#the wrinkles truly have elevated his looks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anlian-aishang · 1 year ago

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Tags: levi ackerman x reader, mutual pining [coworkers] to smut, only one bed, non-sexual spitting, alcohol mention, reader wears levi’s shirt, cunnilingus, penetration, modern AU, fem!reader Word count: 10,000 A/N: thank you to @lostinwildflowers for betaing this! Birch is one my writing idols, so I am truly honored. I hope you enjoy <3

This can’t be happening.

Unknowingly, the two of you shared a silent sentiment. After a late taxi, long lines of airport security, and racing to the terminal only to be delayed for several hours, the cherry on the shit sundae - as he would put it - was the midnight arrival to a hotel with only one bed.

“You’re sure?”

The look on the nervous teenager’s face conveyed the answer before he even uttered the question. Still, Levi knew he had to ask, audibly enough for you to hear - just so you would know that he did. In the face of liability, you had to acknowledge that he had tried his best.

“I’m really sorry, sir.” Their eyes were darting in panic between you and Levi as if you were the antidote to this angry customer. But he wasn’t angry, at least, not at them. Wasn’t the brat’s fault that Erwin booked the wrong room. “I have that in the afternoon of September the 15th, E. Smith booked a single king bed for one adult guest.”

“Two adult guests.”

They shared a lengthy eye contact. From the background, you watched their miscommunication unfold and cringed with secondhand embarrassment. You nearly burst into nervous laughter when they shrugged, “I can provide you with extra complimentary toiletries.”

At his sides, Levi unclenched his fists in defeat, “...We’ll manage.”

The plastic key cards made a satisfying sound as the receptionist slid them across the marble countertop - equal and opposite to the dissatisfaction on Levi’s face. In one smooth motion, he handed you your copy while simultaneously whipping out his cell phone. Two clicks - speed dial and call. Two rings - Erwin answered.

You couldn’t hear the other end, but you had your guesses.

Hello?

“You fucked up.”

Sorry?

“As you should be.”

For what?

“Stuffing two adults in one bed, what made you think we’d appreciate that accommodation?”

Given the looks you’ve been giving each other at the office, I thought you might.

Levi violently snapped his phone closed in hopes you couldn’t hear that. Thrusting his phone in his pocket, he used his free hand to snatch luggage from yours. “Give me that.”

A kind gesture, but irritation in his voice made it confusing. You thought to grab it back and insist that you could handle it, but instead, held your tongue. Clearly, he was steaming. Any objection, even a well-intended one, you doubted it would better his mood. Walking towards the lift, you concluded that nothing you had to say would supply ice to his ire. Though, the walk, time, and your calming presence, seemed to be working, you thought as you watched him delicately pad the UP button.

In the intimacy of the elevator, Levi allowed himself one venting word, “Idiot.” He sighed, placed his thumb and pointer finger on each of his temples, and rubbed wrinkles into his skin. “As if we haven’t already been through enough.”

Today and long before, the two of you had been through plenty together. Tonight was the first time you would pin it on Erwin. All other times, it had been your own selves and each other to blame.

He loved the way you looked in those small pencil skirts and see-through tights, but he hated what it did to him. Meetings in which he could only stare, absorbing nothing. In the middle of a phone call, when you walked by, he would forget its purpose and stammer aimlessly. Nights kept awake, staring at his ceiling, a blank canvas for projecting his wandering thoughts: how you would look with the skirt yanked up and the tights pulled down, how you took your outfit off after work, and if you wanted his help with that.

Countless times, you had cursed the man you crushed on. The way he ran his fingers through his hair when overworked made you want to try it yourself, to take his stressors away - or better yet - serve as the relief to them. On hot days, he loosened his top button. On lucky days, the top two. On his way out the door, he would tug his tie out from under his collar, creating a loop wide enough for you to slip your hand through and use it to pull his lips to yours - or so you imagined. Each day, Levi had fed you tastes. Over time, your craving for him had grown unbearable.

Ultimately, this out-of-town assignment was a test, and a final exam at that. Years of studying one another were culminating in one night, on one bed. The chime of the elevator interrupted your thoughts as if it was a warning: ground yourself. The plain of Levi’s expression and calm in his pace on the way to room 845 echoed its sense: he was unriled, uninterested.

Your read was wrong. Levi was thankful that you trailed him: with his back to you, you could not see his rouge tint, the bite of his lip, or the twitch of his cheek. As he pressed his key to the reader, held the heavy hotel door, and slugged both of your belongings atop the desk and dresser, you admired the way he moved so suavely - when actually, he considered his motions stiff, careful, and calculated.

Neither of you bothered to turn on the light. Taxed bodies, tired eyes, and tempted temperaments shared a desire to finally climb in bed. No need to delay things any longer. Levi unzipped his suitcase, the sound garnered your attention. Immediately, you noticed now neatly he had packed, admired his organization and pristine folds, then planned that when it came your time to unpack, you would aim to shield your messy methods from the clean freak’s vision.

A gray cotton tee - matching his eyes, black sweatpants - same shade as his hair. A navy canvas travel bag topped the pile. Levi leaned effortlessly against the white bathroom door and stated, “I’ll change in here.”

You nodded vehemently, as if he had ordered you on an important mission, “I’ll be out here.”

Cute. And at that intrusive thought, he silently ducked away.

Unbuckling his belt, tugging his zipper, freeing his legs from his slacks, Levi tipped his head back against the wall and sighed. Every muscle in his body finally untensed, he was set free from one cage of many. His business-casual confines had been done away with. Now, he just had professionalism, work relationships, and his fucking hormones to maintain.

His boxer briefs were agitatingly taut, struggling to constrain years’ worth of tension in their cotton threads. Levi looked down to his lap and cursed himself. Hovering around thirty, yet all the composure of a fresh young bachelor. Gradually, Levi hooked his thumb beneath the elastic waistband and loosened just a little, allowing him room to breathe. Too much room maybe as the chill thermostat air contrasted harshly with his warmed passion and drew a loud hiss. Levi clenched his teeth hard in an attempt to bar his vocals, praying to whatever power that you wouldn’t knock on the door and call Levi, you alright? It was just the kind of person you were, and Levi had come to know you well.

That anxiety turned out to be false, for your ears were ringing: ignorant of his desires, overwhelmed by your own. Gingerly, you unzipped your luggage and fret at the sight: a little black nightgown with lace on the hems. Its sight hit you like a load of bricks, lightning to the thunderous memory of your midnight, sleep-deprived, frantic packing. That woman was giddy for the business trip with her office crush and, in that frenzy, picked her sexiest pajamas for the special occasion. Goddammit! If only you knew that he wouldn’t be seeing it from across the room as a tease, he would be sleeping next to it, maybe even feeling it if one of you crossed your half of the mattress. Cursing yourself, you dug frantically in search of something - anything - else to wear to bed, but were rudely met with only pantsuits and blouses. You bunched your nightgown in your trembling fists, but its thinness and shortness allowed it to fit wholly in your hands - foiling your coping strategy. All you could do was tip your head back and sigh to the ceiling, Fuck me.

That feeling echoed when you draped it over yourself and saw your reflection in the hotel window. Your hair was disheveled from the long day. Makeup smeared and ran down your face, eyeliner to eyeshadow. Wrinkles in your silk dress. Looks like you were already fucked.

On the other side of the door, Levi was thinking the same thing: he was absolutely fucked. His erection stood high after minutes of waiting. Cold water splashed on his face, but his fever seemed to evaporate it. Trying to think about humbling topics, but he couldn’t get you off his mind. To make his arousal vanish, there was one thing he could do, but there wasn’t enough time for that. Even if the shower were running, Levi doubted that the downpour of water would be able to suppress the noises of slapping skin or his embarrassingly heightened vocals. Fuck. Levi clutched the bathroom countertop and sighed at his reflection. His exhale fogged the mirror just before he hung his head down and conceded. God, help me.

His prayers ignored, you ended up knocking on the bathroom door eventually: “Levi?”

Every nerve in his body froze. He stammered more times than he would have liked before managing a stern “What?”

“Sorry! I just -” humiliated heat seemed to radiate off of you, “- take your time, I just -”

Half listening, half panicking, Levi seemed not to pay mind to your take your time - stepping into his joggers and throwing on his shirt as fast as he could.

“- can I brush my teeth?”

You were startled when his response was a quick and loud turn of the handle, wordlessly letting you in. Levi was surprised to see you the way you were: temptress dress with a toothbrush and toothpaste innocently perched in each hand. The eye contact lasted for three seconds, but you could have sworn that it was that many years long.

The twitch of your hands and your heart’s lofty goals placed a dollop of toothpaste twice as big as you normally would. Had to have perfect breath, just in case. Not even just in case, you were going to lay beside him - mere inches away - for the next several hours. In those seconds of pondering, gravity began to spill your toothpaste off the bristles and towards the pristine marble vanity. With haste, you jammed the toothbrush into your mouth, causing you to gag on your device.

Levi felt his erection press against his waistband and rolled his eyes at his own stupid urges. You assumed that eye roll was for you and offered an innocent grin. Not so innocent, however, was your curiosity. His t-shirt was tight, leaving little to the imagination. One arm’s reach from an array of muscles, you kept your eyes deliberately on the mirror ahead. However, your doppelganger had a mind of her own apparently, gaze falling from eye contact and onto his chest, waist, abdomen. Without even having to turn his head, Levi could see your staring, obviously more obvious than you thought it would be. With your attention on his lower half, Levi allowed himself a smirk.

Such a silly thing, but was this the first time you brushed your teeth next to someone? This handful of minutes was inexplicably romantic, oddly domestic. Pajamas, double sinks, and the end of a long day. You had been coworkers, acquaintances, and unknowingly requited lovers, but for this one moment, you were husband and wife.

White toothpaste lined the gap between his top and bottom lip, and for some reason, you felt your knees buckle. Levi ducked down to spit, a polite attempt to hide it. Your eyes rejected his offer, instead widening as your pupils honed in on the sight. Leaning forward ever so slightly, you savored yet loathed the way his rejection ran down the pipe. What a waste.

Levi sheathed his toothbrush back in its protective case, a neat freak through and through, and slid it back into his tote. Sifting through, he stumbled upon a mini bottle of mouthwash, making him freeze with indecision: added freshness at the cost of spitting in front of you again? He felt that once had already been rude enough. Levi shot you a side-eye and made an unexpected eye contact: he was trying to read you, you were already staring. Mutually miscommunicated guilt, both of you felt you had been caught and snapped back to aversion.

It came your turn to rinse your mouth, and he couldn’t help it. Levi could have blamed his peripheral vision, could have blamed the bright lights that lined the mirror, but hard-pressed, he could not come up with an excuse for why he watched you then. The streak of white that shot out of your mouth, its wake dribbling down your lips. Goddammit, you cursed your clumsiness and hastily wiped your mess with a washcloth. He knew it as well as you did: he should have been grossed out. Only Levi realized, though, how much he liked it, he was just too ashamed to admit it.

Though his arousal screamed, his lips stayed silent. There was a time and place.

Was there? You’ve worked together for how long? All those years, they never had a time or place?

A long inhale, a slow exhale, his fingers curled underneath the cold countertop, hoping its chill would thwart the flush of his chest. Fuck how badly he wanted to kiss you then, to thumb that white stain off your chin and into his mouth, to clutch the backs of your thighs and hoist you onto that vanity. Your waist in his hands, your sex in line with his -

“Levi?”

“Yeah?”

His rapid response, you mistook it as anger. While the voice on his shoulder was lust, yours was insecurity. Surely, you’re the last straw. Having to share a bed with a dork like you? He’s had a tough day. Don’t make him endure this.

“Do you want me to take the floor?”

A dumbbell dropped to the pit of his stomach. Of course not, but for you to bring it up, he must have been hasty to assume that you would share the bed. Levi grit his teeth, annoyed with his lofty goals. Two slow blinks, “I can.”

That was the last thing you wanted. “N-No… I don’t - I don’t mean…” Your lips parted in stammer. Eyes darted as if the tile walls would whisper you the answer. For a moment, you cursed the beautiful neutrality of his face: impossible not to love, but impossible to read. His stillness was contagious, though, and brought you to settle on an answer, “I’ll meet you under the sheets.”

Ears burned red as they checked: was that selective hearing or was that what you really said? Before his eyes could study you, you turned on your heel and closed the door shut.

Once again, on opposite sides of the door, your sentiment was shared: Phew.

He took a few minutes after that. When he finally walked out, he found that you had been lotioning your legs over that time. Dim glow of the bedside lamp reflected on your smooth skin. If not for the way he had come to know you, to respect and appreciate you, this sight could have been the cover of some sketchy magazine. Eagerness glazed your eyes. Your hands had been massaging your inner thighs, now a perfect shield for the gem between your legs. Levi gave the slightest shake of his head, not disapproval, but disbelief. How did you manage such effortless perfection?

Was that not everything about you, though? The most minute smile in meetings. Biting your lip when you were bored. A laugh so beautiful that it served as its own positive reinforcement, beckoning others to amuse you again. Were you the one?

Or was it the eyes of your beholder? Maybe you weren’t perfect, maybe that’s why you were in his eyes. Despite all the signs of your singlehood - never in a rush to get home, never a mention of a date - he never truly believed it. It was a war of his flawless intuition and steep infatuation. Either you were the one for him, or he had been wrong all these years.

Get in the bed, idiot.

His stride was steady, captivating, as he made his way to the side of the bed. In habit, Levi crossed his arms across his torso, prepared to lift up, but caught himself halfway. No, he would not be sleeping shirtless tonight. Neither would he sleep in his loose and breathable boxer shorts, but instead, stifling fleece. Already, for one reason or another, he was sweating. Upon approach, the layers upon layers of sheets, blanket, and comforter looked even more suffocating. He caught a glimpse of the thermostat, but then of you, and found your skin laden with goosebumps. Lips rolled beneath his teeth, bargaining, but he could not bring himself to turn the AC up while your body temperature was down. Just as strongly, he refused to do anything that might make you uncomfortable, like taking off his clothes, no matter how badly he wanted to. More words would have served you both well, tearing down the artificial barrier your doubts were constructing.

Can I take this off?

I would love nothing more.

But you were both stupid to imagine that dialogue.

Levi slowly reclined back, sighing as he sunk into the sheets. Already, his skin was burning. He combed his fingers back through his bangs and released a heavy sigh. A heavenly trial, you read it as a hellish endurance, and instinctually apologized, “...I’m sorry about this.”

You have nothing to be sorry for, Levi pondered the response, but deemed it too much. Instead, he feigned a disinterested mumble, “It’s Erwin’s fault.”

You, on the other hand, indulged your gut feeling, “He’s done worse.”

Levi huffed a single exhale, his version of a chuckle.

You turned on your side. He loved that you chose to face him rather than the wall. He hated that he even thought of that. You were so close, he could feel the mattress dip between you, could feel your breath cool against his skin. Eyes fluttering shut, your voice was either sultry or exhausted, a glass-half-full kind of thing. “Good night, Levi.”

Fuck, what a fight, battling the urge to kiss you then and there. Your eyes sparkling, noses nearly touching, he had sworn that this was how all the shitty romcoms went, but he failed to find anything lackluster about this scene. His lips yearned to close that distance, arms ached to perch themselves at your sides. Levi redirected that energy to his hands, fisting the comforter hard as he draped it gently over your shoulders, “Night, (Y/N).”

But how were you going to sleep like this? Although you were running off a 20-hour day, you felt that sleep would be a waste. Queueing for tickets to see your favorite artist, only to close the window the moment your turn came. Styling your hair just to go and get it cut straight after. Champagne dumped down the drain. Mentally, it was an unbearable thought. Physically, your body was even more resistant to the idea. Your middle was fucking throbbing. Nipples stood tall against their skimpy silk covering as if reaching for more contact, his contact. Legs squirmed against one another, trying to smother the burn between them, but you willed them frozen: don’t wake him up.

