aurorsworld

[aurorsworld]

Doctor's Note - Sodapop Curtis x Reader

summary: you stand soda up, accidentally

contents/warnings: soda is somewhere around 18-19, mentions of his failed relationship w sandy, distrust/miscommunication, angst -> fluff. based on my very painful experience this morning with crippling back pain

send me requests for the outsiders!

Selfishly, sometimes you wonder what it would have been like to date Sodapop before he'd met Sandy. When he was more carefree, when he wasn't glancing at any man you talked to just a second too long. He's not possessive- and even if he is, he doesn't enforce it. But you know he's wary, and you know it's her fault.

Darrel had warned Soda to stay away from girls for a while, to give himself a break. And he had. Two long years later his hiatus was broken when you'd come into the DX fiending for a coke, and when you'd asked, 'Do you know where I could find a soda 'round here?' his eyes had glimmered with opportunity, and he'd pointed proudly to his nametag.

"Right here, ma'am. No caffeine in me but I could keep 'ya up all night if you want me to."

It had been so wildly crass, so insanely audacious that you'd burst out laughing, both from the absurdity of his name and the brashness of his comment. He'd apologized for it, too, twenty minutes into your conversation that lasted an hour.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier. I mean- I don't usually come on strong like that. Couldn't stop myself- prolly got it from my friend Two-Bit, he's always crackin' jokes like that. Hope you didn't think it was greasy."

"I think it was very greasy," You'd laughed, tilting your chin towards the tin of hair grease abandoned at the other end of the counter, "I thought that was the whole point."

"That's my buddy Steve's", Soda had told you, light dancing in his eyes as he readjusted his elbows on the counter to lean further towards you, "He does these real fancy swirls in his hair, and I've been able to do 'em a few times, but mainly I just slick mine back, and half the time I don't even grease it anyways because I'm just bummin' round the house so there's no need. My other friend-"

He was a natural-born talker, and you'd been just as caught up with talking yourself as you were with listening to him. It had taken the reappearance of his aforementioned coworker, Steve, for you to glance at the clock, and realize that you were 40 minutes past the time you should have been back at work from your lunch break.

You're surprised you hadn't scared Sodapop off with your swearing alone, but you'd managed to scribble your number onto his hand before you'd left. You hadn't even remembered to buy a drink, but he'd brought you one when he showed up for your first date.

Now, three weeks later, you're getting ready to show up to his house. This is a big thing: you're meeting his brothers. He's told you so much about them you feel like you know them, and he's also given you your fair share of warnings, too. Darry's too stern sometimes, and it might take a while for him to warm up to you. Ponyboy's an awkward teen, and on top of it, he'd trusted Sandy- they all had. You know you've gotta prove yourself better than her, and you're starting with some sweet perfume and a bundle of flowers for their dining table.

--

"Get your bum ass off the couch and vacuum," Soda's hands shove roughly at Ponyboy's thighs, "She's gonna be here in thirty minutes!"

"Jeez, Soda, she's not my girlfriend," Ponyboy grumbles, but he stands and heads for the closet where the vacuum lies all the same, "Don't understand why I have to be the one cleanin'."

"'Cause Darry's the one cookin'." Soda glares at him, "And I'm cleaning too. I've been cleaning for days."

"Bathroom looks good, little man." Darry voices his approval from the kitchen, "Thought I was gonna die of shock when I realized you'd scrubbed down the toilet."

Not much conversation is heard over Ponyboy's aggressive vacuuming, but Soda calls the cleaning at five minutes to your arrival time.

"Okay. Rules again?" He looks expectantly at his brothers, and Darry looks irritated that he's being grilled this time.

"No judging." Ponyboy grumbles, but he doesn't think it's fair, because Sandy had seemed so nice and sweet, and she'd run right out on Sodapop. So he feels like he has to judge, because maybe Soda's gonna get hurt again. He doesn't want that.

"No grilling." Darry continues, equally put-out by Soda's request. He wants what's best for his brother. Sodapop's two-year long relationship drought was refreshing, and he's seen the boy blossom into a wonderful man. Still, he can't help feeling some lingering resentment towards Sandy, and he knows it's not fair to attach it to you, but he doesn't know what else to do with it.

"And no arguing at the table." He glances between Darry and Pony both warily, "I mean it, this isn't the night to discuss grades or curfew or chores. Just- be nice to her. Treat her like a real guest."

"Alright, little buddy." Darry secedes, squeezing Soda's flannel-clad shoulder slightly, "Now, you gonna go wait by the door for her?"

"No! I'm not that desperate." Soda scoffs, but Darry notices the way he flops down into his eldest brother's armchair, the only seat in the house with a view of the front walkway. Ponyboy settles himself awkwardly on the couch, watching cartoons even though there's an anxious tension in his skinny shoulders.

You're set to arrive in two minutes, and Soda's practically vibrating out of his seat. There's no sign of the cute little sundress you said you'd wear today, but that's okay, because he thinks it's so considerate of you to show up punctually versus early. if you'd come fifteen minutes earlier you would have seen him near-tears over the spot of chocolate that wouldn't rub out of the wall behind the television. Ponyboy had pointed out that there's no way you would have seen it unless you'd been wedged between their tv and the wall, but Soda was not going to invite you into a messy home.

One minute goes by, and Soda's cuticles hurt from where his nails tear at them. He tries to stop himself- after all, you wouldn't want to hold his hand if his was bleeding. But his next nervous habit becomes fiddling with the hem of his shirt, which isn't nearly as satisfying for his fingers.

He waits for what he's sure is more than a minute, which means you're due to flounce up the stairs in seconds. But he doesn't see you, and he knows Pony's watching him crane his neck every three seconds to look for you. So he tones it down- after all, he's got a 10-minute grace period at the DX for his shifts. If he can clock in at 8:10 and still be 'on time', you can show up a few minutes late.

"Any sign of her?" Darry pokes his head out of the kitchen, seeing the front door still shut. Soda shakes his head- then he catches a glimpse of your hair color outside the window. Upon further inspection, it's a stray cat. Ponyboy snorts at him, and Soda sinks back into the recliner.

Okay, so you've used up your grace period. But Soda gets it- you probably sang one too many love songs about him in the shower, and now you're tripping over your own feet trying to run to his house. Or the bus was late, or you missed it entirely, and you'll show up before the food goes cold.

Fifteen minutes go by, and Darry hovers over the finished meal, wondering whether he should plate it or not.

Twenty minutes go by, and Darry considers removing one plate from the table.

Thirty minutes go by, and Darry turns off the stove.

An hour goes by, and Pony retreats to his room for some homework time. Darry's meticulously cleaning the kitchen, but Sodapop thinks it's more because he doesn't know what to say than because he thinks you'll judge them for a grease stain on the wall.

When Darry's scrubbed the kitchen raw nearly an hour later, he pads softly over to Soda where he still rests in his armchair.

"Soda, I- listen, I don't think she's comin' tonight."

"I told her today." Soda's got his fingernail pinched between his teeth, his leg having long-since stopped its nervous bouncing, "I- I know I told her tonight, and she said she'd be here, but I-"

Darry's hand squeezes his shoulder again, this time tighter, and something awfully familiar resurges in Soda's chest where it's laid dormant for two years.

"C'mon, little buddy." Darry urges him up out of the chair, "Let's turn in early tonight."

--

Soda's not doing his best work despite having gotten eleven hours of sleep the night prior. He's sluggish and mopey, and Steve sticks him on the register so that no one risks a foolish mistake to their car. Soda stares at a knot in the wood grain, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and doesn't look up even when the entrance bell dings.

"Soda-" He hears a voice, one that he'd been waiting since last evening to hear, one that exacerbates that sickly feeling in his chest. He hasn't been able to shake it, and your face had blended with Sandy's in his nightmares last night.

"Soda, I'm- I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you show?" He barely has the courage to look up at you, but he does, because last time he'd groveled. He'd begged, pleaded, bargained with her to stay with him, and he wasn't going to do that this time. He was going to be the man Darry wanted him to be.

"I'm sorry." You repeat, clutching a paper in your hands, brows permanently furrowed, "It was an emergency. I was getting ready, and- and all of a sudden my back started hurtin'. Real bad, Soda, I- I had to lie down on the ground."

Soda watches, interest piqued, as you stagger towards the counter, clearly limping. Sickness is replaced with worry in his chest, and he watches as you brace yourself against the register.

