#dad!reader

The apartment had that late July hum to it. A box fan in the hallway doing its best impression of a small airplane, distant sirens soft as a lullaby, the windows open to a soup of heat and traffic that smelled faintly like warm tar and someone’s barbecue two buildings over. You’d made it as far as the couch, tank top damp at the collarbones, bare legs stretched over the armrest like abandoned scaffolding. Sun freckled the bridge of your nose where you’d forgotten sunscreen, a smear of dried popsicle lived on your left knee, and every tattoo on your body looked sun-warmed and a little extra alive.

Cate stood in the doorway with a dish towel over her shoulder and Riley perched on her hip, both of them watching Daddy lose a battle with consciousness. It had been one of those good, simple summer days: plastic kiddie pool on the balcony, a rotation of grape and cherry pops, sidewalk chalk all over the stoop, the inevitable tantrum when someone (Riley) wanted to bring a plush cat into the bath, and then forgiveness sealed by watermelon slices nearly the size of her face. You’d hauled a box fan out of a closet like you were rescuing a hostage, set it to the longest extension cord in the world, and then collapsed with the dramatic finesse of a woman who had wrestled a plastic pool and won.

“Dada ‘eepy,” Riley whispered, reverent. She was all knees and ponytail and a constellation of glitter from the cheap craft kit Cate had foolishly opened earlier.

“Daddy’s very sleepy,” Cate agreed, pressing a kiss into the toddler’s soft hair. “She fought the hose and she fought the sun. A brave soldier.”

On the coffee table: Cate’s makeup bag, splayed open from earlier when she’d re-applied lip balm and then, apparently, decided that ownership had transferred to the chaos of motherhood. Mascara, blush, sticks of creamy highlighter. Next to it, Riley’s packet of washable markers like a rainbow had been tamed and laid out for inspection.

Cate felt the idea arrive as gently as a yawn. Mischief didn’t always come with a thunderclap. Sometimes it tiptoed in, tried a hat on, and looked at you with Riley’s grin.

She took a breath. She could feel the low hum of your thoughts from across the room like a radio left on downstairs—hazy, pleasant static. Post-Shetty, post-meds, post everything, Cate had gotten better at letting the signal pass through without reaching for it. She didn’t want to be inside your head, she wanted to be next to you with a handful of color.

“Hey, Riles,” she murmured, shifting the toddler to the floor. “Wanna do art?”

Riley clapped, then pressed both hands to her cheeks because this was her most powerful emotion. “Art!”

Cate crouched to Riley’s level. “Okay. Rule number one: gentle touch. Daddy’s sleeping. Rule number two: markers are for tattoos only, not for skin that doesn’t have pictures. Rule number three: no face. Ever. We’re artists, not villains.”

“Not villains," Riley parroted solemnly. She bounced on her toes. “We do color?”

“We do color.”

It felt like a tiny heist. Cate tiptoed to the couch with the makeup bag while Riley toddled after, carrying markers like a bouquet. Your hand had fallen palm-up, fingers slack. Cate knelt by the couch and took in the sprawl of ink she knew by heart. The lines always made something tender open in her chest. Your body was a newspaper of stories, headlines and graffiti, jokes and scars and the weather in all its moods.

“Which one first?” Cate whispered, up on her knees. Riley had both hands on the couch cushion, watching Daddy’s chest rise and fall like it was a whale she’d been promised would surface.

Riley pointed to your arm. “Red,” she announced, very serious.

“Excellent branding.” Cate uncapped her lipstick—true red, reliable—and carefully, luxuriously, colored like she had all the time in the world. The pigment went down silky against the ink. She glanced at your face after each stroke, but the only reaction was a slightly deeper exhale and a sleepy twitch at the corner of your mouth. Sunshine had wrung you out, you were gone.

Cate leaned back so Riley could reach and offered her the red washable marker. “Your turn, apprentice,” she said, and Riley grinned so hard her dimples took over her whole face.

Riley could have scribbled chaos. She usually did. But the intensity with which she colored—tongue peeking out of her mouth, body tipping into a little sway—made Cate’s throat go soft. It was so you it hurt: the same concentrated face you wore over a simmering pan, over a stubborn screw, over a chord progression you wanted to crack. Cate steadying Riley’s back felt like steadying both of you, past and present lined up for a second. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “Daddy’s going to be so impressed.”