In your best state of mind, you would have recalled the symptoms of his insomnia: always a tall thermos of caffeine on his desk, perpetual circles under his eyes, especially the times you both worked late. On your way out, you would peek through the pane of glass on his door to wave good-bye. Now and then, he would be hunched over his desk, imprints of the keyboard on his cheek - a makeshift pillow for his crash naps. With a shred of thought, you would have realized he was likely already awake, but you were incapable of even that. It was midnight when you crawled into the king bed. Red digits at your side now read 1:40 AM, yet you knew that not one of those one-hundred minutes had been spent in sleep. Coffee in the morning, nerves on the plane, hormones now, you had left composure back at your apartment and you weren’t sure you’d get it back at any point of this business trip. I mean shit, you swore, this was only the first night.

Only the first night. One of many sure to come, right? How many nights had he gone to bed alone, kept awake with longing of having you by his side? How many mornings had he woken himself up with a sleepy mumble of your name, only to find one half of his bed empty? It couldn’t all be for nothing. Now that he was sharing the bed with you, it was all he ever wanted, yet you were still out of reach. Uncharacteristic, the most reliable man you knew was spiraling in thought.

But to you, it would make sense: the only one who could bring Levi Ackerman down was none other than himself. He saw it a different way: you were the only one who could dismantle him like this.

You could feel his heat emanating, could see his sweat reflecting. Before you could stop yourself, your affection had boiled over, “Levi…” your voice was hoarse, having gone hours without as much as a whisper, and unexpectedly loud. His silver gaze drifted to you, depleting the last of your reserves, you mused, “...you’re hot.”

A statement, not a question. In near pitch blackness, he allowed himself a rare smirk. Levi waited until it faded to turn towards you.

You pinched the hem of his shirt in your fingertips, nails accidentally scraped his abdomen on the way. “Want this off?” You tugged lightly, “I don’t mind.”

At the same time, you shivered, and Levi filled in the blanks to ground his wandering mind. “Cold?” His hands brushed yours on the way to the bottom of the garment. Levi bunched fists in his fabric and lifted it effortlessly up, over, off his head - as he wanted to do all those hours ago. Pent-up relief, he thrust his shirt to you and offered, “Could’ve just asked.”

You were right all along. All along, those loose button-up shirts had covered a chiseled body. He must have been curling with arms like that. A pull-up bar on the back of his bedroom door, how many repetitions did it take to get these muscles? Your eyes scanned every inch of him but could find not one flaw. Your lips were moving, but words failed to emerge. There were a million things you wanted to say to him, to tell him, but only one came through. You received his gift gingerly and muttered, “Thanks.”

This was a moment you had distantly fantasized over for years. Turns out, this was even better than you dreamed. His shirt carried a garden of mint, lavender, and tea leaves in its scent. In putting it on, you felt that you gained a glimpse into Eden. The fabric was satin soft and sheer thin. In watching you wear it, Levi felt in the presence of an angel. It highlighted the curves he loved and introduced him to ones he had never noticed before. Brows narrowed, pupils dilated in his gaze - concerned and deviant. The straight cut forced your waist and hips to confine. The small-pattern chest was clearly never meant to accommodate a body like yours. Threads were spread taut by your cleavage, nearly torn apart as they strained to cover you. In his eyes, he thought it fit you perfectly.

Arms finally through the sleeves. Beneath them, your hairs stood on end. Again, you shivered, but could not pinpoint why. It did not take the shiver, though, to convey your state. Your erect points stood above all. Levi looked to you with both pity and admiration, his voice their lovechild: “Look at you.”

You simmered, embarrassed yet teasing, “Looking isn't helping.” You crossed your arms before your chest and bundled yourself together, “If you really care -”

He did.

“- then do something about it.”

Unfolding the quilt from the foot of the bed, turning up the room’s temperature - those were the most straightforward solutions. But Levi was not thinking straight, and he had a feeling that was what you wanted. Slowly, Levi sifted his arm behind your shoulders, when you snuggled in, he sealed his wrap with a hand at your side.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze descended to meet yours. Likewise, you raised your gaze to meet. Painfully aware that this was a first for the both of you - neither his passion nor your arousal would shut up about it. At the same time, watching you shiver reminded him of all the times he had silently substituted your needs. Behind on work, you never asked for assistance, but would hurriedly throw things his way if Levi offered his help. When your car wouldn’t start that one winter day, who knows how long you would’ve paced in the parking lot had he not pulled his sedan beside yours and given you a jump? A sharp pang seized his heart in realization: he thought you were close, and now you were physically there, yet you still were not comfortable enough to ask him for anything - even though you both wanted it.

“Y’know,” his thumb rubbed your shoulder, “you should learn to just ask for what you want.”

Indeed, 2 AM haze was shrouding his awareness, too - particularly his self-awareness. Was it not him who steeped your tea in the mornings and tidied your desk before he left each night? He could have - should have - just asked you out all those times. How much sooner would this night have come if he had? Levi swore to live without regrets, but that did not stop him from acknowledging the opportunities he had missed thus far. He tossed you the takeaway he wished he had learned long ago: “Makes things a lot easier.”

At first, you thought he was chastising you. The stern monotone of his voice could chill you to the bone at times, but when you took in his expression, you felt warm all over. His brows were not knit, but perched in a tender lift. His breaths were not terse, like when he got annoyed, but slow and calm. At the same time, though, you could feel his heart pounding hard, could hear it when you placed your ear over his chest. Clouded moonlight softened those hardlined features, and again, you wondered if this was your first night together or actually your honeymoon: wasn’t this kind of pillow talk reserved for spouses alone?

A deep swallow, and the last time you checked yourself. Could he have looked any more genuine? Any more readable? Transparent? You didn’t think so. For the man of few words, this was all but an admission of his feelings for you, and it was the best look you had ever seen on him. His advice, his command, invited you to try that outfit on.

“Practice with me?”

One slight nod, so slight - you knew no one would have noticed it but you. In that, you felt your confidence soar, pulling the words from your heart to the air between you both, “Hold me tighter?”

He did.

“Pull me closer?”

He did.

“And kiss me already.”

Levi could not describe it, the feeling that overcame him when he heard your demand. Proud of you. Relieved. At peace yet exhilarated. The serenity that all was right in the world, yet the anticipation of what he had wanted all along. The nature of the kiss aligned with the latter. For two agonizing seconds, he examined you. Assured by the sight of your smile, he longed to taste it for himself. Thumb pressed to the curve of your chin, index finger perched under it, slowly yet with unwavering passion - that was the way Levi brought your lips together.

Soft, as he expected. Expert, as you had. Initial contact was delicate, the warmup slow. Levi always went so hard at everything he did, held such a sharp tongue, which was why the way he brushed against you made your heart stop. You knew strength to be his greatest, most innate feature, and therefore you deciphered that this tenderness was a display of exertion. Levi showed no signs of struggle, though. Touch-starved for you, yet his lips chose to waltz rather than tango. His hand on your chin drifted to the back of your neck. Nape cupped in his palm, he used that leverage to drift you here and there, allowing him to taste all of you - encouraging you to do the same with him.

Levi tasted like peppermint, the brand so sharp that it made you sneeze now and then, he had learned after enough lunch breaks. You tasted like cinnamon, the stick that baristas stuck in his chai come the colder months. When your tongues met, they created a new taste. After minutes of exchange, they became addicted to it. Their craving demanded all efforts in that search: Levi’s grip pulled you closer, you threw an arm over his back. Breaths turned to gasps, a wordless understanding of all you would do for the other: grab his mail on the way in, walk you to your car at night, and kiss until you were out of breath.

The thought had never crossed your mind, but his actions disintegrated it - the possibility that this was some selfish, opportunistic spell. Levi was nearly shaking with anticipation, his erection pained with neglect, but that did not influence his pace. Each time you thought the makeout might end, he would catch his breath with “pretty girl…” before joining you once again. His kiss was lovely, as was the spark at your middle, but his ardor was gas to your flame, and before you knew it, you were ablaze. You found your body rise against his, pushing off the mattress, and rolling to grind against the friction of his rigid figure. Levi was everything you ever wanted, and maybe you were just that desperate or just that greedy - the fact that you needed more. He wouldn’t have you any other way.

You thought twice before breaking from the kiss, one last deep plunge of your tongue to his throat before pulling away, conscious to savor the taste. “Levi…” you sighed.

A string of saliva hung between you, the clean freak calmly closed his fist over it, and you felt yourself shudder again, “can we keep practicing?”

His lips were one degree north of flat, about as big of a smile as anyone would see on Ackerman. Tonight, just the two of you here, it felt inexplicably, particularly special. “Make love to me.”

An advanced learner, you always went the extra mile. Back then, Levi had no doubt, it was the reason you had been promoted so quickly. Now, it was that you had aced the first lesson and jumped to the next: no longer asking, demanding already. Sentimental was not a feeling he knew, but proof that you were this comfortable with him was indeed something.

His praise reflected that feeling back onto you, “That’s right, good girl.” The back of his hand brushed unruly strands from your face. A kiss on your forehead rewarded, “like that.”

Once more, he pressed his lips to yours, but it was not even a second that he stayed - just a starting point to the journey that was exploring your body. Lips slid to the corner of your mouth, down your jawline, neck, then chest. A trail of hickeys and teeth grazes was left - tomorrow’s meetings and your professionalism having vanished from his mind. His hands joined the excursion: one gentle yet relishing in its caress of your neck, the other crawled up your - his - shirt. The familiar texture of his old garment contrasted with the novel feel of your skin. Muscles twitched with satisfaction, disrupting the fluidity of his motions, but you found beauty in the unpredictability of his touch. Rose-colored lenses were blind to the signs of his weakness, instead chalking those movements up to Levi’s expertise. As you tipped your head back and sighed, Levi figured it was the first misunderstanding that had done you two any good tonight.

On his descent, he could not help but take a stop at your breasts. Turns out, it was never just his imagination, but given your curvature, of course your buttons would have been stretched to contain you. Those blouses had been his guilty favorite for that very reason, but his tight t-shirt was taking a close second. No, that slip you wore when you joined him in the bathroom, that must’ve been the best, right? Blood rushed, pupils dilated, his body anxious for a visual refresher.

You were going faster than he could have hoped. Already, he was proud of you for having graduated to demands. Now, you had learned to act on your own - either having read his mind or listening to your own desires. Levi could not decide which possibility he preferred, but when you lifted your top and perched it at your clavicle, he was ashamed to admit that his mind had discarded all other affairs.

Levi nestled his cheek in your cleavage, and though you were over a thousand miles away, he felt he was at home. Warm pillows cupped him, and both of you felt that the space was made for him to fill. Levi’s breath was hot on your skin, yet your nipples appeared as though you were in a winter wilderness. Of course, he took notice in all your details, and sighed in mutual enamor, “Fuck, baby…”

It was a tone you had never heard in his voice before. Desperation and desire in a man so ever assured and disinterested, you felt your panties drip from damped to soaked. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You, too, was what you thought to say, but somehow, the word seemed inadequate. His body was artwork: a symmetric abdomen, muscular forearms, veins that stood against his skin, you longed to trace him as such. Bangs that fell perfectly imperfectly over his face, begging that you run your fingers through them: mess with them now, gel them straight in the morning. You could slice paper on that jawline, could get lost in his eyes. No matter how long you stared, and stared you had, Levi was like the sunset: even after a hard day, always breathtakingly gorgeous.

Especially with the perspective you had now. One hand cupped your waist, the other your breast, perching you into his mouth, eye contact deliberately maintained throughout his movements.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Levi’s tongue swirled your nipple before his lips audibly slurped. “To get what you want…”

Again, the fog of the nameless hours between night and day had blinded him to the relevance his words had to himself. How long had he wanted this? How good did it feel? He had no verbal answer for it, only the fervor of his actions: sprightly tongue and rocks of his hips. As you always had, you filled his gaps: while he could not fathom the words, yours overflowed.

“Oh, Levi… Fuck, Levi…!” your desperate cries of his name made him leak onto the hotel sheets, no longer pristine. Your harsh exhales ran currents through his hair, and suddenly, it seemed you two had traded temperatures. Now, he was the one shivering while you sweat through the shirt. For his fever, he craved one antidote. Crawling down your body, his approach to the medicine cabinet. He prepared to ask for his dosage.

“My turn.”

Huh?

You propped yourself up on your elbows and took a good look. A good look: Levi had wedged himself between your legs. Fingers caressed your thighs with a precise pressure, a touch that tickled in a way that made you want more, yet was strong enough that he could push your hips to the mattress and pry your legs apart. You had to bunch your fists and rub your eyes to check, maybe 3 AM was just fucking with you.

Levi read your search for reassurance and inserted conviction into his tone. His stare and voice unwavering, “Can I taste you?”

Yeah, 3 AM was definitely fucking with you, for this was too good to be true. His sharp chin dwindled above the soft of your sex. His gaze set on your soul. Both of you agreed: his hands had never felt so calloused until they met your smooth thighs. It was a dream you would have woken up thankful to have had bestowed on you, but the grip he had on you was so perpetually undeniable: this was real. Head spinning, mind raced to catch up, yet Levi’s wait was so astonishingly still. Levi knew he would make you feel good. Based on your state, it seemed he was already doing that. Now, you just had to say yes, but he would not push you towards any one answer, nor would he do anything more until you arrived at it. If you wanted it, you had to ask for it, sweetheart.

A flood of thoughts swirled in your mind, each one screaming over the other, you felt you were drowning. In your search for stability, you relied on your sense of sight: Levi Ackerman between your legs. What the fuck are you waiting for?

“Y’Yes, Levi.” You reached down and held his forehead. As you brushed his bangs from his face, he offered another half-smile, but it was brief, for he was past the point of eager. Still, the calm in his pace remained. Slowly, his hands snaked from the backs of your thighs to the sides of your hips. Thumbs hooked between the straps of your panties and your skin. His fingers clenched over them, bringing the garment past your knees, down your shins, and off your ankles. From chest to toes, you were now entirely exposed. At first, you wrangled with embarrassment, but his infatuation was your comfort. Hunger seized his vision, thirst drove his actions. You had nothing to be afraid of.

His earlier route, lips to neck, neck to chest, chest to torso, was now mirrored. Levi cupped your heels in his hand and lifted your feet, allowing him to plant kisses up and up your legs, drags of his tongue followed to connect the dots. Minutes gone by, and even after having pocketed your consent, he still had yet to put his mouth there. Spending time to appreciate your thighs, he wanted you to know how long he had been anticipating this, and now that he had finally landed his spot, he would be damn sure to save the best bite for last.

Left arm wrapped around your thigh, Levi nestled his head against it, allowing his perspective to stay sound on your sex. His right hand trailed from your knee to your middle, and at last, you knew he was getting started. At first, it was his fingertips, and at that mere first touch came your sudden awakening as to how dire your desire had grown. Your hands flew back and clutched your pillow, Levi admired the tendons that rose in your wrist, and your voice, “A’Ahh!!”

He shot one glance up to check on you, but the look on your face ensured you were more than okay. With that, he decided to repeat the pattern of his rubs. Index and middle finger paired as they rode the sliver between your lips, your arousal slickened his knuckles. Once wet enough, he would split his digits into a V, each one taking responsibility for one of your folds. When that friction ran dry, he would return to your core, a seemingly never-ending source of lubrication, to run the process back again. You should not have been surprised, for everything with him was purposed - in the office or in the bedroom. With your interior and exterior in a coat of your own clear, he would have the freedom to run his mouth, no need to lick his lips or garner more saliva. Years of anticipation, now that the moment had arrived, he was going to spend the extra seconds to make sure this went according to plan.

Your glisten was so thorough, looking at you, Levi swore he could see his own weak reflection, the blush on his cheeks, the sweat on his forehead. In that way, his plunge was accelerated: preferring to trade the sight of his unruly state for the taste of you. Lips circled to match your curves, and you quickly identified this as a familiar feeling in an unfamiliar place. Levi was kissing you with the same tenderness he had displayed in your makeout, only now, he was between your legs. His jaw stretched wide to ensure he could reach every inch, from the top of your cleft, along your crescent sides, and to the spot where they rejoined. With his mouth in control, he let his hands indulge in your body, adorned upon your delectable waist, light squeezes of your ass, and massaging the divots of your inner thighs. His lips practiced that motion with a goal of perfection. Meanwhile, his tongue distracted you from any signs of his learning. Slow, purposed drags from bottom to top made your love pool on the tip of his tongue - each accumulation swallowed with a satisfied groan. Levi’s oral was pristine, only an occasional slurp and smack, allowing both of your vocals to take the stage. Your sky-high gasps, his low and satiated moans. He lived for the moments you would syllabize his name “Le-vi…” His “there you go” always followed, implicitly begging for more.