"My folks didn't get home for hours. I was just laying there, I- I couldn't reach the phone, I couldn't move my legs, I was just stranded there." Your voice thickens at the memory, and you sniffle absentmindedly, "Soda, I would have called you, I just- I couldn't move. I swear. I tried, Soda, I swear I tried to get to the phone, but it was so painful. And then when my parents got home they had to carry me to the car 'n all, and the emergency room took forever, and- and we didn't get home until three in the morning, and I knew you'd be sleepin' so I didn't call, and I felt so bad because I knew you'd be waiting on me, and- and I'm so sorry, Sodapop."

All at once yours and Sandy's faces come undone in his mind, and hers is cast aside as he studies yours. There's tears, big shiny ones lining your eyes, and your chin trembles slightly. You're still clutching the paper, and when you realize he's glancing at it, you gasp.

"Oh! I- um, I got you a doctor's note. I didn't want you to think I was lyin'."

You push the page towards him on the counter, and he takes it with trembling hands.

'Patient Y/N Y/L/N admitted to emergency services at 8:49 PM Wednesday, 30th July. Diagnosed with severe lumbar muscle strain. This patient is placed off of work from 7/30/1968 through 8/05/1968.

Patient would like to add that she did not intend to stand up her date with one Sodapop Patrick Curtis on Wednesday, 30th July. Patient would like to reschedule for another night. Doctor prescribes a calm, laid-back dinner date until patient recovers.'

"Had one hell of a time trying to get him to put that in there." Your sheepish voice pipes up from where Soda's reading the last words on the page, "But I told him you were a nice boy and he said there's not many of those around here. I'm sorry, again. I'm so sorry."

Lumbar muscle strain rings a bell in Soda's head. It's something Darry's definitely mentioned before, the few times they've bullied him into seeking medical attention for all of his blue collar aches and pains. He's sure if you're hurting the way Darry does sometimes, that you weren't lying about not being able to move.

You're staring at him like you're worried he'll send you away, and the piece of paper in his hands is the only thing stopping him from doing just that. But he glances down at it again, and takes a deep breath.

"It's okay. I believe you. My brother Darry, he- he pulls muscles sometimes. Don't usually see him cry, but I do when that happens. Are you okay?'

You visibly relax at his words, but something in your back must have protested the movement, because your face pinches up again.

"Um- yeah. Mostly. It hurts when I move too much." You admit, "But I had to make it down here to see you. I'm so sorry. Were you- were you angry at me?"

He doesn't think so- he was offended, he was disappointed, but most of all, he's pretty sure he was beating up on himself more than he was beating up on you. It felt like it did the first time, and he was the common denominator in both.

"No." He answers honestly, "But- uh, I think Darry probably is."

You wince, and he doesn't blame you. But he holds the note a little tighter, "But I'll tell him what happened. Like I said, he knows what that feels like. Don't worry about it, honey. You- uh, did you want to still meet them?"

"Of course! Of course," You nod eagerly, bracing your weight against the counter, "Do you still... want me to meet them?"

"Of course." He echoes, finally breaking his stoicism with a grin, a shy one as he reaches for your hand over the counter, still clutching the note in his other hand, "Can't argue with the doctor's orders."

[aurorsworld]

i want this to be a series even if i'm the only one who will read it

would you do more royal!au sirius x reader??? please??? i mean the fluff and the banter alone are ripe for more situations but the smut of banging in a castle in formal wear or the angst of some great big political problem??? i'm here for it allllllll

only if you're interested in it

Absolutely I would! Thanks for requesting lovely ;)

cw: nausea, controlling family dynamics

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 2.1k words

You lie atop your bed, rubbing the sheets between your thumb and pointer finger. You estimate their thread count is about ten gazillion. The duvet piled by your feet is probably stuffed with feathers of a goose hatched from a golden egg and raised with a silver spoon right here in the palace. It all makes you feel slightly nauseous to think about. 

Though in fairness, the nausea could be from any number of things. The several courses of rich foods you had to force down over dinner with the Black family, the way Sirius’ eyes seemed to flicker every time they passed over you, the many, many hours of memorization you’d put in only to set your fork on the wrong edge of the plate when you wanted to signal you were finished eating, or perhaps the conversation you had with your grandmother and her council of advisors in her office afterwards. 

All in all, you’re really only waiting to either be violently sick or fall asleep. Whichever comes first. 

A knock on the door makes you sit up slowly. No one usually cares to see you past dinnertime. You wonder for a moment if you’ve misheard, if someone knocked further down the hall and the sound carried. 

Then it comes again. You get up. 

Sirius’ mouth is already half curved when you open the door, but his smile blooms as he takes you in from head to toe. 

“My,” he leans against your doorframe, looking positively delighted, “don’t you look cozy.” 

Your cheeks flame. You hadn’t been expecting any visitors when you’d put on your pajama bottoms and giant, graphic nightshirt. Sirius is also the most casual you’ve seen him in a gray sweatshirt and dark jeans, but he’s still wearing clothes, which means he’s still dressed better than you. You fear this is an inevitability you may never escape with him. 

“I’m having an early night,” you say.  

He frowns. “Oh. Really? What could I do to persuade you not to?” 

You feel your eyebrows rise. “What would you be persuading me to do instead?” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Sirius says, looking you in the eyes, “we should go out.” 

You feel acid in the back of your throat. You nearly choke on it. “We—you and me?” 

“I see how that wording could be confusing. I don’t mean like a date,” he clarifies. You let out a breath, and his grin renews. “Not that I would ever deny you one, gorgeous, if that’s what you wanted. But what I had in mind was more of an introduction to the kingdom.” 

Your stomach settles a bit. The inside of your lip finds its way between your teeth. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you’ve gotten out much since you’ve been here. Am I wrong?” 

You shake your head. 

Sirius’ smile is almost gentle. “I know it’s a bit unorthodox, because I’m not from here and your family rules this place, but I’ve actually been here quite a lot. I could show you around the town, get you acquainted with some worthwhile haunts.” He pauses, analyzing your reaction. “There’s a bakery not far from here that has the most incredible apple pastries this time of year, best I’ve had. They only use seasonal ingredients.” 

There’s an uneasy feeling about this, about him, an allure and a simultaneous urge to run. But you’re intrigued. “The best you’ve had?” 

His eyes flash with satisfaction. “Change quickly. They close at ten.” 

Sirius proves his prowess quickly. He brings you into town off the main road and says a few words to your guards that have them keeping a furtive distance from the both of you. To any passerby along the lamplit streets, you look like a regular couple. Intentionally or not, Sirius’ hand in yours completes the image. 

He pulls you into a coffee shop first, coerces you into trying a specialty latte and promises it won’t matter when you order it decaf. You make it to the bakery just before close, and Sirius orders not only the apple pastries but some with pear and a few with blackberry and one muffin for each of you to have tomorrow morning. He charms everyone behind the counter so effortlessly the owner gives you the muffins for free. 

You end up sitting on the grass at the edge of a park, on a hill sloping downward towards the street. Admittedly, you’ve not put much thought into the kingdom you’re allegedly supposed to run someday. It still feels like some kind of fraudulence to sleep in your bedroom in the palace, and the idea of being a princess to this place doesn’t feel any more real now that you’re seeing it up close. 

But this is a town you could love, you think. It’s the sort of place you might have traveled, before, and imagined your life in. Maybe a job at the bakery, grabbing coffee before your early mornings, indistinguishable from any of the other locals strolling around and chatting with shopkeepers and wearing their footprints into the ground. It’s hard not to imagine it even now, though you know your role in this place is far less quaint.

“Mmmmygod,” Sirius moans, licking sugary apple glaze from the corner of his mouth. “Your palate is not prepared for this. Don’t let it get cold.” 

You fish your apple pastry out of the bag obediently, taking a bite. It’s warm and soft, the dough flattening over your tongue. You close your eyes, and the flavor blooms. 

“Wow.” 

“Right?” He sounds downright gleeful, excited for you in a way that’s out of keeping with the refined, stately way you’re both usually expected to behave. 

“You were right. It’s really good.” You give him a smile and take another bite before putting the pastry away. 

Sirius cocks an eyebrow at you, his expression unabashedly judgemental. “You’re not going to finish it?” 

“Dinner didn’t sit very well with me,” you say apologetically. “You can have the rest, if you want.” 

“Oh.” His countenance melds into something like sympathy. “That’s alright, you can reheat it tomorrow if you like. Are you not feeling well?” 

You press your lips into a smile. “I’m okay.” 

“They’ve been running you pretty ragged, yeah? It must be a lot.” 

“I’m okay,” you say again, softer. 