They moved outward like they were coloring a map. Cate took another tattoo and layered metallic champagne shadow over it until it caught the fan’s breeze. Riley appointed herself captain, choosing bright blue and—after a thoughtful inspection—green. “Wave,” she narrated, adding a long, looping swirl.

“The engineering is ambitious,” Cate teased softly. Riley glowed, unoffended.

One tattoo got the royal treatment—Cate found a stubby tube of purple pigment in the bag and gently stippled it around while Riley added a little black heart nearby. “Hi,” she whispered. “Roar.”

One got eyelashes. Cate did not authorize this. She approved it silently, because honestly? The tattoo wore them well.

Every so often you shifted. Little muscle clench, breath catching, then falling back into sleep. Once, the arm Riley was decorating flopped with the weight of a dream and the marker wobbled. Riley froze, eyes huge, and Cate stroked her shoulder with reverent calm. “It’s okay, baby.” She was careful with the words, with her tone, careful not to glide into that honeyed command that made people pliable. “She’s just dreaming.”

Riley put her cheek to your bicep for courage. “Shh, Dada,” she whispered into your skin. “Art.”

Cate swiped highlighter over your skin like she was casting a spell and, because she couldn’t help herself, added a soft wash of rose at the edges, a tender bruise of color that made the whole space look weirdly hopeful. She brushed eyeshadow over one tattoo until it glimmered. She used a q-tip to clean up the edge of one where Riley had gotten enthusiastic and gone traveling.

“Fingerprints on a masterpiece,” Cate murmured, this time to herself. She tucked loose curls behind Riley’s ear. The toddler responded by smudging peach blush onto Daddy’s shoulder with the loving aggression of a cat making biscuits.

They were halfway down your left thigh when Riley spotted one small tattoo and became extremely serious about the color black. Cate handed over the smallest marker, watched her daughter frame it like a jeweler inspecting a gem, and felt something at the center of her sternum loosen and spread. There had been times in her life—too many—when touch meant fear, meant control, meant all her love came with the risk of a trigger. Here, in the ordinary heat of this stupid afternoon, the risks were washable, the mess was the good kind, and nothing was going to collapse if she leaned her cheek against your thigh for a moment and closed her eyes.

She felt the heat of sleeping muscles under her skin. Felt Riley’s small hand patting her hair.

“Mommy,” Riley whispered, “more red.”

“Always more red,” Cate said, and passed the lipstick back.

By the time they reached the bottom of your shins, Cate’s knees ached pleasantly and her heart had decided it might, in fact, be too big for her ribs. They saved the best for last. The glitter in Cate’s palette was not technically for bodies. She used it anyway, very carefully, blending gold and copper together until they haloed. Riley dotted the space around with tiny orange stars.

“Do we do that one?” Cate asked, pointing at a set of small numerals.

Riley considered, then nodded gravely and chose purple. “Birthday,” she said, even though they both knew it wasn’t exactly that. Cate didn’t correct her. She wrote a tiny crown above the numbers with the tip of a liquid liner and then giggled at herself. “This is getting out of hand.”

“Outta hands,” Riley agreed, delighted by the idiom.

They had just finished when your breathing changed. Not a jolt awake—more like a tide turning. Your lashes fluttered. Cate touched two fingers to the inside of your wrist not to push, not to pull, but simply to be there for the moment where consciousness would be confusing and sweet.

You blinked at the ceiling, then at the fan, then at the pair of them crouched like raccoons beside a trash can. The slow grin started in your eyes and moved to your mouth. You raised an eyebrow. “If this is a ransom,” you rasped, voice rough, “I can only pay in popsicles and begrudgingly shared fries.”

Riley squealed and threw herself across your stomach with a force that made the couch complain. “DADA! ART!”

“Whoa, hi,” you laughed, arm curving around her and then stopping because—oh right, markers. You tipped your chin down to your right thigh and inspected the art there, turning your leg a little to catch the light. The tattoo was now galloping over a genuinely impressive wave, bright swirls licking at the ink. “Is that…a hurricane? Are we in peril?”

“A’venture,” Riley corrected.

“We’re always in peril when you’re involved,” Cate said, leaning forward to tuck hair back from your eyes. Close up, she could see their handiwork properly: Riley had haloed a scatter of tiny hearts, the highlighter made the ink gleam like it was about to tell a secret, and one tattoo looked somehow even more feral. Cate had drawn a tiny rosebud near one without realizing, the shape coming from somewhere older than thought.