His neck began to bob in support of his movements. With that came a whole new level of pressure and slate of angles. His sharp nose slanted against your curves, lovely opposite to your soft. Your scent and your taste moved mountains within him, and in that, he noticed: his emotional pull was just as strong as his physical. All his life, he had grown to love bitter tastes, perhaps because they had been force fed to him. You were the first cube of sugar to have landed in his drink. Now, he had honey straight from the source. Levi felt his erection press hard against the mattress, “Fuck…” he whined, “you taste so good.”

Breath caught in your throat, all you could manage was a light sigh. As your lips twitched, he generously helped, taking the words right out of your mouth. “You have no idea…no idea -” Levi moaned, “how fucking long I’ve been waiting for this.”

At those words alone, you felt you might climax right then. Had he been eavesdropping on your dreams? How did he know that you had been fantasizing over that exact sentence for an unspeakable amount of time? “Me - Me too, Levi…”

Your admission was even sweeter, lifting his feelings from indulgence to fulfillment. All the nights he had spent awake, wondering if you were thinking of him the way he was of you, your confession was confirmation that this had been requited all that time. Levi found it both gratifying and maddening: gratifying to have discovered that your feelings were mutual, maddening how many years had gone by until that discovery. Levi grew determined to make up for all that time, revenge reflected in the acceleration of his actions.

Levi shoved his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you into a shameless, unhideable angle. Good thing, he mused, no more hiding. Shoulders propped at your midthigh, keeping you perched apart. Fingers wrapped around your skin, he pulled you down the bed and crashed you onto his face. Your gasp was exhausted as you tried to keep up. Both of you knew, though: you were no match. As his tongue thrust to unfathomable depths, you likewise could not conjure any idea of how to withstand this. Nose rubbed against your swollen bud, brows narrowed in determination, he looked nearly angry. Working hard for your climax, harder than he had for anything else, even his own.

Shit…!

If this keeps up…

A telltale tide turned in your tummy, spasms sparkled along your legs. Fingernails pierced the pillowcase, fighting off your impending loss of control. You could not delay it, not unless he - You fisted your hand in his hair, and he thought this was it. Instead, you pushed him away. “L’Le-vi…” a series of rapid pants, “hah, hah, ho’ld… on!”

His tongue flattened still. Between the vertex of your legs, his steel attention rose to you. Not anxious, but concerned, You alright?

“I, I want -”

At those words, he once again simmered with pride, thankful you had taken his ask for what you want to heart. After a few more breaths, you managed the minimum composure to plead, “I wanna cum with you.”

Levi’s first thought was one of generosity, you know you can have - I can give you - more than one, right? But he knew you better, and he knew what you meant. You wanted your first to be with him, and though he was parched with thirst, desperate for the taste of your cum in his mouth, your wants were foremost his. With a deep, patient breath, he watched your twitches slow to still. When the threat of your orgasm vanished, he calmly laid one final kiss to your core, etching your taste into his memory. His silver stare swallowed you down, a mental polaroid of your pose. His palm massaged your sex in physical praise, promising that he would never make you wait again, and that he’d definitely make you cum next time.

He started to ascend back up your body, but you flung yourself forward and met him halfway. Brows arched in shock, his eyes widened briefly, you closed them with another kiss. Mint flavor of before had been washed away by the taste of you. Further evidence of his devotion, you desired to prove that you were just as committed to him. You hooked your elbow to his nape and threaded fingers through his undercut - your turn to pull him here and there, granting yourself the freedom to explore the parts of him that you had always wanted to. Most of all, the length growing harder and harder to ignore.

Still, you were conscious to withhold your rush. You endeavored to slow your pace so that you could match the one he had performed on you. How good it felt - he deserved to feel it, too. You ran your hands down his chest the way rain slid down a windshield. Levi felt his boxers turn wet when your palms pressed upon his pecs, the buds of your hands kneading his tender patches. His exhales turned crackly, his inhales uneven. Laying kisses on each of his abs, down and down his torso, your contact held the compliments you were too shy to say. He heard them and reciprocated them: arm wrapped around your waist, bruises where his fingertips pressed - he hoped they would stay till morning, and that when you saw them, you would remember the love he had shown you tonight

Finally, you dipped your fingertips below his waistband. Sweat glazed his hips, allowing you to slide your hands in, but at this point, there was not much room for you. His erection had taken all his threads had to offer. You spared him the begging, sliding his cotton down his outstretched legs and finally releasing him from their confinement. Soaked in his own anticipation, veins visible, his arc steep. The shade of his member matched the one of his cheeks: the pink of a vulnerable blush, the crimson of ardent lust. As he watched you watch him, another dribble of clear dripped down his length. Levi grit his teeth and cursed. From stifling heat to cool air, that drench turned from comforting to exhilarating. In the wake of his tried swears, you gently cupped your hand around his girth and cleaned him as best as you could, spreading the leakage of his tip down to his base - his shaft your path. Contrast to his stress, you soothed him as you always had, just a different context this time.

It was his turn to cling to the sheets. Hands clawed into the comforter, you watched without shame, enchanted by the way his forearms flexed. Heels ground to the mattress, toes curled in sheets. Each motion was accompanied by either a sharp inhale or short exhale. Was it sadistic or considerate of you to keep pumping him despite that?

Levi loathed the way he stuttered through your name, on the other hand, you adored it. Levi cupped the back of your head in his hand and tugged your ear to his lips. His breath was hot on your cusp, yet somehow, it sent chills through you. Your sex had landed atop his lap, his cock nestled between your folds, still wet from his prior excursion. Pleasure had him growling, the look in his eyes both commanding and desperate, “Let me take you.”

Obliging and insisting: as one, you leaned back and he pressed forward. Your head landed atop the plump pillow, his hand beside it. Before you could blink, he had plummeted onto your lips again. This kiss was so opposite of all prior: his tongue demanding entrance, grazes of his teeth, and bites of your lip, loud and messy. You had cut Levi Ackerman to his last thread of composure, that was where you had always wanted him.

And this was how he had always wanted you: your most unabashed, honest, purest and filthiest self. He always found it so painfully obvious, how much you strained to stay prim and proper, polite and professional at work. It was why he lived for the times you slipped up: an eye roll in meetings, the long sigh after a conference call. Levi knew that the real you was there, and now you were here: in this shared bed with his shadow cast over your skin.

There was just one thing, though, that differed from his expectations. Desire was painted on each of your features, but they were glossed in nerves. Twitches in your lip, rattle in your lungs, eyes glistening, he feared they were tears. You cinched your hand around his wrist, and he recognized that smile. It was the kind you donned when you spilled your coffee or showed up late. Adorable, but unassured, and that would not do in this context.

“You’re nervous.” Levi did not ask you, for he knew his intuition was accurate. “Wanna stop?”

You shook your head and insisted vehemently, “No.” With a tilt of your chin and arch of your back, your lips brushed his with each word you spoke. Seeped down his throat, understanding swallowed: “I want to start.”

Levi returned your characteristic smile with one of his own. Tipping your foreheads together, “You’ll let me know if you change your mind.”

An order or a question? Either way, your heart scoffed at the idea. You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? There was no chance in hell you would change your mind.

“Or if it gets too much.”

That, there was a chance of. It had taken him mere minutes between your legs to bring you to the point of screaming and to the brink of climax, but that was what you wanted. His consideration fed you calm, you fed him reassurance. The flicker in your gaze settled, meeting his of solid steel. You tucked his bangs behind his ear and affirmed, “I’m ready, Levi.”

Fronts pressed, heartbeats matching, there was only one connection left to make. By the grips of his hands on the backs of your shoulders, Levi pulled himself those last crucial inches, and closed that final gap. His tip slick with precum, your slit dripping with anticipation, yet accommodating him was no easy fit. He had spent all that time down there with the goal of making it easy on you, but watching your face scrunch and hearing your voice whine was not half bad, either.

In fact, he had not even made it halfway in yet, and you were already writhing. Levi bit the inside of his cheek and knit his brows, careful not to push you too hard, conscious for signs of your apprehension. You sensed his wavering and clawed his back, pulling yourself further down his length.

Looking up, his expression was strained. Reaching new depths, pushing past your initial walls, his voice poured exertion. Still, he did not stop pushing. Toes arched into the mattress, calves flexed with each labored drive. Each fuck brought the two of you closer. For him, one more inch of his length. For you, one more stretch of pleasure. For the couple, a proximity you had always wanted. Each of you felt a tremendous responsibility to be the one to close that distance.

Repetition after repetition, his muted grunts melted to audible groans. The air between you was no longer saturated by your gasps alone, but his as well. His strain was the only thing that could ground you from nirvana and back down to earth. Despite his squint, he caught that transition: from the throes of sensation to the snap back to reality, all because you were concerned for his well-being. More than any sense of pleasure, your affection was what made his heart pound in his chest. Doe eyes gazed upon him, You okay?

After a series of hahs and ahs, Levi managed just a couple words, “It feels - It feels…”

Good? Bad? Your heart tensed in anticipation. Pleading and ordering, “Tell me, Levi.”

Knuckles tight, fingers trembling, “...good!” Levi clenched his teeth and pulled himself forward with an aim of backing his words with his actions. After struggling to past your entrance, the force of this fuck brought his tip to your end, drawing shrieks from you and shock from him. Strength of his magnitude had pros and cons, he supposed. His flaws, you deemed them his perfections.

The damp of your cunt was audible, resounding throughout the room. You found yourself at an impossible choice: which was more embarrassing, your voice or your sex? Levi’s thought was similar and opposite, the same choices, just which was better? Levi decided that their symphony was best, and realized he could turn up its volume if he accelerated his pace.

“Levi, Levi…!” To say his name came naturally, practically a swear word: the satisfaction of cursing after injury or mistake, so wrong yet so right to scream it out loud.

Pleasurable pain when he hit your weakest points, a delightful exercise as your walls stretched to accommodate him. His eyes remained set on your face, ears tuned to your voice, translating your body language into instructions. Rapid thrusts to make you pant, but only until you started to choke on your own gasps. Then, he would decelerate, replacing speed with strength. When he filled you up, you would sigh and roll your eyes back. To Levi, that was the sign to dial it back up and get you there.

Since this started, his read on you had been perfectly accurate. You were almost there. Simultaneously yet unknowingly, your inner voices warned: you won’t last much longer. The thing was, you didn’t want to, for you had endured so much already. The heat in your middle was unbearable now. Each nerve had been fried to its last end. This sex had gone on for hours, but your yearning had been years long. In your haze, you were blind towards any reason to deny yourself any longer. You wrapped your legs around his waist and relied on your calves to pull him closer. Bringing him to your end made Levi approach his. “Fuck…!” His voice was a low singsong, an adult lullaby. “(Y/N), (Y/N)...!” No longer a choice between deep or fast, Levi somehow managed both. Physiology threatened to overrule now. No, already…!

“(Y/N), I…I’m - ! ” His mind was racing now. Should he ask to cum or tell you he was? Should he withdraw so that you could get there first? Levi labored to open his eyes, looking to you for an answer. His senses of sight and touch told him: you were already there.

The pulsation around his cock, the steep arch of your spine, your parted lips and blissed-out face. The scrape of your nails down his back, ignorant to the possibility of hurting him. This was how Levi had always wanted it: to be the one you clung to, to offer himself when you were overwhelmed. Count on me. The orgasm that overwhelmed you now, that had been his doing, right?

Once again, it was as if you had read his mind. Without him having to ask, you answered: “Levi, Levi!!” Your hands squeezed him tight, white patches beneath your fingertips. Clinging to him, the life raft through each of your waves. “Y’Yours… I’m yours…”

He had gifted you tissues for your crying spells at work, had picked up your lunch on the way back from break, but this provision was far preferable, much more fulfilling. Even as you turned his skin red, even as your legs clenched him and squeezed air from his lungs - no, even better - those were precisely the motions that pushed him over the edge.

One hand clutched the top of the headboard, tight enough that you heard the wood wince. The other caressed your face with feathered tenderness. In that difference, you were once again reminded of his duality: on one hand, a hardass, but for you, a soft spot. Those dimensions were reflected in his voice, too: swears that made your ears burn and groans that turned the air heavy, yet arid gasps that lifted your soul and praise fit for a princess. While your cunt had run raw and slippery from his fucking, his warm cum filled you and soothed your stings.

As you both came to, Levi lingered inside, patiently waiting until each of your waves crashed - savoring them. With a deep swallow and a delicate nod, he ensured he would handle your aftercare. Kleenex from the nightstand folded and padded against your sex. You sat up in panic, worried about the clean freak’s reaction, but he seemed particularly satisfied. Maybe it wasn’t that he hated filth, but that he loved clean-up. You bit your lip and bit back a smile, believing that the sex tonight had evidenced that.

Though his aftercare was doing much for your affection, it did pathetically little when it came to cleanliness. Both of you realized, not even the entire box would be enough. Levi looked at the wad of tissues in his hand, shook his head, and scowled, nearly laughing at the ineffectiveness. “We’re filthy.”

Slowly, you made your way to his side. Carefully, you reached your arms around his back. Wrapped within your grasp, you leaned him back against your chest and whispered into his ear, “Good thing there’s a shower.”

Levi spun just enough to meet your eye contact, once again checking to see if he had heard you right. Three hours ago, he would have defaulted towards the no, always having believed one could not be let down if they did not get their hopes up. Over the years and especially tonight, your optimism was swaying that opinion. Your sound smile and unafraid stare confirmed: after all that mess, you were also keen for cleanliness. In post-coital clarity, he saw how stupid he had been to wait this long, and Levi almost said those three sacred words right then and there.

But this was only the first night of the trip.

And the first day of the rest of your lives.