You think the polite thing would be to at least act like he believes you, but Sirius doesn’t. You can feel his gaze on your face as you look out over the town. He’s been a bit different tonight, you think. Still ridiculous and jovial and loud, but gentler at times. Friendly in a more sincere way. Kind. 

You take a breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

You can practically feel the lift of his eyebrows. “Maybe,” he answers, half humorous. 

“Did you know our families have been trying to arrange our marriage?” 

There’s a thick pause. You watch a couple of the lights in windows go out. 

Sirius’ sigh is heavy. “Honestly? I suspected.”

You turn towards him, your throat tightening with nausea and fright and half a dozen other emotions you haven’t identified yet. Sirius is still looking at you, his mouth twisted in a grimace. 

“My family doesn’t tend to see fit to involve me in these things, even when they pertain to me,” he says somewhat bitterly, “but I know how my parents operate. It’s not rare for us to have visits here, but these last couple since you arrived have involved much more nice-making than usual.” He leans back on his forearms, tilting his face to the sky. For the first time since you’ve met him you think that he looks almost tired. “I suppose us appearing to get along at the ball probably didn’t help matters. They’re always looking for someone who can ‘tame’ me. Now they likely think you’re it.” 

You fight to keep your tone even. “Can they just do that? Make us get married?” 

“Well, clearly it’s not that easy, or we would be.” Sirius seems to be musing aloud. His eyes trace the stars, voice low and thoughtful. “I imagine the holdup is on your side of things. My family would love to be rid of me, but your lot may not want to take me on.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you say, but your voice is growing wispy, your vision blurring. 

Sirius sits up. “Hey.” He sounds upset, but his hand on your shoulder is gentle. “Don’t do that. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’ll be okay.” 

“Sorry.” You jam your fingertips into your eyes, trying to keep tears from leaking out. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never felt so…out of control before.” 

Lately, that’s all you’ve felt. Helpless, robbed of your autonomy. You eat and wear and say what you’re told to, you need guards to go out and get pastries, and now the rest of your life is being practically given away to some other kingdom so that your family can rest easy knowing trade agreements are well solidified. 

“I know,” Sirius murmurs. His palm runs a couple inches down your arm, then back up again. It’s the most tentative you’ve seen him. “You’re not, though, really. They can scheme all they want, but nothing has to happen unless both of us get in front of an altar and say ‘I do.’ No one can actually make us go through with it.” 

You lower your hands enough to look at him, and he gives you a sideways smile. 

“I’d be more than happy to be the one to ruin us, if you like. I have a reputation for foiling my parents’ plans anyway. You can even act betrayed. The gracious new princess, and the wayward prince who wouldn’t be bound to her.” 

You worry the inside of your lip. “I wouldn’t want to throw you under the bus.” 

“Sweet of you, doll, but I’m already under there. No sense in taking you with me.” 

He takes another pastry out of the bag, resolved and resigned. You study him. Your life has been nothing but change lately. One terrifying revelation leading to the next, seemingly following a structure you’re not privy to. You haven’t had time to get your feet under you in your new life, constantly being told you’re doing things wrong or getting introduced to new important people or having your manners corrected. This is only your first time getting out into the town where you live! You don’t feel ready to be married. 

But through all the madness of your new life, Sirius has been an odd sort of constant. Kind, and grounding, and casual even when it’s improper. He’s been a real friend to you, the only person who stops to ask how you’re doing and seemingly wants an honest answer. You’ve come to take comfort in him. 

“Do you really think my family is keeping us from…” You find you can’t say it, but Sirius catches your drift anyway. 

“It’s the only explanation I can come up with,” he replies. “Or, not keeping us from it, necessarily, but slowing the process. They’re likely negotiating something to do with the trade agreement, making sure I’m a worthwhile deal for them to take on.” 

“How long does negotiating that stuff take?” 

“I don’t know. Believe it or not, this is actually my first time as well. At least a couple weeks, I’d guess. Your family may want to see how you’re settling in first.” 

You gnaw on your lip, pensive. When you look at Sirius, he’s looking back at you, gray eyes discerning. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks you. 

“What if we didn’t stop it yet?” 

Surprise flickers over his expression, gone as quickly as it came. “I assumed you’d want to be done with this as soon as possible. Why are you asking?” 

You shrug, feeling your cheeks heat. “You’d probably have to be here pretty often while they’re still talking things out, right?” 

“Yeah…” 

“And we’re sort of friends now, aren’t we?” 

Sirius’ mouth pulls up on one side. “I’d love to be your friend, gorgeous.” 

“So…” You pull up a blade of grass, carving it in half with your fingernail. “As long as we don’t say ‘I do,’ we don’t have to be married, but we don’t necessarily have to send you home before they’ve even decided anything, right?”

He leans forward interestedly. “Are you suggesting we let our families go through weeks of pointless negotiations, maybe even humor their beliefs that we like each other, just to break things off when it all comes to a head?”

“Well, we do like each other, don’t we?” You smile, and he beams back. “I don’t know, would that be okay with you?”

“Oh.” Sirius shakes his head at you, still grinning. “Sweetheart, you are even more fun than I imagined you’d be.”

[aurorsworld]

chillin on a Saturday night

[aurorsworld]

Apple pie with spencer read and qn airport terminal qt midnight

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mention of bad eating habits, mentioned unease around germs

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 729 words

“Spence.” Your voice is soft, your fingers combing through his hair even softer. Spencer’s head rests heavy on your shoulder. You shield his eyes from the harsh lights with a hand, hoping to rouse him gently. “Honey, wake up.” 

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow. Or, one does, the other already squished towards furrowing by the way it’s laying on your shoulder. You hate to wake him—Spencer tends to have a hard time relaxing at airports, what with all the germs—but your window to get something to eat is closing. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” you ask him, coaxing. 

“No,” he mumbles, but he’s blinking awake, looking up at you with soft, sleepy brown eyes. “Are you?”

You give him a sheepish smile. “A little. Sorry, do you mind if I get up to go look for something? Everything’s closing.” 

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry I almost made you miss dinner.” Spencer sits up, stretching his neck. He pushes his shoulders back lazily, and you can hear his bones crackle. “I’ll go with you.”  

You protest half-heartedly but ultimately capitulate, picking up the heavy backpack before he can and leaving your boyfriend to tow the suitcase. At this time the airport is near empty, the only people to be seen the sad band of vagabonds sitting at your gate waiting for your plane to arrive. You’ve been delayed two hours by the weather. Spencer will have to wake up four hours from when you get home to go to work, you only a half hour later.

You realize as you walk that you may be too late. While the websites you’d checked had said their airport locations would be open until midnight, the employees are already cleaning out machines, wiping down counters, pulling metal gates closed over their entrances. 

Spencer makes a worried oh sound, realizing the same thing.

“There’s an Auntie Anne’s down there,” you say hopefully, starting to walk faster in case they’re closing, too. That glowing yellow sign is your light at the end of the tunnel.

Spencer speeds up with you, but protests, “A pretzel isn’t a meal, sweetheart.” 

“It might be my only option,” you point out. “Also, I saw you eat a bag of salt and vinegar chips for dinner last week. You don’t get to talk.” 

You hear a soft, slightly petulant huff behind you. You might give him shit for it if you weren’t in a rush. 

You try to order as quickly as possible, feeling guilty for making the employee serve you just before close. But then the cup is in your hand, warm and smelling of cinnamon, and you think you probably would have vaulted the counter to get it yourself had she refused you. It’s heavenly. 

You wait until you get back to the gate to start eating, wanting to savor every bite. When you do, you have to close your eyes, forcibly smothering a moan. They’re everything you wanted and more. You shovel them into your mouth faster than is probably safe and definitely faster than anyone’s mother would approve of, and it’s not until you’re more than halfway done that you notice Spencer’s stare.

You give him a wry look. “So now you’re hungry?” 

“What?” He looks startled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re practically drooling.” 

“No, I’m not,” he says, though you notice him tighten his lips as though checking to be sure. 

You sigh, holding them out to him. “It’s okay. Have some.” 

“No.” Spencer frowns with his eyebrows. “They’re yours.” 

“It’s seriously okay,” you say, more genuinely this time. “I’d hate for you to miss out. They’re really good.” 

He can only resist temptation for so long. He takes one, and his reaction is nearly the same as yours had been, expression going soft at the perfect, delicious warmth of them. 

“In exchange,” you suggest as he reaches for more, “can I take a turn napping on your shoulder for a while?” 

“Yeah, of course,” says Spencer, managing to sound smitten even though a mouthful of cinnamon pretzel bites. He settles back in his chair, trying to give you as comfortable a pillow as possible. 