You looked down at yourself, slow and delighted. “Oh my God.” You flexed an arm and watched the eyelashes on one wink. “I look expensive.”

“Commission piece,” Cate said. “Collaborative. Mixed media.”

“Dada color,” Riley announced, lifting her marker like a ceremonial torch. “Me and Mommy.”

You tipped your face toward Cate, lazy and moved at once. “You two are menaces,” you said softly. Then, to Riley, solemn: “Apprentice, what are our rates?”

Riley blinked, then supplied the number that solved most problems in her life. “Two.”

“Two dollars?” You gasped. “Outrageous.” You tapped your mouth. “I can offer two kisses for you—” Riley squealed and presented her cheek “—and for mommy…” You held out your arms.

Cate went, laughing, careful not to smear the masterpiece, and kissed your forehead, your nose, the cupid’s bow, reordered by affection. It still astonished her, sometimes, the absence of fear. Your eyes, all mischief and soft Sunday, accepted it like the simplest thing.

“You’re going to terrify the neighbors,” Cate murmured. “Imagine doing laundry stairs like this.”

You looked down again, brutally earnest. “It would be a crime to wash this off immediately. We should preserve it. Museum quality.”

“Mm. There’s a toddler to bathe and that toddler is already trying to color the remote.”

You both looked. Riley was indeed test drawing on the TV remote, tongue out with the focus of a surgeon.

“Apprentice,” you said gravely. “We do tattoos, not electronics.”

Riley froze, marker mid-air. “Not ‘lectrics,” she repeated, abashed. She tucked the marker away as if she’d been doing that her whole life.

You rolled off the couch with a groan and, in a moment of unnecessary but absolute efficiency, scooped Riley up and headed for the bathroom. Riley shrieked delightedly and then the bathroom light snapped on. Cate’s heart did that silly stuttery thing it still did when you picked up your daughter—a reflex left over from the first time she’d watched it and thought oh, that’s what my life is now: a series of small miracles and loud noises.

Bath time was an experiment. The washable markers surrendered at once, bleeding into the suds in ribbons of color like melted sherbet. Cate knelt beside the tub, coaxing Riley into hands-in-water instead of full-body-dive, while you sat in the bath with her—knees up, arms draped along the rim, rainbowed water eddying around your thighs. “Feels like a crime to watch it go,” you said, looking mournful in a way that was ninety percent performance.

Cate leaned in and whispered, “We took pictures,” and the performance shattered into the grin of someone who had, in fact, been cheesing for a secret camera for the last ten minutes. You would get the digital album later: Cate’s hands, Riley's fists around markers, the close-ups of their artwork on your skin.

When Riley’s fingers got pruny and the bathwater went the color of a regrettable smoothie, you toweled her off and wrestled her into pajamas. You let the last of the makeup fade down the drain but kept the shimmer at the edges of a few tattoos like stubborn confetti. In the mirror you flexed. “Goodbye, eyelashes,” she intoned, and Riley said “Bye-bye lashies,” with such seriousness that Cate had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep it together.

You did books on the couch—Riley’s hair damp and smelling like watermelon shampoo, your tank top replaced by a soft t-shirt that said RIOT! in cracked letters. Cate read, you did the voices. Riley requested the one with the tuna fish which was, perplexingly, a book about trains. In the middle of the second story your hand found Cate’s knee under the blanket, thumb tracing lazy circles with the absentmindedness of long-earned permission.

Riley fell asleep in that fearless toddler way, as if sleep had pounced on her from behind. You did the practiced carry to the crib, the duet of kisses—forehead, cheek—and the retreat out of the room like burglars. Hallway fan. City noise. The apartment a little ocean finally finding its tide.

In the kitchen, Cate wiped errant red lipstick off the corner of the makeup bag. You leaned against the counter and lifted an arm to study the faint shimmer the bath hadn’t claimed. The colors were ghosts on your skin now, a blush of tint in the dips between bone. “Be honest,” you said. “Do I look more or less hireable now?”

“You look priceless,” Cate said, tossing the cloth over her shoulder. She pressed her palms to your waist and looked up, close enough to count the freckles on your skin. “Also a little like a canvas that’s hung in the sun too long.”

“Rude.” You dipped your head and kissed her cheek. “I can’t believe you two conspired without me.”

“You were snoring.”

“I do not snore,” you said, grasping for your dignity. “I breathe with authority.”