// masterlist //

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #levi ackerman #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x y/n #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot x you #snk x you #anlian writes #my writing #alias's #oneshot #2023 #smut #salt and pepper

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raekensluver · 5 months ago

Text

rekindled bonds (2)

introduction, part one, part two,

description: you and spencer are paired together for a hotel stay but theres only one bed...

pairing: spencer reid x bau agent!fem!reader

contains: talks of typical criminal minds violence, fluff, one bed trope

song rec: lovers rock by TV girl- "you like a pretty boy, with a pretty voice."

w.c: 2.3k

an: one more part to go! i'm a sucker for the cliche what can i say?

months had passed since your first harrowing case, and over time, the bond between you and spencer had grown stronger. the late nights at the office, poring over case files and bouncing ideas off each other, had turned into a routine that felt as natural as breathing. outside of work, you'd discovered shared interests, from obscure documentaries to a mutual love for a quiet cup of tea.

spencer had become your confidant, someone who knew the real you, not just the tough exterior you presented to the world. he had a way of peeling back the layers with his soft-spoken wit and disarming smile. it was in those moments, when you were both exhausted from the weight of the job, that you found the most comfort in his company.

his quirks had grown on you—his endless supply of facts, his meticulous organization, and the way he'd chew on the end of his pen when he was deep in thought. it was in those quiet moments, surrounded by the chaos of an ongoing case, that you realized how much you'd missed having someone who truly knew you.

you remembered the summers spent at his mother's house, the two of you running wild through the neighbourhood, coming up with imaginative games that lasted for hours. the way his eyes would light up when you'd introduce a new twist to a story, or how you'd sit for what felt like an eternity, trying to solve the puzzles he'd pull out from under his bed. those memories were like a warm blanket, a reminder of simpler times when the biggest challenge was keeping up with his boundless intellect.

now, standing in the lobby of a hotel late at night, you couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu as you both looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the plush, overly patterned couches. the scent of stale coffee and a faint hint of cleaning solution filled the air, a stark contrast to the excitement of the outside world. the team had just returned from a long day of interviews and surveillance, and the weariness was etched on each of their faces. spencer leaned against the reception desk, his tie loose, and his shirt slightly wrinkled from the day's exertions.

the lobby was mostly empty, save for a few bleary-eyed travelers checking in or out, and the occasional yawn from the night clerk. the silence was only broken by the muffled sounds of the television in the corner, broadcasting the latest news story about the case that had consumed you all for weeks. it was a grim reminder of the gravity of the situation, of the lives hanging in the balance of your investigations. yet, amidst the somber atmosphere, spencer's eyes found yours, and for a brief moment, you shared a look that spoke volumes without saying a word.

prentiss looked around at the team, a hint of exhaustion in her voice. "alright, everyone. we're all booked into the same floor. try to get some rest tonight. we've got an early start tomorrow." the team nodded in unison, dispersing to collect their keys from the desk. as you approached, the clerk looked up, a friendly smile on his face. "you two together?" he asked, holding out a single keycard with a flourish.

spencer opened his mouth to correct him, but you were too tired to bother. "yes," you said with a yawn. his eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing. the clerk handed over the card, not noticing the unspoken tension. "you're in room 314. have a good night."

you both turned towards the elevator, the echo of your footsteps the only sound in the deserted hallway. "you know, spencer," you began as you stepped inside the small metal box, "i hope you're okay with this." you nodded towards the card in your hand. "i just sort of…assumed."

spencer's cheeks flushed slightly, and he shrugged. "it's fine, really," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "i mean, we've known each other for years. it's not like we haven't shared a room before." but his eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of discomfort or doubt.

you couldn't help but smile, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a gentle embrace. "true," you agreed, "but it's been a long time since we've had a sleepover." you playfully nudged his shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing the quiet, carpeted corridor of the third floor.

as you made your way down the hall, spencer glanced at the room numbers, counting under his breath. "just a few more," he murmured. the anticipation grew with each step, the weight of the day's events and the looming case pressing down on you like a thick, suffocating blanket. finally, you reached room 314.

you inserted the keycard, the lock clicking open with a sense of finality. as you pushed the door, it swung inward to reveal a modestly sized room with a king-sized bed dominating the space. a small living area, with a couch that looked suspiciously small, was neatly tucked into the corner. a small, round table held a coffeemaker and a couple of mugs, along with a few complimentary packets of instant coffee. the curtains were drawn, allowing the streetlights to cast a soft glow across the room.

spencer hovered in the doorway, his suitcase still in hand. "i can take the couch," he offered, his voice tentative. but the thought of him being uncomfortable on a makeshift bed was too much for you to bear after the long day you'd had.

you rolled your eyes playfully and padded over to him, taking the suitcase. "spencer, you're being ridiculous. we're both adults, and we can handle sharing a bed." you said, your tone firm but gentle. "plus, we have a big day tomorrow. we need our rest." you added, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth.

his eyes searched yours for a moment, looking for any hint of insincerity. but all he found was the same reassuring warmth that had been there since the day you'd met. with a sigh, he relented, allowing you to take the suitcase and set it by the bed. "thank you," he mumbled, his cheeks still flushed.

spencer began to unpack, laying out his clothes for the next day with meticulous care. you couldn't help but chuckle at his fastidiousness, a stark contrast to your own haphazard pile on the chair. as he folded his shirt with the precision of a seasoned military man, you moved to the bathroom to change into your pajamas. the sound of running water filled the small space as you washed your face and brushed your teeth, the coolness of the water a welcome reprieve from the day's tension.

as you emerged from the bathroom, spencer was sitting on the edge of the bed, already changed into simple sweatpants and a t-shirt his glasses perched on the nightstand. with gentle, practiced movements, he removed his contact lenses, the brief look of vulnerability making him seem younger than his years. the way his eyes squinted slightly as he gently rubbed them clean brought back a flood of memories—his first pair of glasses, the way he'd squinted at the board in school, the excitement of discovering a new book that had kept him up all night.

you climbed into the bed, the softness enveloping you like a much-needed hug. the coolness of the sheets was a balm against your overheated skin, and you sighed in relief. "good night, spencer," you murmured, rolling onto your side to face the wall, away from the soft glow of the lamp sitting on spencers bedside table.

spencer slid in beside you, his movements careful and deliberate, as if trying not to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the room. "good night," he echoed, his voice barely a whisper. for a few moments, the only sound was the steady rhythm of your breathing, the quiet hum of the air conditioner, and the distant murmur of the city that never sleeps.

despite the exhaustion that tugged at the edges of your consciousness, your mind raced with the details of the case, piecing together the puzzle that had brought you to this unassuming hotel room. the weight of the gun at your side was a constant reminder of the danger that lurked just outside the door.

spencer seemed to sense your restlessness, he reached over and placed a comforting hand on your arm. his touch warm and grounding. "try to sleep," he said, his voice soothing. "we'll tackle it all in the morning." his eyes searched yours in the dim light, and you could see the genuine concern reflected in their depths.

his hand remained there for a moment longer before retreating, leaving a lingering warmth in its wake. you felt his eyes on you as you rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. the silence stretched out, each second feeling like an eternity as you both lay there, lost in your own thoughts.

you took a deep breath, breaking the quiet. "do you remember, spencer, when we were about ten years old, and we used to take those walks around the neighborhood?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "the ones where we'd stay out until the streetlights came on?"

his breath hitched, and you felt his eyes on you again. "yes," he replied, a soft smile in his voice. "we'd talk about everything. it was like our own little escape from the world."

you nodded, feeling his gaze still on you. "we'd make up stories about the people we'd see," you continued, your voice a little wistful. "like that old man with the three cats, we were convinced he was a retired secret agent."

spencer chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "i remember that. we'd spend hours planning how we'd infiltrate his house and find his secret lair." his voice grew softer, a hint of nostalgia painting his words. "you always had such a wild imagination."

you felt a smile tug at your lips. "yeah, and you were always the one who knew every possible escape route." you rolled onto your side to face him, propping your head up with your hand. "it's funny how things come full circle, isn't it?" you mused. "now we're actually solving mysteries together."

spencer's eyes searched yours in the dim light, his smile mirroring yours. "it is," he agreed. "i never thought we'd end up here, but i'm grateful we did." his voice was soft, filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to charge the very air between you. "i've missed having someone to share all this with."

his words hung in the air, and you felt your heart swell with an emotion you hadn't expected. "me too," you whispered, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. the warmth in his gaze grew, and for a moment, you forgot about the case, about the dangers that lurked just outside the hotel room door. you were just two old friends, sharing a bed in the quiet of the night.

spencer's hand found its way back to your arm, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your skin. the sensation was soothing, a gentle reminder that you weren't alone in this world, that you had someone who understood you in a way that few ever could. "we've come a long way, haven't we?" he said, his voice filled with a sense of wonder.

you nodded, feeling the warmth of his hand seep into your very bones. "we have," you murmured, your eyes never leaving his. the room was still, the only sound the steady beating of your hearts, echoing in the quiet like a secret code that only the two of you could understand.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day finally begin to lift. "good night, spencer," you said, your voice softer than you'd intended. his eyes searched yours, a silent conversation passing between you, filled with unspoken truths and the comfort of old friendship.

spencer's hand paused on your arm, his thumb making lazy circles. "good night," he replied, his voice thick with something unidentifiable. you watched as he reached up to switch off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. the sudden absence of light made your heart skip a beat, and you could hear the rustle of fabric as he settled into the bed beside you.

you didn't know how much time had passed when you were jolted awake by the shrill ring of the alarm clock. the room was bathed in early morning light, and spencer's arm was draped over your waist, his body curled towards yours. it was a position that spoke of trust and familiarity, and for a moment, you couldn't remember where you were. but the weight of his hand on your hip brought everything rushing back—the case, the hotel, the gravity of the situation.

you gently nudged him awake, the warmth of his skin lingering even as he shifted away to silence the alarm. the room felt smaller somehow, the air charged with something new and unspoken. you both sat up, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and spencer looked over at you with a sheepish grin. "sorry," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "i didn't mean to…"

you waved off his apology with a laugh. "it's fine," you said, the sound bouncing off the walls. "i didn't exactly have nightmares with you as a human teddy bear." you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the coolness of the floor a jolt to your system. spencer's gaze followed your movements, his eyes lingering for a moment before he cleared his throat and stood, moving to the window to pull back the curtains.

the cityscape outside was bathed in a soft, early morning light, the buildings casting long shadows over the quiet streets. "we should get ready," he said, his voice still a little gruff from sleep. "we have a lot to do today."

taglist: @yokaimoon

edited: 8/30/24

#spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid fluff

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hd-junglebook · 9 months ago

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Little Dove

Quinn Hughes x Reader

masterlist link

a:n This is part 1 and officially my first ever Quinn Hughes fic, this series will be pretty long since I want to get into the details and emotions. There will be no skimping on details. Not round here partner.

also he looks so good in this gif good god!

summary: Sometimes Y/N's effort just isn't enough; every attempt seems to be futile and disregarded. The people she calls mom and dad do nothing but disappoint her, brushing her off as an ungrateful child. It seems the only person who can truly see her is Quinn.

Word Count - 4140

...

The sun had barely begun to peek through the towering skyscrapers of the bustling city as Y/N stepped out of her sleek, black car. Her red bottom heels clicked against the pavement with each confident stride, the sound echoing through the quiet morning air. She adjusted her perfectly tailored skirt, smoothing out any wrinkles that may have formed during her commute.

As she approached the imposing glass doors of her parents' company headquarters, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease.

Despite the success and prestige that came with working for her family's business, Y/N knew deep down that this wasn't her true calling. Nevertheless, she put on a brave face and pushed through the doors, ready to tackle another day.

The security guard, a friendly older gentleman named Frank, greeted her with a warm smile. "Good morning, Miss Y/N," he said, tipping his hat in her direction.

Y/N returned the smile, her red lipstick a striking contrast against her porcelain skin. "Good morning, Frank. I hope you had a lovely weekend," she replied, her voice smooth and polished, befitting her corporate persona.

As she made her way through the spacious lobby, her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, announcing her presence to the few early risers already at their desks. She entered the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, where her office was located.

Stepping out into the hallway, Y/N was greeted by the sight of her office, its glass walls doing little to provide privacy. The modern, minimalist design was a reflection of her parents' tastes rather than her own. She sighed.

With a deep breath, Y/N pushed open the glass door and entered her office, ready to start another day in a job that left her feeling unfulfilled, yearning for something more.

Y/N settled into her plush, ergonomic chair, the leather cool against her skin. She reached forward and pressed the power button on her sleek, silver computer, watching as the screen flickered to life. The familiar logo of her parents' company appeared, a constant reminder of her obligations and the path she felt pressured to follow.

The computer hummed quietly, Y/N began to sort through the stack of paperwork on her desk. She picked up a folder, her perfectly manicured nails a stark contrast against the crisp, white paper. Just as she was about to open the file, a buzzing sound emanated from her designer purse.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N reached into her bag and retrieved her phone. The screen displayed a new text message, and her heart skipped a beat as she read the name: Quinn. she opened the message.

"Hey princess," the text read, the words both endearing and frustrating.

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair as she contemplated her response. Quinn had a way of blurring the lines between playful banter and genuine affection, leaving her constantly questioning the nature of their relationship. His messages were often short and casual, but the term of endearment he used never failed to send a flutter through her chest.

Despite his repeated claims that he wasn't looking for anything serious, Quinn seemed to take pleasure in pushing the boundaries, leaving Y/N in a state of confusion and longing.

She knew she shouldn't let herself get too attached, but there was something about him that drew her in, making it difficult to maintain the emotional distance she knew was necessary.

With another sigh, Y/N set her phone back down on the desk, trying to focus on the task at hand. She knew she needed to establish clearer boundaries with Quinn, but the thought of pushing him away completely left an ache in her heart.

Y/n shook her head, attempting to clear her mind and concentrate on the paperwork before her, even as thoughts of Quinn lingered in the back of her mind.

…

Y/N's attention was drawn away from her mother's presentation as her phone buzzed once more. She discreetly glanced at the screen under the table, her heart racing as she saw Quinn's name appear again. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and guilt as she read his messages.

"I miss you," the first text read, causing a warmth to spread through her chest. Before she could fully process the implications of his words, another message followed: "Are we still good for tmrw?"

Y/N's mind raced as she contemplated her response. She had agreed to go out with Quinn for dinner tomorrow, a decision she had made in a moment of weakness, longing for the thrill of his company.

Now, sitting in the business room with her parents, the reality of her situation came crashing down upon her.

She glanced up, her eyes meeting her father's stern gaze from across the table. He sat in his imposing grey chair, his posture straight and attentive as he listened to Dedra's presentation.

Y/N knew that her parents had high expectations for her, and the thought of disappointing them weighed heavily on her conscience.

As Dedra continued to explain the new company policy, Y/N found it increasingly difficult to focus. Her mind wandered to thoughts of Quinn, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the effortless charm he exuded. She yearned to respond to his messages, to confirm their plans and lose herself in the excitement of their secret rendezvous.

Y/N's heart raced as she quickly typed out her response to Quinn, her fingers flying across the screen. She glanced up every few seconds, ensuring that her parents were still engaged in the presentation. With a final look of determination, she pressed send, a small thrill running through her body.

Almost instantly, her phone buzzed with Quinn's reply. "Wear that red dress I bought you."

Y/N's eyebrows raised in surprise, a smirk playing on her lips as she typed back, "The v neck dress?"

"Yeah, that one."

"I will ;), I have to go back to work, I'll text you later." Y/N sent the message, a giddy feeling bubbling up inside her chest. However, her momentary happiness was short-lived as she felt a sharp kick under the table. Her eyes snapped up to meet her father's disapproving gaze, his brow furrowed in irritation.

the meeting concluded around her, Y/N's coworkers filed out of the room, muttering their polite goodbyes. Soon, only Y/N and her parents remained, the tension in the air palpable. Her mother fixed her with a stern look, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Y/N, you're not taking this as seriously as you need to be. This will be you one day." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Who were you talking to?"

Y/N's heart sank, knowing that lying to her parents would only make matters worse. She opened her mouth to respond, but her father cut her off.

"Was it that hockey guy?" He scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "He sucks, he'll never be good enough. I should've paid him off four months ago if I knew he'd be such a distraction."

Y/N's cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and anger. She hated the way her parents spoke about Quinn, as if he were nothing more than a nuisance to be dealt with. She knew they would never approve of their relationship but hearing them talk about him so callously only strengthened her resolve.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N met her parents' gazes, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "Quinn, and he's not a distraction.” Her mother's lips pressed into a thin line, disapproval etched into every line of her face.

Y/N's parents exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes filled with a mixture of disappointment and condescension. Her mother, Dedra, was a striking woman in her mid-50s, with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and a designer suit that hugged her slender frame.

Her father, Derek, was a tall, imposing man with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual scowl that seemed etched into his chiseled features.

Dedra leaned forward, her elbows resting on the polished mahogany table. "Y/N, darling," she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "you know we only want what's best for you. This... Quinn," she said his name as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth, "he's not good for you. He's a distraction, a phase. You'll see that soon enough."

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the all-too-familiar sensation of her parents' manipulation taking hold. She opened her mouth to protest, but Derek cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Enough, Y/N," he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the empty conference room. "You're not a child anymore. It's time you started acting like the adult you claim to be. This company, this life we've built for you - it's all we've ever wanted for you. And you're throwing it away for some lowlife hockey player who barely even made it to the big leagues."

Y/N's cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. She hated the way her parents made her feel, as if her thoughts and feelings were invalid, as if she were nothing more than a pawn in their grand scheme.

Dedra reached across the table, her perfectly manicured hand grasping Y/N's wrist. "Sweetheart," she said, her tone softening, "we love you. We just don't want to see you get hurt. Men like Quinn... they're not in it for the long haul. They'll use you, break your heart, and move on to the next pretty face. You deserve so much more than that."

Y/N felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let her parents see her weakness. She knew they were wrong about Quinn, but their words still cut deep, playing on her insecurities and fears.

Derek stood up, his tall frame looming over her. "This discussion is over, Y/N. You'll end things with this Quinn character, and you'll focus on your work. Your future. Do I make myself clear?"

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. She wanted to scream, to tell her parents that they had no right to control her life, but she knew it would be futile. With a curt nod, she pushed back from the table and stood up, her legs shaking beneath her.