“Thanks.” You sigh through your nose as you lay your head down, pulling your legs up onto the chair with you and closing your eyes. “I can’t believe we have to go to work tomorrow morning.” 

“This morning,” Spencer corrects you. 

You groan. 

[aurorsworld]

i promise this is the last—unless i think of something more

its aaron’s day off and he’s out doing errands with the baby and jack, maybe in the grocery or something, and he has the baby strapped to his chest or something and someone from the team spots him?

- 💗

💗 anon I love u <3

Grocery shopping

Cw: fem!mom!reader, fluff, you and Aaron have an infant, literally nothing except tooth rotting fluff and Aaron being a girl dad, no use of yn, use of petnames, reader isn’t present too much in this (she’s tired)

Word count: 1.5k

————

Aaron’s attempts at waking you are thoroughly ineffective. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs for the third time, brushing some of your sleep-mussed hair away from your brow. You snuggle into his side, eyes still closed as you give him a weak grunt in response. He smiles into your warm forehead. “Okay, sorry. I’m getting the hint.” 

It’s 8:30 and he’s restless. Apparently his kids have inherited the same early bird gene, because he hears Jack thudding around, Olivia’s soft coos reaching him from the baby monitor on your nightstand. You’re breathing evenly into his neck, starting to sink back into the sleep he’s trying to rouse you from, but not quite there yet.

“Hey, how about I take the kids and we go get some groceries?” Aaron runs his hand over your arm, gently squeezing as you burrow closer. “Give you more time to sleep in.”

“Fuck yeah.” You mumble sleepily. Aaron laughs at the speed with which the words leave your mouth. “Take ’em. Go, just lemme sleep.”

He would be offended if he didn’t know just how tired you are. 

While he would love spending his day off with you, he knows your daughter has been wearing you out recently. She’s only six months old and attached to your hip, which is only made harder by his unyielding schedule and her recent teething. So Aaron slips out of bed, untangling himself from you with some difficulty despite the way you’d jumped at the thought of him leaving. He gives you a kiss on your temple before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind him and making his way to the nursery.

A string of babbles reaches him when he opens the door. Warmth stirs in his chest as he walks in and peers into the crib, finding Olivia already rolled around on her stomach.

“Hi sweetheart,” Aaron whispers, a wide smile spreading across his face at the sight of her; her pacifier is thrown next to her on the mattress and she smiles when she sees him. Red sleep lines are imprinted on both her cheeks and he laughs, the sound soft as she looks up at him with alert eyes. “Did you sleep well?” He asks rhetorically, lifting her up into his arms and pressing a kiss to her messy hair. “I think you did.” 

The soft strands tickle his cheek. Aaron takes a moment to hold her, breathing in the soft milky scent of her and savoring how tiny she feels, the way she slots perfectly into his chest. She tolerates it for a minute, but it doesn’t take long before her feet kick restlessly in her sleep sack. Aaron smiles and kisses her cheek before he lays her down on the changing mat.

Olivia gurgles at him. “We’re going out today, Liv.” He tells her, his voice softened to a whisper. “You and me and Jackers. No Mommy, though, but that’s okay, right?” 

She kicks her feet and he finally frees them from the sleep sack. Olivia immediately reaches for her foot, intending to bring it to her mouth.

“I know you like her more than me, but she’s gotta rest,” Aaron soothes, quickly stealing a kiss from a petal-soft cheek before taking out a change of clothes. “Taking care of you is hard work, missy.” He scolds gently and reaches for a toy in the drawer, pressing it into her hand instead of her foot. “But we like doing it.”

****

The grocery store is blissfully quiet. Aaron keeps one hand needlessly on the back of Olivia’s head, the other holding on to the list you wrote down and stuck to the fridge three days ago. He keeps half an eye on Jack at the end of the aisle and half an eye on the baby strapped to his chest, snug in her carrier as he checks item after item off. She’s currently toying with the buttons on his shirt and babbling to herself, content with grasping at his chest.

Aaron stares down at the endless rows of baby food. Olivia is supposed to start solids soon, but you’ve written down a lifetime’s supply of baby food anyway. Even after two kids, he still hates this part. But it’s okay; he’s got a helper today. 

“Okay honey, what do you think about…apples and apricots?” Aaron asks, holding a packet of purée for Olivia to see. She stares at it, interested for a second before redirecting her attention back to his shirt.

“No? I think we can at least try before judging.” He murmurs, dropping it into the cart as she pulls on the buttons again.

Aaron looks down at his list. His lips brush the top of Olivia’s head and he automatically places a kiss there, the movement absent yet fond. “Let’s have a few with oatmeal too,” he mutters, grabbing two packs off the shelf. “Fiber is good for you, yeah?

Olivia babbles back something he hopes is an affirmative. As Aaron bends to place the packets in the cart, she reaches out and places a small hand on his jaw. He smiles as he straightens, the action quickly turning into a wince when her sharp nails dig into his skin.

Aaron places his hand over hers, gently loosening her grip. “Looks like we just have—”

“Daddy, when can we go get the chocolate?” Jack sulks. He returns to his perch at Aaron’s side, his head resting against his torso.

“In a minute, bud.” Aaron lightly ruffles Jack’s hair. With one hand on each child, his heart suddenly grows warm, and the dull task of picking out baby food is no longer as taxing as it was. Despite Jack’s mood, Aaron smiles as Olivia’s whole hand wraps around his index finger. “Here, help me out. Do you think we should get banana or—”

A sudden gasp cuts him off. “Aunt Emily!” Jack beams. He darts from Aaron’s side to the end of the aisle, where Emily stands, holding a basket.

Her expression morphs into surprise when Jack barrels into her, but it quickly turns fond. 

“Jack! Hey, buddy.” She wraps an arm around his shoulders in a hug. It’s lopsided and a little awkward with the basket hanging from her wrist, but both her and Jack are smiling as he pulls back.

“We’re shoppin’ with Livvy.” He tells her, his frown nowhere to be found as he beams happily.

“Are you? That’s nice.” Emily smiles as she approaches. “Hey, Hotch.”

He clears his throat. “Hi.”

Her gaze travels to the baby strapped to his chest. Olivia squeals at her, recognizing her from all the times you’ve taken her to the BAU—and more than a few baby-friendly girl’s nights. 

“Hi baby girl,” Emily grins, reaching for Olivia’s flailing fist. It only takes a second before she freezes, her eyes meeting Aaron’s and her smile quickly turning into a grimace. “Damn, Morgan and Garcia really ruined that one for me.” 

An easy smile pulls at Aaron’s lips. “Don’t curse in front of the baby,” he scolds, only half joking.

Emily rolls her eyes. She’s a lot more comfortable doing that when they’re both in casual clothing, he notices—her in a huge sweater and leggings and him in a polo practically hidden from the baby on his chest.

Aaron doesn’t know when she gets the time to pull out her phone, but suddenly she’s backing up and he’s staring into her camera.

“What are you doing?” His brows pinch together.

“Snapping a picture for the wife.” She says easily. “Say cheese, Jack. You too, boss.” 

Jack complies happily, showcasing two of his newly lost teeth. Aaron can’t see Emily’s face behind her phone, but he’d bet there’s a shit eating grin pasted on her lips.

He just wants to finish grocery shopping.

“Emily—”

“Smile, Hotch.”

Aaron sighs. A yanking at his shirt buttons drags his gaze down, and before he knows it, a genuine smile is tugging at his lips. He directs it to the camera and tries not to feel too ridiculous about taking a picture in the middle of a deserted supermarket aisle—at 10 in the morning, no less.

A click dictates the end of his misery.

“Cute,” Emily beams, “I’ll send this to the missus.” Cheerily ignoring Aaron’s frown, she pockets her phone and—quite bravely—approaches the carrier.

“Good luck with the Unit Chief, chérie.” She kisses the baby’s fist then backs away. Olivia reaches for her and Emily smiles wider, her dimples flashing. “Later, Hotch. Bye Jack.” She waves at him and Jack waves excitedly back, his bad mood apparently gone.

As she’s walking away, Aaron spots the contents of her basket; cat food, red wine, cheese, and chocolate biscuits.

“Get some proper food,” he calls out, already turning back to the shelves with a hand on the back of Olivia’s head.

“Yes, Dad.” Emily replies.

Aaron rolls his eyes, suppressing the urge to run an exasperated hand through this hair. Instead he looks down, meeting sweet eyes just like the ones he fell in love with.

“My team acts like kids sometimes,” he wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly. Olivia giggles, the sound like a tinkling bell; Aaron is unable to hold the frown for long. “I think,” he brings her tiny fingers to his lips, “you’re way more mature.”