Cate laughed softly. She brushed a glimmer of gold from your collarbone and felt that helium sensation again, the strange lightness that came from loving something and not ruining it. “Next time we’ll upgrade our inks,” she said. “Face paints. Stencils. Better brushes.”

“Please,” you said, eyes bright. “Our toddler is clearly ready for her apprenticeship.”

“She is. Also, you are never sleeping unguarded again.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely sleeping unguarded again,” you said. “I wake up more beautiful every time you vandalize me.”

You stood there together for a moment, stupidly proud of a thing that would be gone by morning, two people who had spent too much time believing permanence was the only way to prove love. Cate rested her forehead against your chest, blinked at the trace of color that had refused to leave, and felt the hum of that good, ordinary radio: a mind she loved, a body she could touch without fear, a home noisy with summer heat and the aftermath of washable crime.

“C’mon, baby,” she said, nudging you toward the couch. “Let the art dry.”

You threw an arm around her shoulders. “Yes, ma’am,” you said, solemn as a kid. Then, as you both sank into the cushions, “Hey, did that one have lipstick?”

“Nope,” Cate said, eyes already closed, a smile in her voice. “You’re imagining things.”

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

‣ Definitely 1 girl, 1 boy.

‣ Is very big on respect. If either of them disrespect you, shout, or start being bratty, he is right on it.

‣ Got his boy into football at a young age, and is the loudest dad out of them all. He will be shouting to him on the field just like when he barks out orders to rookies.

‣ Always wants to go on fishing trips. Always. I feel like it would be something him and his daughter do more than anyone.

‣ He isn’t big on technology at all. Pretty much just because he just can’t wrap his head around it.

‣ I imagine him keeping up with the new iPhone models, but would not change a thing about them. This man has default everything on his phone (apart from his lock screen of you and the kids).

‣ He is 100% one of them dads that never know what to call airpods.

‣ “What was it he wanted for Christmas? Airbuds? Earpods? iBuds?”

‣ “Airpods, John.”

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

‣ 3 girls. You cannot convince me otherwise. And he definitely secretly hoped for all girls.

‣ When Simon is home from deployment, they go to him for everything.

‣ Nightmares? You will wake up in the morning to find him missing from your bed, only to find him asleep, half hanging off of one of their beds with his arms round them on his chest, snoring loud.

‣ Simon is so usually on edge, though has learnt to zone his girls out when they are arguing.

‣ “Dad, tell her I’m right.”

‣ “Hm?”

‣ He especially zones out when his oldest girl is talking about school drama. He isn’t listening to a word of it, sat on the living room sofa with his head leant back, eyes shut, humming every so often to make it seem like he is following.

‣ I don’t think he ever shouts. Raising his voice for assertiveness? Yes, but he never shouts at his girls. It reminds him of how his dad use to be with him, and the thought of being even a smidge like his dad really scares him.

JOHNNY ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

‣ 2 girls.

‣ He aspires for them both to be bestfriends.

‣ He aspires to be their bestfriends. Like he admires them both.

‣ He will never turn down a tea party invitation. Never.

‣ You’ll be cooking dinner, and have no idea where Johnny is. But you hear distant giggles, and follow them up to your daughters’ room. There, you find your military husband sat at a little plastic table, wearing a tiara, clinking tiny cups together with your daughters and their little bears.

‣ “Well it’s nice to see you again Mr. Snuggles. And who is this new gue- oh, hey lass. Wanna join?”

‣ When they start to grow up, he lets them experiment with make up on him.

‣ And seeing your military husband with sparkly pink eyeshadow on and red rosy cheeks really is a sight for sore eyes.

‣ When on deployment, he will tell any and every story of his little girls to anyone that will listen. He loves to show them off.

‣ This ‘anyone’ is usually Ghost.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

‣ 1 boy.

‣ Definitely has a modern style for his kids. He 100% bought him a pair of adorable tiny airforces.

‣ Is his son’s biggest supporter, in everything.

‣ He is big on praise. The biggest softie ever.

‣ Will put up every single painting his son has made. Your fridge is literally covered in paintings, drawings, pretty much anything made by your little boy, will be put up somewhere in the house.

‣ He vlogs literally everything. More than you.

‣ He watches them all when on deployment, missing you both, usually forgetting about sleep so that he can rewatch his little boy’s first steps for the 100th time.

‣ He also big on getting his boy into his own hobbies. Even though he has no awareness to suitable ages.