"I have work to do," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you'll excuse me."

Without waiting for a response, Y/N turned on her heel and strode out of the conference room, her heart hammering in her chest.

…

The clock on the wall seemed to move at an agonizingly slow pace, each tick echoing through the cramped office space. Y/N leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking beneath her weight as she stared blankly at the computer screen.

The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow on her features, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes and the tension in her jaw.

Around her, the office hummed with activity, the sound of ringing phones and the gentle whir of computers filling the air. Y/N felt suffocated by the monotony of it all, the endless hours spent hunched over her desk, pouring over spreadsheets and reports.

As the clock finally struck three, Y/N let out a sigh of relief, the thought of going home filling her with a sense of euphoria. She could almost feel the soft embrace of her couch, the warmth of a glass of wine in her hand as she left the stresses of the day behind.

Just as she was about to log off her computer, a sharp knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Alexandra, the secretary, peeked her head in, her perfectly styled hair and immaculate makeup a stark contrast to Y/N's tired appearance.

"I sent some of the paperwork to your email," Alexandra said, her voice saccharine sweet. "If you could just finish those up before you leave, that'd help a lot."

Y/N felt a surge of anger course through her veins, her patience wearing thin. She fixed Alexandra with a cold stare, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's three. I get to go home now, you know, like a normal person."

Alexandra's eyes narrowed, her lips pursing in disapproval. Y/N knew that the secretary had always treated her like nothing more than a privileged nepo baby, completely disregarding the fact that Y/N had never used her family's influence to step on any toes or make people do her bidding.

Y/N stood up from her chair, grabbing her purse and jacket from the back of her seat. She could feel Alexandra's eyes boring into her back as she made her way towards the door, but she refused to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her frustration.

"I'll take care of it in the morning," Y/N said, her hand on the doorknob. "Have a good night, Alexandra."

Without waiting for a response, Y/N stepped out of her office, the sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floor as she made her way towards the elevators.

She could feel the weight of the day lifting from her shoulders with each step, the promise of freedom and the warmth of her bath calling to her like a siren song.

As the elevator doors closed behind her, Y/N let out a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned back against the cool metal wall. She knew that the road ahead would be filled with obstacles, but for now, all she wanted was to lose herself in the comfort of Quinn's arms and forget about the expectations and pressures that threatened to suffocate her.

…

The faucet let out a high-pitched squeak as Y/N twisted the gleaming chrome knob, the sound echoing off the tiled walls of the dimly lit bathroom. The flow of water slowed to a trickle before stopping completely, leaving behind a tub filled with steaming, inviting water.

Tendrils of steam rose from the water, carrying with them the intoxicating aroma.

With a fluid motion, Y/N untied the sash of her plush, white bathrobe, the soft fabric slipping off her shoulders and pooling at her feet. The cool air kissed her bare skin, sending a slight shiver down her spine as she stepped closer to the tub.

Tentatively, she dipped a toe into the water, testing the temperature. The heat was intense, but not unbearable, and Y/N slowly lowered herself into the bath, letting out a contented sigh as the warm water enveloped her body.

The water lapped at her shoulders, the heat penetrating her tired muscles and easing away the knots and tension that had accumulated throughout the day.

Y/N sank deeper into the rose petal-filled bathwater, the sweet, floral aroma wafting through the steamy air. The soft, delicate petals brushed against her skin, their velvety touch a gentle caress. She inhaled deeply, the scent of roses mingling with the subtle vanilla notes of her favorite candle, creating a soothing, intimate atmosphere.

As she leaned back, her hair cascaded over the edge of the tub, the ends dipping into the water and creating gentle ripples on the surface. Her eyes fluttered closed, lashes casting shadows on her flushed cheeks, a result of the bath's intense heat.

The tranquil moment was interrupted by the buzzing of her phone, its vibration echoing through the bathroom. Y/N's eyes snapped open, a curious expression on her face as she reached for the device.

Quinn's name flashed across the screen, his photo – a candid shot of him grinning widely, his dark hair tousled by the wind – accompanying the incoming call.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips as she lifted herself from the bath, water droplets cascading down her smooth, sun-kissed skin. She grabbed the phone, tapping the screen to answer the call and putting it on speaker.

"Hi, hottie," Y/N greeted, her voice playful and warm.

Quinn's nerdy, endearing voice filled the bathroom, a chuckle evident in his tone. "Hey there, beautiful. How's my favorite girl doing tonight?"

Y/N reached for her glass of wine, the deep, rich red liquid swirling in the crystal glass. She took a sip, savoring the bold, fruity flavors on her tongue before responding. "Oh, you know, just unwinding after a long day at the office. How about you, handsome?"

"Counting down the minutes until I get to see you tomorrow," Quinn replied, a hint of mischief in his voice. "I can't stop thinking about how stunning you'll look in that red dress."

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. She set the wine glass down, running her fingers through her damp hair, pushing it away from her face. "Mmm, you sure know how to make a girl feel special," she purred, her tone flirtatious.

"That's because you are special, Y/N," Quinn said, his voice softening. "I can't wait to have you all to myself tomorrow. No work, no distractions, just you and me."

Y/N's heart fluttered at his words, a giddy feeling spreading through her chest. She bit her lower lip, a coy smile playing on her features. "I like the sound of that," she murmured, her voice low and sultry. "You better be prepared to sweep me off my feet, mister."

Quinn's laughter filled the bathroom, warm and infectious. "Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, don't you worry."

As they continued their playful banter, Y/N sank back into the bath, the warm water enveloping her once more. She closed her eyes, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she listened to Quinn's voice, the sound soothing her soul and filling her with anticipation for the day to come.

…

As the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the bedroom, Y/N's phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand. The vibrations seemed to echo through the tranquil space, a jarring contrast to the peaceful atmosphere.

Beyond the window, the vibrant green of the trees and grass was visible, a testament to the beauty of the early morning.

The bedroom was a serene oasis, with its pristine white decor creating a sense of calm and comfort. The plush, white comforter enveloped Y/N, its softness lulling her into a state of drowsy contentment.

Y/N stirred, mumbling incoherently as she slowly turned over, her eyelids fluttering open. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight that flooded the room. As she reached for her phone, the alarm blared to life, the glowing digits on the nightstand displaying a crisp 7:00 AM.

With a groan, Y/N sat up, her hand instinctively reaching for her phone. As she unlocked the device, she was greeted by a string of texts from her mother, Dedra. The messages, even in their digital form, seemed to drip with condescension.

"Y/N, don't forget about the family brunch today. Your father and I expect you to be there, and please, try to look presentable. We have important guests attending, and we can't have you embarrassing us like last time. And do try to be on time, darling. Punctuality is a virtue, after all."

Rolling her eyes, Y/N tossed her phone aside and begrudgingly dragged herself out of bed. She went about her morning routine, selecting a chic and appropriate outfit for the brunch and work before making her way to the kitchen.

As she entered the heart of her home, Y/N couldn't help but smile. The space was everything she had ever dreamed of – a perfect blend of modern elegance and cozy charm. She moved towards the kitchen island, her bare feet padding softly against the cool, hardwood floors.

While her coffee brewed, filling the air with its rich, invigorating aroma, Y/N leaned back against the island, her eyes drifting to the television mounted on the wall. The familiar characters of The 100, flashed across the screen.

She sipped her coffee, savoring the warmth and comfort it provided, as she lost herself in the post-apocalyptic world unfolding before her.

Y/N glanced at her watch, the sleek hands pointing to 8:30, a frustrated huff escaped her lips. She quickly shut off the television and grabbed her essentials, making her way out of the apartment and towards her car.

The drive to the office was usually a time for Y/N to unwind and mentally prepare for the day ahead, with her favorite podcast playing through the speakers.

However, today's episode left her feeling unsettled. The young creator, barely 18 years old, was excitedly announcing her pregnancy. The way she spoke about it, as if it were some sort of miraculous blessing, made Y/N's stomach churn. With a quick tap, she muted the podcast, silence filling the car as she navigated the familiar streets.

As she pulled into the parking lot of the imposing office building, Y/N's eyes immediately landed on Alexandra, who was just a few spots down from her. A wave of dread washed over her, and she quickly locked her car, determined to beat her colleague to the elevator.

Y/N's heels clicked against the pavement as she hurried towards the entrance, her breath coming in short, anxious bursts. She could hear Alexandra's footsteps echoing behind her.

Just as Y/N stepped into the elevator, her manicured finger jabbing the button for the 4th floor, she caught a glimpse of Alexandra rushing towards her. With a sly grin, Y/N pressed the close button, feigning interest in her perfectly polished nails as the doors began to slide shut.

Alexandra stumbled, her hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop the elevator, but it was too late. As the doors closed, Y/N looked up, meeting her colleague's gaze with a sad, insincere smile. The look of frustration and annoyance on Alexandra's face was a small victory for Y/N, a momentary triumph in the never-ending battle of office politics.

The elevator began its ascent, Y/N leaned back against the cool metal wall, her eyes closing for a brief moment. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her racing heart and push away the lingering unease from the podcast. The day had barely begun, and already she felt drained.

It dinged, signaling her arrival on the 4th floor, Y/N straightened her shoulders and put on a brave face. She stepped out into the hallway.

…

The constant cacophony of rings and beeps filled Y/N's ears for the next three hours, the incessant noise drilling into her skull. The cramped office space felt more like a chicken coop than a professional workspace, and Y/N could feel her sanity slowly slipping away with each passing minute.

Just as she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Dedra peeked her head into the office, her critical gaze sweeping over the room before she entered. With a sense of entitlement, she perched herself on the edge of Y/N's desk, her perfectly manicured fingers toying with a strand of Y/N's hair.

"You know, you look stressed, Y/N," Dedra remarked, her tone laced with false concern. Her eyes then traveled down to Y/N's attire, and her face contorted into a look of disgust. "Is that what you're wearing to brunch?" she asked, her voice dripping with disapproval. "I guess it will do."

Before Y/N could respond, Dedra abruptly stood up and headed towards the door, gesturing for her daughter to follow. Y/N huffed in frustration, the weight of her mother's judgment pressing down on her. She quickly logged off her computer and gathered her belongings, trailing behind Dedra as they made their way through the office.

As they walked, Y/N could feel the eyes of her coworkers following them, their gazes a mix of curiosity and envy. She held her head high, refusing to let their attention faze her. Dedra, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the attention, her stride confident and purposeful as she led the way.

When they reached the front of the building, a sleek black limo slowly approached, its polished exterior gleaming in the sunlight. Y/N couldn't help but roll her eyes at the ostentatious display.

"Why do we need a limo for brunch?" she asked, exasperation evident in her voice. "Could you guys be any more extra?"

Dedra shot her a sharp look, her lips pursed in disapproval. "Appearances matter, Y/N," she said, her tone clipped. "We have a reputation to uphold, and arriving in style is part of that."

Y/N bit back a retort, knowing that arguing with her mother was a futile endeavor. As the limo pulled up to the curb, the driver promptly exited the vehicle, opening the door for them with a practiced bow.

Dedra climbed in first, her movements graceful and refined. Y/N followed suit, sinking into the plush leather seats with a sigh.

The vehicle pulled away from the curb, and Y/N watched as the office building grew smaller in the distance. She knew that the brunch would be just another performance, a carefully orchestrated display of wealth and status that she was expected to participate in.

…

message me to be added to the tag list. hope you enjoyed it. please lmk how you liked it.

(also I just made this idea today and I can't believe I already wrote chapter 1)

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cece693 · 1 year ago

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Pain (Lestat de Lioncourt x Male Vamp. Reader)

This small fic came to me while looking through Pinterest. You know those little 'aesthetic' quotes? Well, it came from this one specifically: 'I loved you even when it hurt.' This fic includes things from both the movie and TV show, so no specific Lestat was used for inspiration. Enjoy.

Summary: On the anniversary of his transformation, m/r can't help but remember his past: one that includes his ex-lover and sire, Lestat de Lioncourt.

M/n was tired. Though his outward appearance betrayed no signs of aging—no wrinkles, no gray hair, no creaking bones—the weight of centuries bore down on him. As he gazed at the midnight sun, a harbinger of his impending retreat to his coffin, m/n decided to indulge himself and spend more time out in the open. After all, this was the only time he could enjoy the new wonders of the world, yet this was not just any ordinary day. Tonight marked the anniversary of m/n's transformation into one of the undead.

Reflecting on the past, m/n reminisced about the persuasive allure of Lestat, the vampire who had sweet-talked his way around rationality, promising a life brimming with pleasure and abundance. In the initial decades, it was a splendid existence.

Lestat had a way of making m/n feel truly special. The once mundane aspects of mortal life were now elevated to extraordinary heights in the vampiric realm, and Lestat made sure m/n felt the full extent of his newfound powers.

There were moonlit strolls through shadowy alleyways, where Lestat shared the secrets of their immortal world. He spoke of the intoxicating thrill of the hunt, the taste of forbidden blood, and the freedom that came with transcending the limitations of mortality. Lestat created a world where every moment felt like an eternity of bliss. However, m/n should've known his novelty would wear off.

Lestat was a man driven by desire and ambition, wanting to taste the newest and finest things in life. What would m/n offer to such a monster who had already taken everything? So when Lestat's attention was redirected to another human named Louis, m/n felt pain.

He was angry at Lestat for casting him aside, yet the blame couldn't be placed on him alone—m/n should've known that a creature such as Lestat could never be tied down, despite how much he proclaimed to love you. So, when the ethereally beautiful vampire introduced Louis as his newest creation, a realization dawned on m/n. Lestat wasn't his anymore.

And Louis, the unwitting figure in their love triangle, bore no blame for his and Lestat's fallout. M/n grappled with conflicting emotions, attempting to cultivate hatred towards the vampire who seemed to have stolen Lestat away. Yet, against his own efforts, all he could muster was pity. For as much as Louis and Lestat showcased their 'love' through tender kisses and clandestine touches, m/n saw through the facade.

In the quiet moments when Lestat thought no one was watching, m/n observed the flickers of longing and boredom in the vampire's blue eyes. It became evident that the passion between Louis and him, while palpable, was also marred by perpetual restlessness. Not even months into Louis' stay did the cracks in their relationship begin to manifest themselves.

"Out with Antoinette?" Louis would hiss, the accusatory tone hanging heavy in the air, ensuing another argument between the two. As the discord between Louis and Lestat escalated, M/n found himself unwittingly becoming a refuge for Lestat. The vampire, seeking solace in the familiar, turned to M/n whenever the storms of conflict raged with Louis. In those moments of anger, Lestat was M/n's again, yet it also drove him to the brink of madness and unhappiness.

He had days, if lucky, where things would go back to how they were—a semblance of the love they once shared. But whenever the storms settled between Louis and Lestat, m/n would be relegated to loneliness once more. One day, unable to bear the emotional rollercoaster any longer, he confronted Lestat. The air was thick with tension as they stood facing each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them.

"You can't keep doing this, Lestat." M/n pleaded, the frustration and anguish evident in his voice. "Keep me here when you clearly love Louis. How would you like it if I were to do the same?"

M/n regretted saying anything as Lestat's eyes darkened, and a snarl emerged on the vampire's lips. In a sudden, swift motion, Lestat pinned m/n to the wall, his grip firm and possessive. The room seemed to close in as Lestat hissed, "You belong to me."

"I don't belong to anyone." M/n retorted, anger engulfing his body.

Lestat laughed coldly in his face, grip tightening, he smirked. "That's where you're wrong, love," he taunted, his voice dripping with both amusement and cruelty. "I own you…"

The possessive declaration sent a chill down m/n's spine, his anger giving way to a growing sense of unease. Lestat's dark laughter reverberated in the confined space, echoing the shifting power dynamics between them. Trapped against the wall, m/n felt the weight of Lestat's control, a dominance that left him conflicted and vulnerable.

Lestat's smirk widened, his gaze predatory as he continued, "You're mine to protect, mine to control. I've tasted your blood, felt your heartbeat sync with mine. You're bound to me in ways you can't comprehend."

M/n, trapped against the wall, felt a cold chill run down his spine at Lestat's words. The once cherished intimacy between them now felt like chains, binding M/n to a fate he hadn't fully understood.