But he may be biased.

[aurorsworld]

hey i tried to see if requests are open but can’t see anything, so hungover!reader x hotch? 🙏🙏

remedies

cw; fem bau!reader, drinking mentions, hangover talk and symptoms, fluff <3

There was a brief moment of peace when you stirred. Being pulled from such heavy sleep, a moment of solitude, before you met consciousness with excruciating pain. Regret was the next sensation to sweep through your body, until your awareness vaguely focused elsewhere. You either heard footsteps nearing, or it was the repetitive throb in your head.

Aaron had a key to your place and he had let himself in. You hadn't answered any calls or texts, and he was partially worried (he had known you were going out the night prior, and did return home safely). His concerned look turned to a sweetly pitiful one as he saw you lying there, hazily blinking up at him.

"Hi sweetheart."

"Aaron?" Your head rose, your voice hoarse as it exited your lips, your dry throat to blame. You cursed your hangover for dulling the usual excitement whenever you caught sight of him. "What're you doing here?"

"We had brunch plans."

Your brows scrunched in confusion, as well as your eyes as they attempted to adjust to the light. "What time is it?" You could've answered your own question by peering at the clock besides you, but you didn't dare turn your head. The more you moved, the worse.

Aaron checked his watch, moving his jacket sleeve to view it, "Half past noon."

At his words, your eyes widened. The sudden shock interfered with your head, causing the pounding to only elevate.

"Oh god I'm sorry." You facepalmed by use of your pillow, the momentary darkness enhancing the dizziness behind your eyelids. "I'm awful."

"I wouldn't go that far." Aaron teased lightly as he sat on the bed besides you, his hand finding your back and sliding his palm along it softly. "Crazy night with the girls?"

"Penelope tried- created a new concoction of drinks." A wave of nausea hit you from the memory, your stomach swirling. You scowled in disgust, "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Aaron hummed in response, another pitiful smile tugging on his face as you groaned. He felt bad you felt bad. He's had his fair share of hangovers, sure, but never one at the hands of Penelope.

"I'm never drinking again." With all you had left in you, you forced your head to lift to defeatedly meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I did have an alarm set. Or... I think? I must've slept through it."

"No it's okay, I figured. Knowing them, we shouldn't have made plans for the following morning." He flashed you an understanding smile, his hand stopping and giving you an affectionate tap.

"Probably a good idea."

"I can take an accurate guess, but how are you feeling?"

"Like the jet ran me over."

"That bad?"

"Penelope called her drink moonlight mojito blitz." Again, you nearly gagged at the thought, Aaron himself made a face. "Or something of the sort. I don't know, it had a complex name one way or another."

"Lucky for you then, I have more simply named reinforcements ." Aaron offered, gesturing to your bedside table. "Gatorade, water, ibuprofen, which I'm judging by the strain on your face, you should take now." He reached for the container, dumping the tablets into his palm. "Down the hatch."

You weakly sat up against your pillow, holding out your own hand. As you did what you were told, he produced the Gatorade.

"Drink up."

You winced at the words, "I'm having flashbacks."

He laughed softly, the sound enough to soothe any hangover, or plainly anything. "Sorry, but I'm serious. You need the electrolytes, I won't allow dehydration if I can help it. You'll need to eat something too, but that can wait at least. Until-"

You finished for him, taking a generous sip. "Until the room stops spinning."

"That's right," Aaron offered you another small, closed lip smile. "Can I get you anything else?"

You peered up at him, playing up the hopefulness in your eyes. The visual was for effect really, you knew he would implement anything you asked, as he always did. "My favorite pillow?"

"Sure honey, where-"

"You." You grabbed his wrist, weakly tugging him towards you and trying your hardest to not let your grasp drop despite the downward, heavy pull. "You're my favorite pillow."

Aaron slid besides you easily, and before he was thoroughly comfortable or settled, were you clinging onto him. Your face buried itself into the skin of his neck, while one of your legs lazily draped over his waist. He molded just as equally into your body too.

Your head was still spinning - part of you feared it would never cease - but Aaron's contact allowed some sense of stillness. Like you weren't going to be picked up and somehow carried away; he would ensure you were close and grounded.

"Is this really all you need?" Due to your close proximity, you could feel his voice vibrating through his chest. "Can't I do anything more? Is the room too warm? Too bright?"

You shook your head, tightening your leg's hold on him. There was a playful tone in your voice, "I may need you to hold my hair back later."

"You say the most romantic things to me." Aaron chuckled, his lips tugging into a smile before pressing his lips atop your head. He quipped back gently, "Looking forward to it."

[aurorsworld]

"why is it so hard to live an ordinary life?"

seokryu's 'appa' asks a simple question — but this is what i adore most about love next door: it keeps its story & characters grounded. why IS it so hard to just be alive — why does it take so much strength to live through a regular day, (with its regular disappointments); just like everyone else? why do your dreams — small and self-effacing as they may be in the palms of your hands — require so much courage to create in real life?

love next door is an ode to the everyday — the quiet trials and treaures that a normal life holds within it. just because something is mundane doesn't make it any less magic — any less important. seok-ryu's 'appa' just wants to look after his family — be a valued member of it. seokryu herself isn't extravagant in what she wants out of life — her dream is simple too: she just wants to cook.

but just because a dream is prosaic, does it make it any less precious? any less full of longing?

love next door brings so much compassion and subtle grace to the silent experiences of a completely normal life — falling in love with your best friend and not knowing what to do about it. joining a cooking class in your thirties after years of meaningless work because finding your own passion is a miracle at any age. thinking you know a person inside out because you've witnessed every step they've taken since childhood — and then finding out that they can still take you by surprise with the complex intricacies of their behavior.

there's a gentle reverence in the way love next door handles its subject matter — as if the show itself truly believes that simplicity is sacred. that a commonplace life is worth contemplation — deep exploration; empathy, understanding.

the ordinary world is where most of us live. and that's what makes its documentation — the description of its tiny heartbreaks; the daily cuts and bruises of every-day life, the small sparks of joy, connection, sustenance — so beautiful. so necessary.

this is what love next door does so well, and with such infinite tenderness. 🤍

[aurorsworld]

this whole episode; i kept thinking of these lines by cameron awkward-rich: 'please—what’s the word for being born of sorrow that isn’t yours? for having a family? for belonging nowhere?'

families can be zones of so much buried violence: whether it's seokryu's 'eomma' and 'appa' projecting their own life experiences onto their innocent daughter; or seung-hyo's mother accepting the same necklace over and over again; because her son is too distant to even realize that he's giving her identical gifts. their relationship is too impersonal for him to even write anything on her card. episode 8 hurt so much — and it hurt because it's real. this is what families are like: swallowed hurts and silent resentments. pain fisted in your hands like a weapon as you fight to be heard — to be wanted as your own self; and not just a vessel for your parents' unfulfilled aspirations. this is the trauma that tons of us carry.

one of the first things they tell you in therapy if you're not an only child is that you and your sibling do NOT grow up with the same parents. both you and your sibling experience entirely different versions of your parents — because the circumstances which they're in differ so greatly during each of your births and subsequent growths — and it can feel so utterly disheartening and unfair.

seokryu is the standard: the model child; the person her parents pinned all their hopes on. as such; she's never allowed to be anything less than perfect. because he's a boy, because he was sick, because he's younger — dongjin is indulged and pandered to and doted upon — even when he's being irresponsible. all her life seokryu has been side-stepping her own needs and wants; just to keep her parents happy — sinking into her own sacrifice until there was nothing left but burn-out and broken dreams. it shattered my heart to hear her mother say she'd rather have seokryu back in the US and married even if she's unhappy there — because that would mean she would get to boast about her daughter and receive gifts from her. that's not love — that's entitlement.

seung-hyo is the only person who truly loves seokryu for seokryu — for who she truly is, flaws and all: and that makes it doubly hard to witness her keeping him at arm's length at the end of the episode. the way he says that the reason he can't be friends with seokryu isn't because she's a woman, it's because she's seokryu — is so simple and profound. he sees all of her and accepts it — loves it. and that is so, so, rare. the act of true witness is sacred — to be seen as you are is a privilege.

(as far as the sickness storyline goes: i'm afraid to say i saw it coming. i wish the writers were more original; but i don't think seokryu will die. still, it doesn't sit well in my mouth. they could have come up with something better for conflict if they really had to.)