‣ You’re on the phone with him one night whilst he is away, as he talks to you about what he wants to get your son into.

‣ “When I’m back I’m gonna take us clay shooting. I reckon he’d like it”

‣ “He’s 2 Kyle”

KÖNIG

‣ 1 girl, you cannot argue.

‣ He worships the ground his babygirl walks on.

‣ He will literally do anything for her. And you, of course. But his little girl is the light of his life.

‣ He loves when he is home because he takes every opportunity to dress his little girl. Every single time he does he is internally screaming at the size of the clothes.

‣ Every. Single. Time. He will come home from deployment with a bouquet of flowers for his wife, and pull out a singular flower before he reaches the door to give to his babygirl.

‣ You are definitely the one wearing the trousers in the household, always having to put your foot down. Because there is no way this man could ever say no to his little girl.

‣ Is always taking photos of the both of you. Always. He isn’t often in photos himself, but will never miss an opportunity to take one of either of you.

‣ When he is home and takes care of your daughter whilst you go to work, he will be sending you videos and photos 24/7 as little updates.

‣ I can imagine him being the driest texter on the planet. Like he is a proper dad, will just send a ‘👍’ or one word answers. So these photos and videos will rarely ever have context. He will just send them randomly.

‣ Is completely unaware of suitable bedtimes for kids. You will spend a night out with your friends, and come back in at like 10pm to find him up with your toddler making pancakes.

‣ “König! She should have been in bed at 7pm!”

“Don’t say that Brian," Carson grumbled out, trying to clean out her braids.

His jokes only irritated her, he knew that.

“She won’t know," Brian didn't see the harm in trying to lighten the mood and picked up their daughter after taking off her bib, smiling brightly and broadly when she mirrored his experience with her baby teeth.

“She understands more than you think. She’s got your big beady eyes — I’m kidding baby, you know I think they’re adorable,” she quickly corrected herself upon catching her daughter's frown. “See.”

“Don’t mock her," Brian playfully scolded, “Don’t mock me.” he turned to his princess, tickling her tummy. “Mommy’s being mean ain’t she?”

“She likes you more than me," Carson shrugged, standing up and pinning her hair up.

Brian quietly scoffed as he gently bounced their daughter, “No, she doesn’t.” he never understood why she kept saying that. “She loves us equally. You just gotta be more patient with her.”

“It’s easy for you to say that, you leave the house more than I do.”

Brian sighed, “You know what I mean. Just be more …”

“Patient?” Carson snapped back, trying to clean up the mess their daughter made.

All day, every day she felt exhausted, tired and even more frustrated with everything, especially with her husband, which meant they were rarely intimate.

“Maybe next time you feed her you tie up your hair I don’t know — wait, Sonny," he called out, watching as she folded her arms and glowered at him.

“I don’t need your shit right now Brian," she hissed, trying not to startle their daughter who picked up more words recently. “You aren’t here every day. I have to do so much around the house. We have a dog that does as much damage as our daughter —“

“— she doesn’t cause damage. Ultra’s a dog and she’s a baby what did you expect?” Brian exclaimed.

Jessie stared between them in confusion as she was placed back in her highchair.

“More support. I need more help from you. That’s what I expected. No, in fact, that’s what you promised me.” She had expressed to him that they would share equal responsibilities before they decided to keep their baby. She feared motherhood because she never had a mom growing up. Brian’s parents were flaky so he told her that they would do their best together. At times she would regret agreeing. “Every day I have to tidy up 5 times. I wake up early to her cries and screams, I prepare her food, prepare the dog's food, our food, all while you’re out —“

“Working? Providing for us. And everything you said, that’s what you’re supposed to do. That’s your job.”

Brian's eyes snapped shut when he realised his mistake.

Carson slowly nodded to herself, “Wow. Thanks, Brian.”

“You know what I mean," he tried, staring at her apologetically, "I'm sorry."

“Yeah, I do know what you mean," Carson exhaled. “Just forget I said anything. Jessie needs to be put down for her nap.”

She approached their daughter, missing the confusion on her husband's face.

“She just ate isn’t that a bit too soon?”

Carson carefully picked up Jessie, who quickly started fussing. Stay calm, please stay calm. She would tell herself and Jessie. Sometimes she wouldn't think of anything else.

“I’ve got her on a schedule. She needs to stick with it so I can get some me time because asking you for help is too much apparently," she gritted, not hearing the whimpering from Jessie.

