches as much as the hospital bed will allow. Josh hears her stir and stands up from his chair. “Hey,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” she says, her voice a little hoarse. 

“They brought you some breakfast. Looks like you’ve got some fruit and eggs. They’re probably a little cold by now, though. You hungry?”

“A little, yeah.” 

Josh extends his hand and offers her a small package of mini muffins. “Don’t ask me how this works, but apparently there’s a vending machine down the hall that has some American snacks in it. I thought these would be chocolate chip, but… they’re blueberry.” 

She takes the package and notices that the word blueberry is written in bold, blue font across the front, directly underneath the logo. He hasn’t eaten any of them.

~*~

“If anyone asks, the Congressman won’t be commenting on the situation with Senator Stephens,” Lou says. “Donna, do your best to make sure they don’t ask.”

Donna nods. She walks back to her seat to find a small bag of chocolate covered pretzels sitting in the chair. She looks across the room at Josh, staring at an electoral map, eating a bag of the same pretzels. He turns to grab a marker and makes eye contact with her from across the room.

Donna’s stomach nearly ties itself in knots when he gives her a small smile before returning to the board.

~*~

Josh takes his seat next to Donna, leaning in for a kiss. “Hi.”

“Hey,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. I was just getting the ‘don’t you dare hurt her’ talk from the President.”

“Which one?” Donna asks, taking a sip of champagne.

“Either. Both. They both like you better than me, anyway, does it really matter?” 

Donna laughs. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Josh looks down at his empty plate, then at Donna. “You ate my slice of cake?” He’s saying it in a tone of incredulity, but he’s grinning.

She shrugs. “You left it; I assumed you didn’t want it.”

“Donna,” Josh whines. “I was going to eat that.”

“There’s still plenty left,” Donna reassures him. “Don’t worry. You can get another slice.”

“Why, so you can eat that one, too?” Josh sighs. “At what point did you start stealing my food, anyway?”

Donna moves her arm to rest on Josh’s chair. “Probably around the time I noticed that even though I was on salary, you still continued to feed me. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that, by the way.”

Josh turns to face her. “Wait, you knew?”

“Of course I knew, Josh,” Donna says. “It was your way of taking care of me. It’s really thoughtful, actually. One of the many reasons I fell in love with you.” 

She looks at him for a moment, studying the smirk on his face. She’s still in awe that she gets to call this man her husband - this incredibly caring, ridiculously sweet, wonderful man married her. 

“I’m going to start putting my name on my leftovers,” Josh declares

“I’ll just eat them anyway,” Donna says, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah. You will.”

[twwobsessed]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The West Wing Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss Characters: Josh Lyman, Donna Moss, Abbey Bartlet Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, post-gaza, Panic Attacks, Family Summary:

Donna has a panic attack at work, and Josh is there to help her through it.

[twwobsessed]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The West Wing Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss Characters: Donna Moss, Jed Bartlet, Abbey Bartlet, Josh Lyman Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, post-episode: s05e11 The Benign Prerogative Summary:

A moment/conversation between Donna and President Bartlet after the events of episode 5.11.