In a moment of intense emotion, Lestat, fueled by the strange dance of power and desire, leaned in, capturing m/n's lips in a possessive kiss. The meeting of their mouths was both a declaration of dominance and a desperate attempt of Lestat's to re-establish his control over m/n.

Perhaps, in his pursuit of novelty and excitement, he had unknowingly neglected his first creation in favor of the alluring Louis. However, what neither m/n nor Louis knew was that, hidden beneath the layers of Lestat's charismatic exterior, there existed a capacity for love.

As Lestat's lips sought dominance in the heated kiss, there was an intricate play of emotions beneath the surface.

The neglect that m/n had felt wasn't an absence of love but rather a reflection of Lestat's internal struggle to navigate the complexities of immortal relationships. Lestat, a vampire with a history of numerous lovers, had reveled in the pleasures of passion without feeling a deep emotional connection—until m/n entered the picture. Even his intense relationship with Louis didn't compare to the profound connection he shared with m/n.

As the intensity of their heated kiss began to wane, Lestat pulled away, his eyes fixed on m/n with a mixture of possessiveness and intensity. "If you dare to run away," Lestat whispered, "Know that I'll drag you back to my side. And that's a promise."

#interview with the vampire #x male reader #male reader #claudia iwtv #iwtv #vampire #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire armand #vampire chronicles #anne rice

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irisintheafterglow · 2 months ago

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HAND SEVEN - FULL HOUSE

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, the royal family is met and tensions rise.

wc: 4.1k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader (she/her used), explicit language, todoroki enji (derogatory), mentions of food, dinner, and eating, todoroki siblings cameo

note: i can't thank you all enough for your patience with the new parts of this series coming out. this one's a long one but it's the last chapter before shit hits the fan, so enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

“Dining with the royal family, hmm? Isn’t that exciting!” Your maid catches your eye in the reflection of your bedroom mirror and you give her a wary smile. “If I may, I do think you and His Highness make a wonderful match. You compliment each other nicely.”

“Well, this is everything I’ve wanted, right?” You can’t tell if the way your voice shakes is from nerves or the tightening strings of your corset, but you suddenly find it a struggle to have a complete intake of breath. “Goodness, I haven’t been this unsettled since he won the duel in the garden,” you laugh to disguise your panic, your poor oblivious maid humming to herself while she helps you into the next layer of your evening clothes. “Do you think the rest of the family is nice? I know he has a few brothers and a sister.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do just fine, dear, no matter who you meet,” she reassures you, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress with her hands. “You truly look radiant; if the prince doesn’t think so, I believe he must get his eyes examined.” Your face warms, memories of you examining his eyes in an incredibly unprofessional setting a few nights prior. Whatever you said had him turning to putty in your hands outside your window, hidden by the shadow of the large tree he’d climbed to retrieve you. Nothing physically intimate occurred beyond kissing, yet the thrill of it felt like you’d committed high treason. “Come along,” she says, pulling you from your daydream. “You mustn't miss your carriage. It should be prepared soon, I’m sure–” Her unapologetic gushing is interrupted by your footman positioning himself at the door, looking slightly uneasy.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, miss,” he says, shaking his head. He stutters as if fishing around in his brain to find the correct words. “There is, well…there is a–”

“It’s alright,” you gently commanded him. “Come now, spit it out.”

“Oh my days! Miss, there’s a royal carriage outside!” Your maid exclaims, her palms pressed to the glass. “With all due respect, I was under the impression that you were taking an estate carriage to the castle.”

“As was I,” you mutter, arriving at the windowsill to see a very smug looking Touya already peering up at you. He sends you a wink that has your maid clutching the window frame for support before disappearing into your house. You huff, catching a peek of yourself in a nearby mirror and yelping at your appearance, frantically remembering what you were doing before your suitor appeared. “Quickly, now! Let’s finish seasoning and basting so I look presentable when I face my doom at the palace.”

Your heart rate is extremely elevated by the time you’re finished with your dress, but you can’t tell if it’s from the excitement or the mere idea of seeing him again. A loud thump thump thump runs from one ear to the other through the back of your skull, your vision becoming slightly hazy with each step closer to the parlor. Your servants bow politely as you pass and dismiss themselves when you finally approach Touya, whom you find standing at the window overlooking the garden.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you say softly, surveying the last beams of sunlight illuminating your flowers. “Enjoying the scenery?”

“Passing the time,” he supposes, turning to face you with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You look lovely in that shade.”

“His Highness, Prince Keigo, did say you had an affinity for blue.” Though your attention remains on the backyard, you can hear his eye roll from miles away.

“Please refrain from discussing Prince Bird-Brain; if it is alright with you, I’d like to have an enjoyable night,” he declares with diplomatic sincerity that makes you stifle a snort into your gloves.

“My apologies. How may I ever regain your favor?”

“I can think of several ways.” His eyes flick around the room like a prisoner counting guards, patiently waiting until you two are truly alone. That time would come five minutes later, when the carriage doors shut you inside and he’s on you before you can even blink.

“Missed me, I see,” you breathe against his lips as his fingers roam over the expensive fabric of your dress. Touya’s mouth is hot and urgent, consuming you entirely even though you’d been apart for less than three days. Your hands brush down the front panel of his coat and eventually wrap around his neck to pull him closer. “Is something ailing you? You’re feeling a little feverish.” He scoffs at your teasing, nipping your earlobe with a sharp canine.

“You are impossible,” he mutters with hungry eyes that rake over your exposed collarbone. His mouth starts to wander down the column of your neck with the obvious intention of leaving a mark (or seven). You’re one flirty comment away from tearing off your dress entirely when the carriage hits a bump, knocking you both upward and effectively ruining the atmosphere. You burst out laughing unexpectedly, even more when you see Touya’s displeased frown. “I’m going to execute whoever drove us over that.”

“Perhaps it’s a sign that we should recompose ourselves,” you say, tucking an unruly piece of white hair away from his face and pecking his cheek. The carriage slows its pace, and you peek out of the curtain to see the familiar happenings of the front gate. “I believe the turbulence was due to us crossing onto palace grounds, after all.”

“We weren’t done,” he grumbles like a child being denied candy at the market. Touya’s body is still pressed flush to yours, one arm braced against the carriage door while his forearm secures you against his chest. “I should tell them to take us around the back way.”

“As enticing of an offer that would be, we would also be late for our meal.”

“I’m offended you think I remotely care about the whole event.” The carriage comes to a complete halt and he pulls away, allowing you to smooth the wrinkles in your dress and re-tidy your jewelry.

“I’m going to need you to care, at least a teaspoon’s amount, or I’m sure I’ll burst into flames before dinner is served.” Reluctantly, the prince schools his face into practiced nonchalance, but the way his eyes burn like embers in a fireplace give away his continued desperation. You fight the urge to smirk when he can’t seem to stop sneaking glances at you, like it pained him to look away. “Don’t fret,” you murmur, pressing one more chaste kiss to his cheek while he glares at the approaching commotion outside. “We’ll pick up where we left off…when we are not needed elsewhere.”

“I intend to hold you to that promise.”

—

After hurriedly fixing the bunching of your clothes and stepping out of the carriage with the help of Touya’s hand, you’re guided up the sweeping front steps of the palace and toward what you assume is the dining room. Your hand remains fixed in the prince’s arm, the crushed velvet of his blue coat soft beneath your fingers. When he ducks close to whisper in your ear, you’re sure you can hear him smirk at the goosebumps the proximity gives you.

“Nervous?”

“I’d be untruthful if I denied it,” you answer carefully, eyeing nearby servants undoubtedly spreading news of your arrival. His breath is warm next to your ear and you’re unsure if the heat in your cheeks is from your suitor or the dozens of prying eyes. “Are we nearing the dining hall?”

“Actually, we’re just passing it. My siblings would like to meet you first,” he explains with only the slightest bit of reluctance, nearly imperceptible if you didn’t know how to read the subtle changes in his expressions. “Would you like to see it?” He knows your reply and pulls you to a towering pair of double doors just to your right, adjacent to glass windows overlooking the garden where he’d dueled for your hand all those weeks ago. As he swings open one door just enough for you to peek inside, you can’t help but gasp.

Prior to that night, you’d never seen a room sparkle before. Sure, the bathroom tiles would have a certain shine to them right after they’ve been cleaned or your stepmother’s jewelry would catch the light in a starlike way, but you’d never seen a room where absolutely everything was glittering. Gold trimmed the walls, the extensive table, the backs of chairs, and the circumference of the dinner plates. As you took barely a step into the room, your shoe sinks into plush red carpet, perfectly stainless and the only texture in the room without glimmer. Everything seemed to be encrusted in diamonds, yet smooth and almost glowing from the soft candlelight and the fading evening sun.

“This is beyond beautiful,” you breathe and you turn, once again, to find Touya watching you rather than the room he’d dined in thousands of times. “I can’t help but feel the room is better dressed than me,” you joke and he shakes his head in firm disagreement.

“It’s a very good thing I’m courting you and not the room, then,” he quips before taking your hand back into the crook of his arm. “You must wait until I take you into the ballroom. I believe we’ll need a doctor standing by in case you faint from its beauty.” You roll your eyes but can’t help the tug at the corner of your mouth. “Now that I think of it, are you marrying me for my looks or my furniture?”

“I’m not marrying you at all, remember?” The answer leaves your mouth before you can stop it and an odd look blinks onto Touya’s face, something you only saw when he folds in poker hands he surely would have won if he only waited for the last community cards. You’re on the verge of thinking you imagined the look when his arm tightens under your hand, like he was making sure you weren’t pulling away. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says quickly with a rare smile that’s almost good enough to fool you. “Nothing at all.” Before you can answer, your guide swings open another set of smaller double doors at the end of a hallway which leads into what you assume is a parlor. The windows of the parlor faced the back of the castle, lush with grass and shimmering blue fountains between the bushes. Your admiration of the back lawn, however, is cut short by hushed bickering to your left. When you finally look over from where you stand in the entryway with Touya, three people snap into a perfectly-postured line. Your suitor sighs audibly through his nose, running a hand down his face with his free hand. “I would like you to meet my three younger siblings: Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Shoto.”

“Your Highnesses,” you greet politely.

“You arrived late. Was there a delay with the carriage?” Another figure stands from a side table, shorter than the siblings but carrying more maturity than the whole room combined.

“Our older brother is sick easily in carriages, don’t you remember, mother?” The middle brother, Natsuo, says earnestly but the jab at his older brother is not lost on you. He grunts in protest when his eldest sister, Fuyumi, strikes his side with her elbow. Touya clicks his tongue decisively and the siblings fall back in line, and you catch Shoto’s eyes scanning you like a curious cat. He’s quiet, you think to yourself, like if Touya’s calculating nature was encompassed in a teenage boy.

“And my mother, Queen Rei,” Touya eventually continued, his voice softer than when he addressed his siblings. You muster your best curtsy as she approaches, surprised when her cold hand tilts your chin upward, seemingly to inspect you. “Mother…” he begins with a tone of warning, but she shushes him insistently. You can practically hear the muscle in Touya’s jaw clench and resist the urge to burst out laughing; no one, not even you, had the authority to shush him. No one, that is, except the one who birthed him.

“Your Majesty,” you murmur to break the tense silence as her unwavering gaze examines your face. “It is an honor. There is a gift for you, and–”

“The honor is all mine,” she breaks in before you can continue. Her voice is softer than powdered snow, in stark contrast to Touya’s dark rasp. “My son refuses to tell us anything about you, so finally making your acquaintance is a gift in itself.”

“His Highness informed me of your shared affinity for blue, so I hope you will enjoy the few delphinium stems I’ve brought from my family’s garden.”

“I was just about to thank you for the flowers,” she smiles, lightly cupping the side of your face. Her palm is freezing, nothing like Touya’s naturally warm-running body, yet you can see where he receives his gentler side. “You are a fine counterpart for my hotheaded firstborn.” You finally break a small laugh when you hear Touya’s indignant squawk behind you, and the queen uses this chance to pull you away from him. “My second-eldest and only daughter, Fuyumi,” she introduces as she brings you to the princess.

“Your Highness,” you curtsy and risk a glance over your shoulder to find Touya standing with his hands on his hips and impatiently tapping his foot.

“You’ve brought a softer side out of our big brother,” Fuyumi informs you with a knowing smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Rei gestures to her next child.

“My second son, Natsuo. He takes care of me when we are away in the countryside.” His mother pats the side of her son’s cheek and moves on before he can comment, much to his surprise and Touya’s unseen amusement. “And my youngest, Shoto. He is next in line to be king after Touya.”

“Not His Highness?”

“Natsuo abdicated the throne when I became…” She pauses and her children stiffen. Touya clears his throat from behind you. When you turn to meet his eyes, he’s watching the polished wooden floorboards. “When I became ill. I had to stay in the countryside for a time. Only recently have I been well enough to return to the palace.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Majesty.” You’d have to wait until later to interrogate Touya about his family drama, but you couldn’t imagine such a fragile and gentle looking woman like the queen becoming so sick she had to leave the city. “How does your health fare now?”

“Better than the past. I’m thankful every day I get to see Touya join society as an eligible suitor.”

“As piss-poor as he is at it,” Natsuo mumbles and both Shoto and Fuyumi strike his ribs with their elbows. It’s no use, as Touya decides from behind you that he’s finally had enough and crosses the parlor in four long strides, his boots thudding heavily against the floor. Natsuo yelps and hurries away, Shoto quietly trailing behind to witness the carnage while his two older brothers disappear yelling down a back hallway.

“Forgive them, please,” the queen implores you with a tired smile. “It’s been a long time since we hosted such a large dinner, especially as a family, and they don’t know how to act.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I am accustomed to Touya–I mean His Highness’ antics.” You hope your correction isn’t as bumbling as it sounds in your head, but your worries are eased by the appreciative expressions from the queen and princess.

“As my oldest brother is predisposed, shall mother and I show you the rest of the palace?” In a distant room, there is a crash and the telltale sign of a teenage prince screaming in fear. The women with you are unfazed and merely shake their heads.

“I would love nothing more.”

—

“How nice of you to finally join us,” you murmur when Touya finally slides into the seat beside you at the dining table. “Finished tormenting your little brother?”

“I would not label it torment,” he argues, picking up a nearby carafe of water and pouring your glass, then his. “I am merely reciprocating the affection that he gives me.”

“And by definition, that is torment,” you counter and he chuckles. As the king was still absent from the head of the table, food was not to be served, yet the hunger in your gut could not fight the fluttering that occurred whenever Touya was with you.

“How was viewing the remainder of the palace?”

“Unexpectedly overwhelming,” you admit. Truthfully, you could not name half of the rooms you visited if there was a saber to your jugular. There were countless bedrooms for the royal family and servants alike, sitting areas, libraries, practice rooms for the pianoforte, and an infinite number of toilet rooms; all the rooms were dressed to the level of the dining room that you were in now, shimmering in gold and expensively dyed drapes. “Up until this point, I’ve only known the outside gardens. Even then, Her Majesty informed me that she has a private greenhouse at the back of the property for her most special flowers.”

“I can take you there after dinner, if you’d like. Mother will insist upon chaperoning us, however, if that’s alright with you.”

“We’ve had good fortune with not needing a chaperone when we are together,” you comment and he nods in agreement.

“I’m the eldest as well as the problem child; it’s no wonder no one wants to babysit me.” You open your mouth to make a retort but are interrupted by the staccato notes of a horn announcing the king’s impending arrival.

Rise for His Majesty, King Todoroki Enji, and Her Majesty, Queen Todoroki Rei.

Whether you grab Touya’s hand or he grabs yours first, you can’t remember, but your fingers are tightly laced in his by the time all the guests in the room stand to receive the king. Though you can’t tell how hard you’re squeezing him, you feel him gripping you like a ship’s rope in a storm. And how could he not? Everyone in the room felt a suffocating sense of unease from the moment the king stepped through the doors and until the Queen was at his side. King Enji seemed even more intimidating than the last time you’d seen him, when you looked him in the face and told him that Her Majesty was a queen, not simply a wife of a king. He was built like the barrels Rei and Fuyumi had shown you in the cellar that held gallons upon gallons of alcohol, and his whole atmosphere burned constantly in a way comparable to Touya’s most intense moods. You felt as if you could spontaneously combust if you made contact with the king too long.