“Don’t get like that, I’m trying to help when I can," Brian threw his hands up in the air.

“Well, it’s not good enough. You’re not here for me. Not as much as you promised. And some days I am losing my fucking —“ Jessie started to cry, “No. No, don't cry.”

“It’s okay baby,” Brian neared them, taking her tiny hand as tears streamed down her face.

Jessie didn't want to be held, no, she didn't want to be in her mom's arms. That was clear.

“I’m sorry Jess," Carson repeated, for what felt like an hour.

But only a minute went by.

She wanted to cry. She wanted nothing more than to cry, but she couldn't she had other things to do. Her throat was drying up, and her eyes blinking rapidly.

Only when Brian took Jessie did she start to calm down.

Carson had to tear her eyes away from the soft and tender sight.

Brian was a good dad. He loved singing and playing with his daughter whenever he could.

And it only made Carson feel worse.

“She’s good, aren't you princess?" Brian bounced her, "I’ll put her down and we can talk.”

Carson sat down in her chair, with tears pooling in her eyes. She hated it, not now, go away, please. Fuck, she felt exhausted, useless, confused.

Brian turned to his wife, panicking at the sadness flashing over her face. She turned so he wouldn’t see, but he could.

“What’s the point?” Carson sighed, rubbing her face, “Nothing's gonna change.”

“I wanna help," Brian knew he needed to do more.

“Until you can’t and it’s me that’s left to do everything. Like I’m supposed to right?” Carson drawled with a sniffle and stood up again.

“Sonny, can you just wait a second. I’m sorry about what I said.”

Carson waved him off, “I’m going to go and get this food out of my hair. You know, my pride and joy, right?"

Brian cursed herself when she left the room. He offered his daughter a small smile when she leaned her head against his shoulder and eyes drooped.

Nap time.

He could do that, he could follow his wife's schedule, even if it was a little. He needed to help.

He put down Jessie in her Princess crib. Princess Jasmine posters were all over the room, she even had a little doll that she clung to.

Brian pressed a kiss to her head as she drifted to sleep, "Daddy loves you. Mommy loves you too. She's tired and Daddy needs to do more."

Shortly after he left the nursery and pulled out his phone, looking around before dialling.

“Hey," he greeted, glad that his wife was locked away in their room.

“Wassup Brian?” Suki's voice tore through the phone.

“I need some help. Carson needs to get out for a few days. The house is driving her crazy.”

“The house or you?”

“Alright, alright, I was thinking of going on a trip just us two. You up babysitting, and looking after Ultra?”

“Sure, you paying me right," he heard her laughing.

Brian groaned, “Suki.”

“Me and Tej can do it. Don’t worry. Just book the trip and pack her bags. I know she needs this.”

Brian frowned, “What’s she said?”

“Mind your business. Now go and talk to your wife.”

——

a/n:

thank you for the suggestion! it was so cute to write. I didn’t expect it to turn so angsty, but I kinda feel like this is where their early stages of parenthood would go to, considering Brian would work and Carson would stay at home. They’re living a normalish life and Carson is having to deal with so much.

I also feel like if Brian planned a trip to go somewhere, he would feel like that would solve everything but Carson might just get worse. She feels like she doesn’t have his support because he simply isn’t there all the time.

Y/n sighed as he stepped into the drivers seat of the car, spencer sliding in next to him. They had been enjoying their day off of work together, lounging while their daughter was at school for the day. That was of course until Spencers phone rang…

Spencer lounged on top of Y/n, practically flopped on top of him, the tv played some show quietly in the back round, but the couple were much too focused on each other to quite care. They had been discussing Poes works until spencers phone starts buzzing on the coffee table, alearting him of an incoming call.

Y/n looked at spencer curiously, silently asking him to pick it up, and find out what was going on. But when the familiar crease between spencers brow became apparent his husband frowned at the discontentment of his lover. Spencer gave Y/n the universal signal to wait and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

(hello are you doctor reid?)

“yes thats me, is there something wrong?”

(we apologize for interrupting your busy works schedule but you need to come pick up your daughter, shes been suspended.)

“Suspended?!”

This finally caught Y/ns attention as he looked at his husband confused. Spencer stared back equally puzzled and continued the conversation.

(She physically assulted another student, and is suspended until the end of the week. One guardian registered with he school may come pick your daughter up.)