[aurorsworld]

Happy birthday and congratulations on 7k!! You deserve it. Thank you for sharing your gift for writing with us <3

Can I request apple pie- James potter + an airport terminal at midnight

I once saw a guy at the airport who looked a bit like James but I was looking busted and severely hungover from my last night of spring break to talk to him 😅

Thank you for requesting lovely!!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 688 words

“Excuse me.” 

The voice is soft but still you wake with something like a growl brewing in your chest, fingers tightening possessively around the strap of your backpack. There’s a boy with brown eyes and a strong chin looking at you concernedly from behind a pair of glasses. 

“Sorry,” he says, setting a hand on your suitcase. You’ve got your leg hooked through the handle, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to steal it, only resting his hand there. “Would you like this?” He holds up a clumped-up mass of fabric. 

You blink at him, trying to puzzle out whether he’s really making no sense or whether you’re just that tired. 

“For your head,” the boy clarifies. “You just, you don’t look very comfortable.” 

You lift your head, feeling the imprint that something poking through your backpack has left in your cheek. “Sorry,” you say blearily. “I don’t understand.” 

“That’s my fault,” he owns immediately. “Sorry, I meant would you like to use my hoodie as a pillow? So you can sleep properly.” 

“Oh.” You still feel odd, and it doesn’t help that this is the sort of thing that might usually only happen in a dream. Since when do attractive strangers walk up to you in airports? “Um, thank you, but you don’t have to.” 

“No, it’s really alright.” With your head lifted, he starts positioning it atop your backpack, fluffing it as though it’s a real pillow. “It’s my spare. I’m warm enough without it, see?” He gestures to the hoodie he’s wearing as if to demonstrate. It’s a deep red color that looks nice against his warm skin. He does look very warm, overall. “Anyways, there.” He steps back, grinning almost bashfully as he takes a seat across from you. “Now hopefully you can sleep better.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He nods, still smiling much too brightly for this hour of night (or morning, you suppose. Is it morning yet?). 

You close your eyes, trying to ignore how pleasantly warm your makeshift pillow is, like he’s been carrying it around in his arms all day. It smells nice, too, the scent of a shampoo you vaguely recognize and also pine, maybe picked up from wherever he’s coming from. You open your eyes again. 

“When’s your flight?” 

He looks back at you, pulling his headphones off one ear. 

“When’s your flight?” you ask again. “So I can make sure to give it back in time.” 

“Oh, not for a few hours yet.” He waves you off. His headphones come down around his neck. “We’re suffering delays. When’s yours?” 

“Five-thirty.” You feel weary at the thought of it, though you can’t wait to get out of here. You’ve been dying to leave this airport since you’d arrived, grievously regretting your decision to save money on a hotel for the last night of your trip. 

He makes a sympathetic hissing noise. “That sounds truly awful. Early bird gets the worm, though?” 

“Something like that.” 

He smiles, and maybe it’s the fluorescent lighting but you think that if you weren’t already lying down it would take your knees out from under you. “I’m James.” 

You tell him your name, and he nods like he’s tucking it away. 

“Are you going on holiday?” he asks, crossing one of his legs under him, getting comfortable. 

“Sort of,” you reply. “I’m going to see my mum. But she makes it feel like a holiday.” Something softens around James' eyes, and for reasons unknown it makes your face warm. “Where are you headed?” 

“My best mates are spending the holiday in France. They’ve spared me a pullout couch.” James tilts his head, looking far more content than anyone traveling at this hour ought to be. You wonder if his lips just lie in a permanent uptilt. “So where you’re going to visit your mum, is that where you’re from?” 

You reposition your backpack so you’re propped up a bit more, James’ hoodie still under your cheek but suddenly feeling less keen on sleeping the hours until your flight away. Oddly, you’re no longer dying to leave this airport quite so badly.

[aurorsworld]

Hey Mae! Congrats on 7k! Can I get James potter with apple pie, ²⁰⁾ rich vanilla perfume?

Thank you !

cw: slightly suggestive/mature behavior at the end, but only briefly and no details

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 407 words

James comes home from work exorbitantly happy. It’s not unusual for your boyfriend to walk through the door with a smile on his face, but you can tell this one is extra sunny. It’s impossible to keep your lips from curving in response. 

“Hello,” you say, somewhat coyly. You turn your gaze back to the bowl you’re washing in the sink. “How was your day?” 

“It was lovely.” James comes up behind you, easing his arms around your middle. He smooches your neck, and you squirm at the ticklish sensation. “Very, very good. I got a note from a secret admirer.” 

“Oh, did you?” 

“Mhm. In my lunch. It was very cute, clearly the work of a mastermind at romance.” 

You laugh. “Wow. No idea who it was, then?” 

“Nope.” James does a decent job of sounding downtrodden, though the hand he’s using to lovingly squish your tummy tells a different story. “It wasn’t signed. They did spray it with this lovely perfume, though, very nice, it was like vanilla and—wait.” He sticks his nose into your neck. It’s so ticklish you nearly shriek, but he holds fast to you. “I recognize that smell, don’t I?” 

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you laugh, raising your shoulder so he’s forced to retreat. “It’s a common enough perfume, it could’ve been anyone.” 

“Funny, I don’t remember gifting it to anyone else,” says James, but he’s playing nice now, his kiss on your shoulder more loving than playful. You let it drop, and he gives you one on your cheek, soft and sincere. “Thank you, sweetheart. It was a very nice surprise.” 

“I’m glad you liked it.” You feel a bit shy in the face of his blatant adoration. James senses it, kissing you again so he hits the corner of your lips. 

“I’ve had to bury it in a desk drawer so it’ll hopefully keep its scent for a while,” he tells you. “My pens are going to smell delicious tomorrow.” 

“Yeah? You like it a lot?” You know he does, he’d been the one to pick it out, but still you like to hear it. 

“A lot a lot,” James confirms. “You smell good enough to eat, angel.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

This time he hears the teasing in your voice, along with another tone he likes very much. When he smooshes his lips to your neck again, agreeing heartily, you decide to leave the dishwater to get cold.

[aurorsworld]

hiii! congrats on 7k and thank you for all sharing all of your lovely work with the world!

Could i request apple pie 🥧 for remus and prompt #13 please!

and happy birthday hun!!! 💛

Thank you angel <3

¹³⁾ frozen peas pressed against a fresh bruise

cw: modern au, jokes about violence

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 521 words

You work hard not to make a sound as Remus presses the bag of frozen peas to your face, but the pain makes itself known in the purse of your lips. 

“Sorry, darling,” he murmurs, frowning. 

“It’s okay.” You try to smile at him. You’d shed a few tears right when it happened, more borne from panic than anything else, and your poor boyfriend had looked so distraught. You’re trying to make up for it now. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore.” 

Remus huffs like he knows you’re lying. “I’m going to kill James.” 

“It was an accident,” you remind him.

“I heard my name,” James calls from the living room. “Y/n, what’s he saying about me? Should I go?” 

“Probably, if you want your moneymaker intact,” you hear Sirius reply at the same time as you call back, “No. Stay, James, it’s fine.” 

“It is not fine,” Remus mutters. He lifts the peas just a bit to see underneath, as if the injury might not still be there. When it is, he harrumphs (some would say rather dramatically). 

Really, you should have known better than to get out Just Dance while James was around. It’s fine when he wants to play at his house, but you and Remus’ apartment is too small for the excess of movement James Potter produces whilst in the zone. You’d been stepping behind him to bring Remus a drink when James’ elbow had come back hard, catching you just underneath your eye. 

James has apologized a dozen times, even offered to go to the store to get you some fancy bruise cream he likes, but none of that is good enough for your boyfriend. You doubt Remus will be satisfied until you agree to sock James in the jaw as recompense. 

Unfortunately, everyone besides you is on board with this plan. 

“Look, dollface, I’ve got him all ready for you.” When you come back into the living room, frozen peas still covering your eye, Sirius has his arms looped through James’ and is holding his best friend in front of him like your own personal dummy. 

James puffs his chest out. “I know I need to atone.” He shuts his eyes, turning his face to the side. “You can hit me in the same spot if you want to, just try not to break anything, please.” 

You laugh, but Remus replies before you can. “She can break whatever she likes,” he says drily. 

“Seems only fair,” Sirius agrees. “You did hit the girl in the eye.” 

“Hold on,” you say, forgetting for a moment about freeing James, “what does me being a girl have to do with anything?” 

“Yeah,” seconds James, “I can hit her just as much as I can hit a man.”

“Well, we’re not advocating for hitting anyone.” 

“Right, yeah. I just mean it’d be equal.” 

“You want to hit people?” Sirius pretends to be aghast. “Y/n, punch this sick freak before I do it myself.” 