You glance at Touya from the corner of your eye, suddenly self-conscious that he’s sitting with you and not at his father’s side, where he should be. Despite his death grip on your hand, the rest of his demeanor is otherwise cooler than you’d ever seen him, especially for a royal event. It was like having you by his side was making him more…confident?

“You’re doing wonderfully,” the prince murmurs in your ear once the king is seated and the meal commenced. “Just stay by my side and we’ll be escaping before you know it.”

“He scares me,” you blurt before shoving a forkful of food into your mouth to keep yourself from saying anything else stupid. Touya huffs a quiet laugh, leaning close in a way that has Rei winking at Fuyumi from across the table.

“That makes two of us. Although, I’m considerably less fearful when you’re with me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Shall we eat and ‘escape,’ as you say, faster?”

“I’ll tell the servants we’ll take dessert in the garden.”

—

You should have learned by now that outings with Touya, whether it was of royal nature or merely two people courting, are never as smooth as you hope for them to be. The realization hits you when your suitor momentarily disappears to find his mother and invite her for tea, and the king approaches you within seconds to fill the space. Even if you were a different height, the king would still tower over you like a mountain blocking out the sun, casting you in darkness that made you want to hide in a cave. Maybe this is how rabbits feel when they’re being stalked by a mountain lion.

“Walk with me.” It’s not a request.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you reply with as little emotion as possible. You hope Touya could see you leaving with his father, or perhaps one of his siblings is around to update him so you can get out of this trap. The king doesn’t force you to go far, only out to a secluded balcony that overlooks the back gardens. The night air is crisp and smells of many flowers, the soft sound of water rushing from the fountains blending with the melodic calls of songbirds. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back, as still as a model for a portrait painting.

“Touya is in line to be king.” He says this as a fact, an obvious statement that you are both well aware of. Your mind is racing and simultaneously not functioning at all, looking for an escape route and rooted in place. While Touya’s voice is raspy like charred firewood and his mother’s like light snowfall, the king’s voice is grating and hard, like grinding two stones together. It makes your stomach turn over in a messy somersault.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” You don’t know what else to say.

“He does not want to be king.”

“Yes, Your Majes–How do you know?” His eye darts to look at you and you force your attention anywhere but him, on the grass or the flowers or the birds that were starting to sound like a hundred boiling kettles.

“You do not know the truth of why he disappeared.”

“I have not earned the right to ask,” you counter, a sudden indignance rising to your head as you feel the need to defend the nature of your relationship to Touya.

“He defies me. Since he was a child, he has defied me and my efforts to train him to become a just king.” Not sure waging a not-so-secret war on the Kingdom of Might counts as being a just king, asshole. “His actions defy my wishes. His choice in acquaintances,” he pauses again and looks at you briefly as an example, “Defy my wishes. His travels defy my wishes.” Maybe his actions aren’t yours to control, then.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“He has traveled every path to rebel against me and this family. Soon, I could imagine him coming for my life to guarantee his freedom.” A hot lick of anger flares inside your chest and you silently seethe next to the king, your limbs aching from how tense your body has become. You have no right to decide what your son thinks.

“Is that a possible situation, Your Majesty?”

“You question my judgment?” You wouldn’t be surprised if your mouth tastes like blood from how hard you’re biting your tongue.

“I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty.”

“I will make one thing clear, as he is bound to come for you soon: You are another avenue for him to defy me, and nothing more. Whatever he has told you, shown you, revealed to you is all a means to an end in order to cause me suffering.” Despite all your attempts to quiet the doubt in your mind, the king’s words make your stiffness turn brittle; you may fall over and shatter like a concrete statue if pushed over at the right angle. “Ask yourself how much Touya has really told you about himself, and if you are satisfied to be complicit in his actions to undermine me.” Complicit. To be involved in a crime or wrongdoing. To love Touya Todoroki is to be a criminal.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Touya doesn’t ask why your mouth has clamped shut in the time it took for him to find his mother and return, nor does he pry when your smiles seem more strained than before. It was inevitable, he told himself. He was sure you could feel the same dread that he did, the looming danger that you were desperately pretending wasn’t there. As you approached the final ball of the season, both your stacks were becoming higher and higher until one of you would be forced to present an ultimatum: all or nothing.

Who will give their all, and who will lose everything?

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #touya x you #touya x reader #touya x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n

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pascalispretty · 1 year ago

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All Wound Up

Nick Amaro x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2063

Warnings: Friends with benefits, drunk sex, whiskey dick, spanking, rimming, Nick being a tease

Summary: When his body won't cooperate with what he wants to do, Nick finds a new way to tease you. Can be read as part of the Mutually Beneficial universe.

A/N: Happy Kinktober everybody! This is my entry for Day Three: Rimming. Prompts from @absurdthirst's list, and my thanks as always to @misscharlielulu. (ao3).

You and Nick return to your apartment much earlier than you had expected. The two of you had met in a bar not far from your place and would have been content to stay for longer had some idiot not spilled a pint of beer all down your back. Your dress clung wetly to you, and beer dripped from your hair as the two of you walked home.

“I need to shower,” you say, wrinkling your nose in disgust as you catch a whiff of your hair. It takes you a minute to locate your keys, your fingers rendered clumsy with tipsiness as you rifle through your bag.

“You want company in there?” Nick asks, raising his eyebrow suggestively at you. Giggling, you catch his hand as you make your way into the elevator and hit the button for your floor.

“Nice try. I need to actually try and get clean.”

“What’s the point? You’ll just get dirty again after.” Nick teases as you both exit the elevator and open the door of your apartment. He wastes no time in pulling you towards him once you’re inside.

“The point is that I don’t want my sheets reeking of beer,” you tell him, kissing him quickly. “Go get comfy, I’ll be right back.” With a deep sigh, Nick begrudgingly lets you go. You can’t help but smile at his back as he heads towards your bedroom, a familiarity with your apartment that belies his supposed status as your friend-with-benefits of only a few months.

You shower as quickly as you can, washing your hair twice to make sure the smell is well and truly gone. Your dress, you wring out as best as you can before throwing it in the laundry basket, along with the rest of your clothes.

Clad in just a towel, you make your way back to your bedroom. You’re pleased to see that Nick has indeed made himself comfortable; he’s reclining back on your bed, wearing only his black boxer-briefs. You can’t help taking a moment simply to admire him; he’s only lying on your bed, but he looks like he’s a model advertising the Hugo Boss underwear he has on.

“God, you’re just…ridiculously hot,” you tell him, letting the towel fall to the floor as you clamber onto his lap. Nick smirks at you, his hands sliding from your thighs round to your ass and palming at the curve of your backside.

“You’re one to talk, Kid. You know how I feel about you wearing those tight skirts and dresses around the courthouse.” You gasp as his fingertips dig into your flesh, a smile playing on your lips. You’ll never admit you’ve started wearing those pencil skirts and dresses more ever since he mentioned it to you.

“I know how much you like them,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly over his abs. “You’ve told me enough times how much you like staring at my ass in them.” He chuckles, a low laugh that has no right to be quite so sexy, before flipping the two of you in one smooth motion.

Pinned underneath him, you switch your attentions to his back, making him shiver when you scratch in just the right place. He leans down to kiss you, his tongue licking into your mouth as he presses closer. Before you can get comfortable, he moves you again, leaning back and turning you onto your front.

“Indecisive?” You tease, but he just kisses the nape of you neck in response. The first kiss is followed by more, his lips tracing their way down your spine and back up again. It’s slower and more torturous than you expected, especially after how eager Nick had been to get you into bed; perhaps it’s punishment for your insistence on showering first.

Nick rests more of his weight on you, draping himself over your back. You make a soft contented noise at the sensation, your eyelashes fluttering shut as he presses yet more kisses down your neck and across your shoulder.

You’re not quite expecting the growl of frustration, or the bite to your neck that accompanies it. Nick hides his face in the crook of your neck, pinning you so thoroughly to the bed that you can only just manage to turn your head in his direction.

“Nick?” You arch your back; in your drunken state, it’s taken you too long to realise what’s happening. He’s not at all hard. “Nick, if you’re not in the mood-”

“I am,” he groans into your neck, cutting you off. “I am, Kid, just- God, I’ve not had to deal with whiskey dick in years.” His breath is hot against your skin, making you shiver underneath him even as you try to figure out what to do.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, trying not to squirm as he shifts atop you, his leg slipping between yours. “It happens.”

“Shouldn’t,” he huffs, nipping at your neck again. “’s my own fault, drinking on an empty stomach.” You want to try to figure out how to help him, but the press of his thigh between your legs feels so good. You can’t help rocking back slightly against him, trying to angle yourself in just the right position to grind on his thigh.

“What do you want to do?” You ask breathily, and he chuckles against your neck.

“You can stop rubbing yourself on my thigh like a cat in heat.” He ignores your whine, his weight leaving you as he sits up. “If I can’t come, you’re not allowed to either.”

“You sound grumpy,” you say with a giggle. “The alcohol hasn’t personally insulted your manhood, you know.” His palm lands on your ass; it’s barely a swat, but a soft moan escapes you anyway.

“I have a beautiful girl in bed with me who spent the past week trying to convince me to put it in her ass, and my body won’t cooperate. I’m allowed to be annoyed.” Another exasperated sigh escapes him.

You want to help, but before you can figure out what to say, Nick’s hands slide to your hips, encouraging you to move up onto your knees. Your chest stays on the bed, your face still pressed against the mattress as Nick runs his hands down between your thighs.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his thumbs swiping over your folds, spreading you open to expose your cunt. “It’s not fair.” You can barely breathe as he moves closer to you, another sigh escaping him.

“You have such a pretty pussy, baby,” he says, knowing that it’ll make you squirm. Without warning, he licks a broad stripe through your folds, groaning against your skin at the taste of you.

“Nick,” you manage breathlessly. “Nick, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he tells you, one of his thumbs shifting to brush against your clit. “Just let me play with you. See if it gets the blood moving where it’s meant to.” His tongue finds your entrance, dipping inside for a brief moment before he pulls away again. “You still can’t come though.”

Any thoughts you might have about complaining at the injustice go out of your head when his mouth returns to your cunt. You wail as he eats you out with abandon, devouring you with a desperation that has you nearly sobbing in pleasure. That familiar heat builds all too quickly inside you, and just as you’re wondering whether you can get away with coming, Nick pulls away from you.

“Nick,” you nearly sob into the sheets, your thighs shaking. “Nick you can’t, it’s not fair.” He lands another swat on your ass in response, a sharp cry pulled out of you. You’re so wound up that you flinch when he licks his way through your folds again, so sensitive after your ruined orgasm. His hands palm at your ass, squeezing at your flesh as he traces your fluttering entrance with his tongue.

Another sharp little noise escapes you when he pulls away again. He gives you another spank, the tip of his thumb lingering incredibly close to your other hole. His hands grip at your backside, pulling your cheeks apart, and you squirm at how exposed you feel.

“Is this okay?” Nick asks softly, and you nearly choke on your own breath.

“God, yes please.” Satisfied, Nick presses a little more firmly at the tight ring of muscle, the pressure making you squirm. There’s something so deliciously filthy about it, and it makes something deep in your insides twist in anticipation and desire. You’re about to offer to steal lube out of your roommate’s stash, only to jump in surprise when you feel the first brush of his tongue against the puckered skin.

“Fuck, Nick-” you gasp out, heat unfurling down your spine as he uses the tip of his tongue to trace your hole. It’s not something you ever would have imagined Nick being into, but you’re in no mood to stop him.

“Is this okay?” He asks after a moment. You nod quickly, only for him to spank you again. “I need you to use your words, Kid.”

“Yes, it’s okay,” you manage, wailing into the pillows as he responds by dragging the flat of his tongue over you. He laps at your hole, slicking the skin with spit as you squirm at how filthy and debauched it is. Your hair is still damp, the coolness completely at odds with how hot the rest of your body feels.

“I like you like this,” he says, pulling his mouth away just enough to allow the tip of his index finger to press against your asshole. “Ass in the air, all squirmy.” He’s right; you can’t keep still as he lets just the very tip of his finger push past your muscles, holding you open as he laps at you.

You’re not sure how long he keeps you there like that; it’s all you can do to grab fistfuls of the sheets to anchor yourself and moan into the pillows. When you try to push back against him, another hard slap lands across the back of your thigh. You can’t come from this, despite how delicious it feels, but you’re keenly aware of that sticky wetness coating your inner thighs.

Nick pulls another sharp sound from you when he takes his finger away, both hands returning to hold your cheeks open. Something tugs at the back of your brain – he seems to know what he’s doing, but before you can wonder if he’s done this before, you feel the tip of his tongue take the place of his finger, just barely breaching your muscles.

“Oh my God, Nick-” you choke out, barely able to get the breath to form the words with how tightly you’re pressing your face into the pillow. You melt against the sheets as he forces his tongue just a little deeper, heat licking through your veins to pool in your centre.

One of his hands leaves you, and you distantly become aware of the sound of skin sliding against skin. The thought of him touching himself while he’s doing this to you, enjoying you in such a vulnerable position, makes you shiver.

“God, baby,” he murmurs eventually, lifting his mouth away from you just enough to speak. “I love the little noises you make. So responsive…” He shifts a little, and you jump when he bites at the meat of your ass, sucking a hickey into the skin.

“Harder,” you plead, trembling when you feel the scrape of his skin against your flesh. It’s a mark that’ll linger for days, and part of you thrills at the idea. You expect him to lower his mouth back to you, but he gives a low grunt instead, pulling away even further.

“Finally,” he mutters, and you hear him shifting on the bed behind you. One of his hands finds your hips, rolling you over unceremoniously onto your back. From here, you can see he’s finally, gloriously, hard, his cock straining against the soft fabric of his underwear.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, sitting up to help him get them off. “I think I might have died if you’d kept insisting I couldn’t come because you couldn’t.” Nick bats your hands away, pushing his underwear down himself and pulling your legs open wider.

“When did I say that I’d let you come?”

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @irishavengersassemble @ben-c-group-therapy

#nick amaro x reader #nick amaro #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction

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animeloverskylarmoon · 10 months ago

Text

Yumichika Ayasegawa (Bleach)- Oneshot

You weren't certain how it happened.

Truly.

Ichigo warned you that he had some crazy friends. Usually you just pretended that they weren't there. With two jobs, you really didn't have the energy to be worrying about crazies in old fashioned robes.

That's why you tried your best to get rid of him. But he just kept coming back.

Like a parasite.

"If you'd like I can give you some tips. Your hair is a mess."

An irk mark appeared on your forehead at the few of many insults that this annoying reaper had directed at you.

"IF I'M SUCH A MESS YOU COULD JUST STOP COMING YOU CRAZY REAPER!!"

Screaming in the middle of the street at a man only you could see probably wasn't doing you any favors. You huff, storming off.

"I'm just trying to help."

He jumped down from his once elevated position, landing right beside you as he walked in step.

"Why are you here anyway? Aren't you reapers supposed to be guards or something? You're pretty casual for someone on a mission." You grumble.

"Things have quieted down since the war. Our head captain just wants to make sure it stays that way."

You nod.

The war.

It's crazy how casual they always speak about those things. While you could see spirits, your fighting ability wasn't anything to brag about. Surely not to be of any use in a war. A part of you felt it. When the war started. You hadn't seen Yumichika or Ikkaku for a while. When they finally popped up to freeload in your home, you acted pissed, but truthfully you were relieved. Because you knew lives were lost.

"Is it scary, fighting all the time?"

That question was presented a bit quietly and Yumichika glanced at you. He could see your hesitance to even propose the question. Sometimes he needed to remind himself that you weren't a fighter like them.

"War is war. Fear is just a reaction to the unknown. I'm not sure if there's a word I can use to truly describe it."

The very serious response was not what you expected.

"However beautiful beings like me don't have to worry about such things."

He then persisted to pose in which you just walked away.

"Hey wait up!!"

Yep, that's how a lot of your encounters went. As agitating as he was at times, you enjoyed his company. You also appreciated him checking in on you every now and then.

"Geez, I'm exhausted."