"okay, thank you someone will be there to pick her up soon. Buh bye-"

spencer seemed to want the conversation over with as soon as possible when he said his goodbyes to the receptionist.

"Spence- what happened, was it the school? Is Esther okay?"

"she punched a kid.."

Y/ns face fell in disappointment- and then it turned to anger

"we taught her to never resort to violence?! What happened?"

Spencer just sighed and raised himself from his previous sitting position to start making his way to the door. "I'll go pick her up, we'll talk about it when we get back.

Needless to say the car ride home was silent. Spencer was angry but he knew better than to take it out on his daughter. It would only end in a fight, and that got them nowhere

finally they arrived at thé family's apartment- Esther's other father stood in the attached living room with his arms crossed over his chest. Esther only looked down shamefully, gripping the straps of her beloved astronaut backpack. Y/n sighed in resignation and invited his daughter to sit on couch; sandwiched in between her dads. Y/n started;

"Esther- I thought we taught you to be better this, you know better than that- better than violence."

"I know dad I'm sorry- but he deserved it!

this time it's Spencer's turn to speak, "no one deserves to be punched Esther- and you know that"

both Esther and her fathers attention are pulled away from eachother when they hear a snort/giggle from y/n after Spencer said no one deserves to be punched. Spencer gives his husband a warning glare and that in combination with the aforementioned husbands antics, lightened the mood enough to release a small giggle from the child. After Spencer pulled his eyes away from his husband and put the attention back on his daughter she started to explain herself ; " well this one deserved it- he always mean to you guys- I was just standing up for you!” the couple looked up from their daughter and at each other with confusion. Y/n was the first to shake off the confusion and ask Esther what she ment.

“How would he be mean to us, we dont know this boy?”

“he always says that having 2 dads is weird and un natural. and i always tell him its not and its normal but he wont listen! and then he kept saying means and untrue s stuff and i- i, i couldnt stop myself! he was just being such a dick!”

spencer sent esther a stern warning glare at her language before his and his husbands face softened. Y/n reached out and pulled esther in for a hug asking “bug, why didnt you tell us- we could’ve done something?”

Esther just sighs and hugs back before answering “i told the teachers, and they didn‘t do anything..” Esther voice was deflated and when she told her fathers about the schools lack of response to her cries for help, the men shared a look that said they’d talk about it later.

spencer joined the hug forming one big ball of reid family on the couch. When spencer and Y/n finally released their daughter from the binding hug spencer put one hand on each of esther’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes saying “having two dads, never a bad thing, and i dont ever want you to think anything different. Understand?” before Esther could respond Y/n cut in and said, “and theres nothing wrong with being different either- just look at your dad, he’s different and a hottie” Y/n winked at his husband and Esther just exclaimed “ewwww!!” loudly, making both spencer and Y/n laugh out loud. Hoping to lighten the mood spencer responded to his husbands comment with a “save it for later- handsome” and a mischievous smile.

After a family dinner, (with lots of subtle encouragement and affirmations) Esther was feeling better, but tired. So she climbed into bed, received a kiss from both her fathers, and promptly fell asleep before her dad could even turn on the night light. Y/n and spencer were thankful for her almost immediate restful state, needing a moment alone to finally process the events of the day.

when the couple retreated back to their shared master bedroom Y/n took the opportunity of his husband just standing there to engulf him in a big hug, needing the familiar comfort of his husband. And there they stood, for who knows how long. At least 5 minutes. maybe 10 if were being realistic. But hey what can I say, they hadn’t had a moment alone since their daughter to home and lets just d say they needed it.

Spencer was the first to break the comfortable silence, saying “i still cant believe the school didn’t do anything about it- remind me to call them tomorrow before we leave for work.” Y/n just nodded and gave spencer a chaste kiss on the lips- leading him over to the bed and pulling him down on top of him. spencer chuckled and reminded Y/n that they were still wearing their day clothes, and that dental health was extremely important yet they hadn’t brushed their teeth yet. Y/n chuckled and hummed all smiley at his husbands antics.

After brushing their teeth together and y/n (jokingly) trying to get spencer to sleep with no clothes- despite the not very well insulted apartment and the blistering cold just outside the apartment walls. Y/n’s defense was that he could keep spencer warm. needles to say Y/n didn’t win that argument. but the couple still went to bed smiling, curled up in each others arms, leaving the issues of the day for tomorrow.

The End