“I mean,” Remus shrugs, stepping forward, “if anyone can do it…” 

You grab your boyfriend around the waist before he can do any real damage.

[aurorsworld]

congratulations on 7k lovely!!! you deserve it so much frr

can i ask for a spoke pie with any marauder (i really dont know which one to choose) + prompt 4 (red-painted nails)? thank you and love uuu

Thank you gorgeous <3

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 407 words

Sirius is waiting outside for you, dark hair and jacket gleaming under a streetlamp. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, getting his attention. 

He turns, a grin spreading over his face as he takes you in. “No worries, beautiful. You look stunning.” You smile back at him, feeling your cheeks heat under his appreciative gaze. “Can I kiss you, or will it fuck up your makeup?” 

You’re not sure, but you’d really like to kiss him. “Just, carefully,” you say, stepping into his space. 

Sirius rests a hand on your back, and a tingle leaps up your spine. His face is cold under your fingers. You wonder how long he’s been out here waiting for you. 

He keeps the kiss chaste and unmessy, a gentleman when he wants to be, but when you back up he stops you. 

“Wait, wait.” Sirius grabs ahold of your chin, not cruelly but firm enough to keep you from going. He looks intently at the lower half of your face. His bottom lip curls softly. “Perfect,” he says, seemingly to himself.  

“What?” you ask. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love this lipstick on you, doll?” 

You fight a smile. Only every time you’ve ever worn it, repeatedly and with increasingly dramatic declarations of devotion. “No,” you say. “Never.” 

“Well, I do.” Sirius kisses the corner of your lips. “So, I wanted to match.” 

He holds up his hand in front of you, displaying meticulously painted red nails. 

“Oh my gosh.” A little giggle trips out of you, and you steal his hand to hold his fingers up close to your face. “They look so good, baby.” 

“And they’re an exact match to your lips,” he says pridefully. 

You look up at him, half playful and half genuinely awed. “How did you manage that?” You try to picture your boyfriend moving through a store, picking up different shades of red polish and trying to recall which one is closest to your lipstick color. 

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Babe, I dream about your mouth. It wasn’t hard.” 

You feel a tickle of heat rise to your cheeks. Sirius can obviously tell, gleeful as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and plants a kiss on your cheek, far sloppier than the first. 

“Now, I’m gonna keep my hand near your face like this,” he says, leading you inside, “and we’re gonna see how long it takes James to notice.”

[aurorsworld]

A university degree, four books, and hundreds of articles and I still make mistakes when reading, You write to me "good morning" and I read it as, "I love you".

— Mahmoud Darwish

[aurorsworld]

RAINY WITH A CHANCE OF HOTCH - A.H

a/n: hi wow it's been a hot minute!

firstly, i just want to say i am so incredibly grateful for everyone who has reached out <3 i love you all and once i am not as overwhelmed i promise i'll go through my messages and inbox. you all are amazing and im kissing you all through the screen.

secondly, this summer was the hottest messiest express that could have been is the short n sweet explanation to my disappearance (sabrina reference, sorry i had to) but i just struggled hard core with my mental health and needed a detox from social media.

thirdly, but i'm back and i love you all and here is a short like fic featuring everyone's fav miss bimbo reader <3

masterlist

parings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: just some cuties being cute

wc: 0.6k

Hotch hesitated to acknowledge the fact that he found himself often gazing out of his office window, discreetly observing your arrival in the parking lot each morning. He attempted to justify this behavior by reasoning that, as the unit chief, it was within his responsibilities to monitor the welfare of his team.

He mentally recited the same mantra repeatedly as he moved towards the exit, an umbrella tapping persistently against his side. Hotch found himself calling out your name before he realized it, his hand shielding his face from the unrelenting raindrops as he took in your appearance.

"Stay there," he borderline commanded, moving towards you as you clung to the driver’s side door.

You looked as pretty as ever, with your hair swept back from your face and curls framing your doe eyes. It made you that much more alluring and, consequently, even more distracting.

When you first joined as his assistant, he discreetly suggested to whoever was in charge of the hires back then that he was less than pleased with the arrangement. He found it hard to focus, his eyes constantly drawn to you. He wanted to claim it was involuntary, but he knew there was intention behind his constant search for you.

"Well, hi there, boss man," you chirped, your disposition utterly unaffected by the water that had dampened your outfit. 

He considered himself a noble man, honorable even, or so he told himself as he resisted the urge to glance down at your blouse that was now nearly see-through.

He quickly unfurled the umbrella, taking the liberty of shielding your perfect face from the onslaught of raindrops. You smiled up at him in a way that was so carefree it made his heart clench in his chest.

He cleared his throat. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here.”

“Good thing you’re here to prevent that.”

Aaron’s face was now wet, rivulets of rain tracing paths from his hair to his chin. He struggled to prevent a smile at your words, tucking his chin into his chest to conceal it.

He let you take hold of his arm, your purse occasionally tapping into his leg as he closed your car door and started towards the entrance. You leaned in closer, earning a knowing look from him.

You smiled into your coffee, pink lipstick staining the travel cup. “What? I wasn’t all the way under the umbrella.”

He knew that was a lie because he wasn’t all the way under the umbrella, ensuring you were fully covered.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Your eyes are very expressive, Mr.”

“Then you should know I’m thinking we need to get you inside and dry." He looked at you knowingly, his grip on the umbrella tightening as you both reached the entrance.

“Dry? Around you?” you questioned, smiling innocently towards Hotch as he closed the umbrella and opened the front door. “Wishful thinking, sir.”

“Do I need to remind you we’re at work?”

Hotch combed his semi-damp hair with his fingers, flicking some water in your direction. You squealed, hands flying to shield your face, a stream of giggles following. The smile on his face was now inevitable.

“Sorry, can’t help myself,” you managed to say through the laughter.

He kissed your cheek softly, then started to walk to his office. Glancing back, he adds, “You’ll be sorry when we get home.”

That shut you up.

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[aurorsworld]

Sorry if you’ve done this already, but if you’re taking Spencer Reid requests I would love to see one where his wife is struggling with morning sickness and he takes care of her. He has all the medical facts on deck and is the sweetest. 😊

“Morning sickness is super common.” A hand on your back. “It’s not known what the cause is, but they think it has something to do with low blood sugar.” He rubs your shoulder. Fingers spread, a slow side to side. “Because your hormones are changing rapidly, the body isn’t as efficient in processing your blood sugar.“ 

“Spence,” you say, breathing hard with your face in a toilet bowl, “that doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

“What about if I told you that it’s worse with twins?” 

It’s interesting.

You’re not having the most exciting of pregnancies. Some people get pregnant and feel that connection to the baby instantly, their foetus the size of a strawberry and somehow a whole world. 

So far yours just makes you sick. “I think there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Probably not.” 

Spencer hoists you back from the bowl. He clambers off of his knees to close the lid, flush, and turn to the sink where he washes his hands. You put a hand on the lid, not so sure you’re finished throwing up, but Spencer tends to know. He’s a good guess. 

“Here, dove,” he says softly, offering a face towel wet with warm water. 

He tried to wipe your face down himself last time and you couldn’t hide how much you didn’t want him to do that. He’s kind, and the gesture is sweet, but you’re feeling less human than ever lately. An in depth analysis of your face isn’t in the books for him. 

You hold the towel in both hands and drop your head. 

“Let me help you up.” 

“I’m gonna just live here, actually.”

“I don’t think so. You’re too cute to live on the floor,” Spencer says, not even slightly ironic, “you have to live in bed like every other adorable woman.” 

“I don’t feel adorable.” 

“You wouldn’t. Your organs are moving and your skin is stretching, and the valves in your veins are becoming fatigued.” 

“Awesome.” 

Spencer holds both arms out to you and helps you stand. Your head pulses, forcing you to rest your head against Spencer’s arm for a few seconds while you come around properly. 

“You’ve never been this beautiful, though,” Spencer says softly, “you really do glow.” 

“Thanks,” you say, your laugh muffled in his shirt. 

“It’s because your blood flow has increased all over your body. Maybe. It’s probably just because you’re you and you’re having our baby and…” Spencer lets his head drop gently atop your own. “You know. You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Even when I’m sick as a dog?” you ask. 

“At all times… you know what I said earlier, about your blood flow? You know what else that causes?” 

You bring your arms up to curl them protectively behind his neck. He takes your waist. “What?” you ask his neck. 

“Your heart doubles in size.” 

“That happened when I met you.” 

“I think being pregnant has made you flirt more,” Spencer says fondly. 

“Nope. Just a side effect of all these certified Reid facts.” You know what he’s doing, distracting you from your nausea with other things. It’s working slowly, and you appreciate the effort. You might not feel a big connection yet to your baby, but you never feel alone.  

[aurorsworld]

girl girl hear me out YAPPER GF X REGULUS!! Pls pls pls like u could do anything u wanted with them!!! I have a few ideas (take any or none)

May be she just walks up to him one day like clearly wanting to befriend him cuz she has a lil crush and just starts yapping about how the great hall had her fave pastry for breakfast today and he's so confused but also intrigued and then she starts sitting next to him in classes and asking him to hang out at hogsmead and she just yaps and sometimes she thinks may be he zones out but then he'll bring up this super niche detail she mentioned last time like "hey what happened to that quill you forgot in the potions lecture?"

they r already dating and she worries she's too much energy and talk for him and tries to be quiet and he's just like r u sick? R u mad at me? What's wrong u haven't gone on a 30 min description/rant about ur day

3. May be someone else brings up she talks a lot and Reggie defends her?

you guys really love your bubbly/talkative readers with Regulus, don't you? (so do i); thanks for your request!

Regulus Black x yapper!reader who didn't think he was actually listening

CW: fem!reader, rolling thoughts, brief mention of difficulty making friends, people talking about reader behind her back, swear words (on ellecdc? nooo [sarcasm])

Your family said that you had an incessant need to fill silence from the moment you could talk. 

“If there’s a room with our daughter in it, you can be certain that it won’t be quiet.” Your mum had proclaimed as she beamed at you lovingly one day.

While it was certainly a trait that your family had always found rather endearing, you felt that it made it particularly difficult making friends once you began attending Hogwarts. 

But the friends you managed to make loved you for it, and they had often stated “you can call her what you want but you can’t call her boring.” 

That didn’t mean your other classmates appreciated your stories or tangents, though. 

Which is how you ended up serving numerous detentions for speaking during class or lectures and disturbing the students around you, and how you’d been cycled through numerous seat partners in potions class. 

And that is how poor Regulus Black ended up stuck sharing a worktable with the likes of you.

He didn’t seem to mind, though. And if he did, well, he certainly never said anything about it.

You were quite sure he tuned you out during your rambles, hardly ever sparing you a glance and keeping his eyes trained on his parchment in front of him as he took dutiful notes during lectures.

Couldn’t be you, however.

No.

You were too busy lamenting about the fact that you couldn’t get more than twenty feet to the mooncalf herd up the hill behind the quidditch pitch before they would all run off. They only came out at night, you see, and you wanted to take some photos of them. Some photos turned into midnight picnics, and picnics turned into sharing apple slices by means of throwing them towards the bug-eyed beasts and watching them argue over the slice until you threw another. But even after feeding them forty seven apples and counting at this point (Winky the house elf from the kitchen was not pleased with you), they still wouldn’t let you get any closer to them.

Your next course of action was to try a smellier and higher value treat; you wondered then if mooncalves could have tuna? Tuna was certainly smelly enough. Well, if you couldn’t entice the mooncalves, you’d certainly entice a cat or two. 

You wondered then if mooncalves and cats got along? Kneazles were nearly the same size as the poor beasts, but cats were much smaller. You figured cats would look at a mooncalf the same way they’d look at a goat. 

You’d seen a cat ride a goat once, not many people believed you, though. You’d have to learn how to make a pensieve one day just to prove it to everyone. You didn’t much care for goats, though; something about their square pupils seemed alien to you. 

Which seemed odd considering there were numerous beasts in the magical world that really were quite alien, yet it was  goats that did it for you.

And why were they always associated with the devil? Was it because of the square pupils? Do you think there’d be a book that explained that?

But you didn’t even realise that the period had ended until Regulus stood and collected his books, offering you a curt nod before leaving the classroom. 

Fuck….do you think he’d let you copy his notes? 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Merlin’s tits, she never stops talking! I feel bad for the poor sod stuck next to her; Black probably wants to avada himself every class. You heard a classmate mutter as you walked to your workbench, movements slowed as you lowered yourself into your chair and tried not to let their words hurt you. 

You were used to the comments, you were used to the sentiment honestly; did they think it was easy being you? Did they think you didn’t get tired of listening to yourself too? 

Of course you did, it was exhausting; your brain never stopped moving, and apparently, neither did your mouth.

But it did hurt a little, perhaps because Regulus had been quite gracious about it thus far. He had listened to you carry on about the astrological significance of space waste and how that was affecting the magic of the stars. He had listened to you bemoan about the positive impact that centaur migration had on local flora and fauna and how the fencing of fields and forests was going to cause unimaginable damage to the life cycles of such. He also had listened to your morose mooncalf story and the update the next day that you were able to order cans of tuna via owl to the castle.

And he’d not so much as bat an eye at you.

Certainly he’d have said something to you if you bothered him? 

Although, perhaps this was why Slughorn put him beside you, because he knew Regulus wouldn’t say anything; had Regulus done something to anger Slughorn? Was placing you beside Regulus less about you driving your seat mates crazy, but more about being a punishment for Regulus?

Well, you couldn’t imagine Regulus had done anything bad enough to deserve a full term with you as a potions partner.

No, you decided, you would not be his punishment.

So when Regulus entered class that day, and Slughorn read out the instructions for today’s potion brew, you resisted the urge to speak.

You were quiet when retrieving your potion ingredients, you were quiet as you checked and double checked the brewing instructions, and you were quiet as you waited for the potion to reach its boiling point. 

You actually thought you’d done quite well; you sort of wished you had started a timer, this may very well have been a record for you. 

Well, unless sleeping counted. Would sleeping count as being quiet? Oh gods, what if you talked in your sleep too!? You’d have to ask your roommates.

“L/N.” Regulus called as if it hadn’t been the first time he’d done so. “You alright?” He asked, ducking down in an attempt to meet your gaze as you watched a divot appear between his brows.

“Yeah? Why?” You asked, finding yourself furrowing your brows in solidarity; you found Regulus to be too pretty to look so worried. 

He shrugged his shoulders and straightened up, though the space between his brows remained divoted. “You’ve been awfully quiet, s’all.” He murmured quietly, and you were surprised to see a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You muttered perhaps pointedly; his eyes narrowing to match the furrowed brows. 

“Says who?”

Your eyes traitorously darted to the students who had been discussing your habits, and Regulus followed your gaze.

He rolled his eyes and muttered something in French under his breath as he turned his attention back towards your shared potion. “Those tossers are just mad that they have nothing of value to say.”

You more felt than heard a disbelieving breath escape your lips as you looked at Regulus in bemusement. 

He didn’t seem to notice though, as he continued to the next step in your potion and carried on. “Did the tuna work?”

You stared at him dumbly before your brain kicked back into gear. “I beg your pardon?”

“The tuna.” He repeated. “For the mooncalves?”

Oh.

“Oh.” You started, giving your head a shake as you tried to find your balance you had long lost during this conversation. “Erm, no, but I did indeed attract a few cats.”

“Ah.” Regulus offered, smiling at you (or at the expected poof from the potion signifying that the two of you had brewed it correctly thus far). 

“Also, I found out why goats are often associated with the devil, but the book you’d be looking for is Biblical in nature.”

You stared at him with your mouth agape as he continued. “There’s a quote where that Christ bloke mentions something about separating people from one another just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. They’re used as a metaphor for the ‘bad’ or ‘inferior’ member of any group; it could also be understood as the divide between the pure and the wicked. I say goats got a bad rap, though.”

The next step in your potion brewing process was to allow the potion to simmer until it turned a milky white colour, so Regulus lowered the heat before appearing to remember something.

“I almost forgot…” He started as he began rooting through his book bag. “I asked the shopkeep at Brood & Peck, and she said this is a favourite of mooncalves; maybe you’ll have more luck tonight?” He asked as he held out a parchment of beast treats to you. 

“You’ve been listening? This whole time?” You whispered in awe as you took the bag delicately as if  he had just handed you a delicate china dish. 

His brows furrowed again as he searched your eyes. “Well…yeah? I’m rather invested now.” He explained just as your potion turned its intended colour. 

“Very good Mr. Black, Miss. L/N.” Professor Slughorn commented as he walked past your workbench. 

You were alerted to the fact that class was over when everyone’s potions were vanished with a pop and students started to pack up their belongings.

“You’ll keep me posted, yeah? About the mooncalves?” Regulus asked as he started walking backwards towards the door. 

“Sure.” You murmured, earning you a wide smile from the notoriously quiet boy. 

Yes… You’d be more than happy to keep Regulus Black posted.

[aurorsworld]

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again.