You dropped onto the couch, not even kicking off your shoes. Yumichika smiled.

"Did you overdo it today? Your wrinkles seem more visible than usual."

"Don't make me end you."

Yumichika laughed nervously at the threat, and you just sighed, lifting your hand as you stared at it.

"Things like beauty, it isn't made for people like me. Just the thought of all that cutesy stuff is exhausting."

Although you say that, you haven't completely banished the prospect of dressing up and going on dates. It was just hard. Most guys wanted a girl to dress up and act a certain way. You did like dressing up every once in a while, but you couldn't see yourself changing your entire wardrobe just to appeal to a guy. You liked baggy clothes and cool sneakers.

Yumichika's eyes are trained on your form.

"Is there a human that you're interested in that you would be willing to do that for?"

You fully expect him to be wearing some kind of mocking expression or follow that up with another poke at your attire, but when you move your hand, that's not what you read at all. Your cheeks tint red at how intensely he's looking at you. It's not often that he's stoic.

You jump upright, bashful.

"What the hell are you talking about! A-As if I would be!"

You don't know why you're getting so defensive. It's not like he accused you of anything. You rise, heading for the kitchen.

"I-I'm going to make food!!"

Marching off stiffly, Yumichika watches you with a small smile.

He'll admit that your meeting wasn't exactly under the best circumstances.

He'd been in Karakura to help up with the increase of hollow activity.

Back when Aizen was still gathering his army. Ikkaku and Matsumoto had taken one section and he'd planned to cover the next.

"Yumichika!"

Ichigo's call pulled his focus and he was stunned to see Ichigo carrying a woman in his arms.

"She's hurt, I need you to get her back to Urahara-san."

Yumichika didn't need much more instruction. From the worried look, this was clearly someone Ichigo knew. He handed you over, but your hand gripped Ichigo's robes and they both froze.

"I-Ichigo.."

For a moment they both took notice of the fear in your eyes. Ichigo offered the best smile he could muster.

"I'll be fine."

You were hesitant, but you finally released him. He gave one last reassuring look before he disappeared. Yumichika didn't waste any time. He took off himself, glancing down to ensure you were still conscious. Your eyes seemed distant. Your body was covered in bruises. What he could assume was a hollow attack.

"Please..promise me that you'll look after Ichigo. H-He's all I have left.."

Your words were solemn, and Yumichika was the last one to make such a promise. But watching you so helpless, it did something to him.

"I have his back."

At the time, that seemed like the right thing.

It helped you.

When Yumichika got closer to you, it was mostly as a source of entertainment. You were around all the time it seemed and you always had the best reactions whenever he flaunted his beauty. The more he saw you, the more he felt protective. The frequent trips to Karakura were welcomed whenever they had a mission. He was able to do his job and see you. The longer he was around, the more he learned.

Like your relationship with Ichigo.

What he initially assumed as romantic love was just a brotherly bond you'd formed when he saved you from a river as a kid.

A detail he felt comforted that you openly told him.

"How come you always drop by just to piss me off."

You looked angry, and Yumichika had to admit it was cute. He'd never tell you, but sometimes he just loved to jab to get a reaction.

"I was merely saying you may never get to my standard of beauty, but you're still exceptional in your own way."

"Why does that sound like a compliment and an insult all wrapped in one!!" You fire back.

Yumichika laughed from his position on the roof and you just folded your arms, turning your head in the opposite direction. Nights like this were nice to just sit and watch the stars.

Considering that Yumichika could literally fly, you knew such a view wasn't anything extraordinary to him. It was still nice that he decided to entertain you.

"If I'm so beneath your level then why waste your time."

It was just an angry little ramble, but Yumichika turned. He could tell that you weren't truly upset. But he realized then that you may not actually know how he sees you.

"If I really thought you weren't worth my time I wouldn't even look at you."

The statement makes you turn, and you swallow. Because he's wearing that expression again. Soft and a bit paralyzing in a fluffy sort of way.

"I've made it a rule of mine never to look upon ugly things. What I see before me is quite beautiful."

Your eyes widen at those words. The heat crawls up your cheeks before you can stop it.

"Y-You're just messing with me again!" You point at him accusingly.

He smiles, and it does something to you. When he moves closer, he takes hold of your hand, and it lowers slowly into your lap.

You're in awe.

"Not so feisty anymore, are you?"

The confident smile on his face is disarming. Especially with the lack of space. You clench your hand into your lap.

"W-What are you doing Yumichika.."

It's almost a whisper. It's when his hand cups your cheek that you feel your heart hammer.

"I thought I was clear, I'm claiming something very beautiful."

His lips descend on your own and you clench your eyes shut. You can't believe you let someone like Yumichika mess with you. Much less kiss you. Although you can't deny that it feels really good. His lips feel so soft, and you've never realized just how good he smells. You feel his hand shift from your lap, sliding over your waist as he pulls you closer. Your blush darkens and he deepens the kiss. At this point you're just barely able to think, much less do much but reciprocate shyly. When his tongue brushes against our own, you pull away with a gasp, covering your lips.

Yumichika licks his own lips.

"W-What was that!"

"That was a kiss, would you like another?"

"N-No you sneaky pervert!!"

In all honesty, you're not sure your brain will be able to function properly if he kisses you again. Your protests are merely to save face.

This is embarrassing to say the least.

You don't expect it when he picks you up. Letting out a soft squeak, you grip at his robes.

"What the heck are you doing!!"

"I already told you."

He says nothing more, just flash steps into the house.

"W-Wait I'm not prepared!! K-KYA!!!"

It looks like you never had anything to worry about.

#bleach #soul society #love #care #yumichika ayasegawa #humor #trust #protective #soul reapers #gotei13 #friends #feelings #yumichika x reader

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 7 months ago

Text

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic, Chapter 5

Pairing: Platonic Steven Grant x Reader (for now)

Rating: T

Word count: ~2000

Story Summary: Steven meets a beautiful woman in the Egyptian exhibit at the British Museum...

...Too bad she's his new boss.

Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent since Steven still works for the British Museum post-canon, No Jake Lockley, developing friendship

A/N: ICYMI, I've been going through some personal stuff, but Steven has been a welcome distraction so I was able to get this next chapter written fairly quickly!

If you want to be tagged in this or any of my other writing, let me know!

Steven opened his desk drawer for the fifth time since he had arrived at work that morning and checked to make sure the gift he had bought Dr. Y/LN hadn't accidentally gotten damaged.

He took a deep breath. He had sent her a text message before he had left for work asking if he could briefly meet with her that morning and was awaiting her response.

He hurriedly unlocked his phone as it alerted him of a new message. I'm in my office now. Come on up whenever you're ready.

Steven grabbed the gift bag and headed to the elevator, his heart thrumming nervously.

Calm down, Marc said. It's just a gift. It's not like you're proposing to her.

Steven shook his head. What if she doesn't like it?

She will. I'm sure of it.

Steven got off of the elevator and made his way to Dr. Y/L/N’s office, noting that Helen hadn't yet made it in.

He checked his watch. Well, it's no wonder Helen isn't here yet. It's not even 8 am.

He paused in the open doorway. Dr. Y/L/N was standing by the window and looking outside, the early morning light giving her an ethereal glow. She's so beautiful.

He gently knocked on the door so as to not startle her. “Er, excuse me, ma'am.”

Dr. Y/L/N turned towards him. “Hi, come on in. You can close the door behind you.”

Steven nodded as he stepped inside and closed the door.

Dr. Y/L/N walked over to her desk and sat down. “How can I help you, Steven?”

“I'm sorry to bother you this morning, but I, er, I just wanted to say that you're a wonderful director and that I really enjoy working with you.” Steven set the gift bag down on her desk. “And I also wanted to give you this.”

Dr. Y/L/N’s brow wrinkled, an adorably confused look on her face. “You got me a gift?”

Steven nodded, fidgeting nervously as Dr. Y/L/N reached for the gift bag. “It's not much, but I just thought, well…”

He paused as Dr. Y/L/N pulled the ‘World Pyramid Tea Collection' he had gotten for her out of the bag. “You had said that you wanted to try different varieties of tea, so when I saw this I thought you might like it.”

What he didn't say was that he had been planning on buying a varietal tea set to give to her since the day he had walked her home two weeks prior and that while doing a rather extensive search online for the perfect one had stumbled upon that particular set.

A smile spread across Dr. Y/L/N’s face. “This is so sweet of you. Thank you.”

Steven nodded slightly. “You're very welcome, ma'am.”

Dr. Y/L/N opened the box, her smile becoming even brighter. “Ohmygod, they're actually shaped like little pyramids. That is so cool!”

She looked up at Steven. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

Oh dear gods, yes. Steven nodded. “Yes, that would be quite alright.”

He sucked in a breath as Dr. Y/L/N walked around her desk and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace.

“This is one of the kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me,” Dr. Y/L/N murmured into his ear. “Truly, thank you so much.”

Hug her back, dumbass, Marc chided.

Oh, right. Steven quickly returned her embrace, tucking his face into Dr. Y/L/N’s neck as she hugged him tighter. “I'm very happy that you like it.”

Dr. Y/L/N nodded against him. “I love it.”

They stood there with their arms around each other for what couldn't have been more than a few moments, but felt to Steven like it lasted a lifetime.

Finally, Dr. Y/L/N gave him one last squeeze and stepped back.

She gestured towards her box of tea. “Would you like to join me for a cup of tea? I'm excited to try out all of the different varieties.”

Steven nodded. “I would love to. Do you know which one you want to try first?”

“Probably the Earl Grey.” Dr. Y/L/N gave Steven a bashful smile. “It smelled so good when you had it the day you walked me home.”

“It is quite nice.” Steven gestured towards the door. “Shall we, then?”

Dr. Y/L/N took the Earl Grey pyramid out of the box. “Did you not want to try one of these?”

“Oh, no, I keep a tin of tea in the staff kitchen,” Steven replied. “I don't want to take one of those in case it's a flavor you might like.”

“Oh, okay then.” Dr. Y/L/N picked up her coffee mug. “After you.”

They headed downstairs to the staff kitchen, which was blessedly empty.

Steven filled the museum's electric kettle with enough water for both of their cups of tea then turned it on before grabbing his own mug and tin of tea bags.

He watched as Dr. Y/L/N carefully opened the box containing her tea bag.

She glanced over at him. “I'd like to preserve the pyramids, if I can.”

Steven grinned. “Spoken like a true archeologist.”

Dr. Y/L/N shrugged, a small smile on her face. “Or just a sentimental sap.”

Steven shook his head, touched by the thought of Dr. Y/L/N wanting to keep the box intact because it had been a gift. “Nothing wrong with that.”

Dr. Y/L/N took her tea bag out of its box and smelled it before dropping the bag into her coffee mug. “Mmm, that smells so nice.”

Steven nodded as he opened his tin of tea bags and set one into his own cup. “Oh, yeah, I agree. I love the smell of bergamot.”

He paused as the kettle clicked off. “Oh, there we are.”

“How long do we let it steep for?” Dr. Y/L/N asked.

“Anywhere from 3-5 minutes,” Steven answered as he picked the kettle up off of its base. “Of course the longer you let it steep the stronger the flavor. May I?”

Dr. Y/L/N nodded and slid her mug towards him. “Thank you.”

Steven poured some hot water into her mug. “You're welcome.”

He poured some water into his own mug then emptied the kettle before setting it back on its base to dry. “Anything exciting on your agenda for today?”

Dr. Y/L/N shook her head. “Just the usual business stuff -- writing reports, meeting with I.T. about the PA system upgrade, and trying to update the gift shop offerings. Certain things are just not selling.”

She paused. “Actually… I know that's not your department anymore, but while you were in the gift shop, was there anything you wished we would've carried or something you felt was unnecessary?”

Steven nodded. “Actually, yeah. First of all, I don't know why we have so many themed sweets -- it's not like those even existed back in the time they're supposed to be representing. Also, maybe we could add some buildables to the shop?”

Dr. Y/L/N’s brow furrowed. “Buildables? You mean like Legos or something?”

“Sort of, but I was thinking more like wood kits and 3-D puzzles.” Steven pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up an example of what he was talking about. “The manufacturer has different kinds -- the Great Pyramid of Giza, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Parthenon, all the wonders of the world.”

Dr. Y/L/N nodded. “Okay, yeah, I like that. Anything else?”

“Possibly a larger variety of plushies. All we have is Taweret right now.” Just anyone but Ammit, he added silently.

Dr. Y/L/N nodded. “Okay, I'll see what I can find. Thanks for your input.”

“Of course. Happy to assist.”

Dr. Y/L/N bit her lip. “You know, I have to be honest with you, when I received your text this morning saying you wished to meet with me I thought you were coming to tender your resignation.”

“Oh, no.” Steven shook his head. “No, no, absolutely not. When I told you that I plan on staying right where I am, I meant it.”

As long as you're here, anyway, he added silently.

“I’m very glad to hear that.” Dr. Y/L/N’s lips quirked back up into a smile. “After all, who else would save me from chatty board members during the museum galas?”

Steven shrugged, a small smile forming on his own face. “I'm sure there would be plenty of others willing to come to your rescue.”

Dr. Y/L/N shook her head. “No one quite like you, though.”

There was something in her expression that Steven couldn't quite place, but before he could even try, Dr. Y/L/N had cleared her throat and glanced down at her tea.

“You're definitely one of a kind,” she added as she dipped her tea bag into her cup a couple of times. “I mean, I doubt anyone else would also be willing to sneak away from a fancy party with me to go translate ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs on a sarcophagus.”

Steven chuckled. “For the record, I would happily sneak away from a fancy party with you anytime.”

Dr. Y/L/N looked back up at him, a grin spreading across her face. “In that case, maybe during the next gala we can go hide out in Ancient Greece and drink tea.”

Steven nodded with a grin of his own. “That definitely sounds like a good time.”

“Great.” Dr. Y/L/N looked down at her cup of tea again. “So, do you think this has steeped long enough?”

Steven picked up a couple of teaspoons off of a drying mat next to the sink then slid the sugar canister in between himself and Dr. Y/L/N. “Oh, er, yeah, probably.”

He handed her one of the spoons. “It depends on how sweet you like your tea as to whether or not you want to add sugar and just how much, but I find about a teaspoon does the trick for flavored teas. Gives it a bit of sweetness without overpowering the flavor.”

Dr. Y/L/N nodded. “I'll defer to your expertise, then. After you.”

Steven took his tea bag out of his cup and discarded it before spooning some sugar into his tea and watching as Dr. Y/L/N did the same.

He waited as she finished stirring her sugar in and rinsed off her spoon. “Moment of truth, eh?”

Dr. Y/L/N huffed out a laugh and raised her mug in a toast. “Bottoms up.”

She took a cautious sip, her eyebrows raising at the taste. “Oh, wow. Wow, this is really good.”

Steven smiled in relief as he rinsed his own spoon and set it next to hers. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Dr. Y/L/N took another sip. “I see what you mean about adding just a small amount of sugar -- I don't think I'd like it if it wasn't sweetened at all, but this is a nice balance between sweet and citrusy.”

Steven took a sip of his own perfectly-sweetened cup of tea. “It definitely took some trial and error to get the ratio just right.”

Dr. Y/L/N checked her watch. “I should get back upstairs so I can get ready for my meeting with I.T., but thank you again for my gift. It really does mean a lot to me.”

Steven nodded. “You're very welcome. And let me know how you like the other varieties.”

Dr. Y/L/N smiled with a slight nod of her own, then picked up the box for her tea bag. “I will. Have a good day, Steven.”

“You too, Dr. Y/L/N.”

Steven waited until Dr. Y/L/N had left the staff kitchen before putting his tea bags and the sugar away.

I told you she'd like it, Marc said in his head. You did good.

Steven picked up his cup and headed back downstairs to his desk, smiling to himself at the memory of Dr. Y/L/N’s arms around him as they had embraced. Yeah, I did, didn't I?

#lotmf writes #ELTSDiM Masterlist #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant fanfiction

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iwaoiness · 1 year ago

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Oikawa's problematic phone case

Without any doubt, Iwaizumi is the only person in the world who is able to look so fucking hot in his ID picture without even trying. His golden skin, his hair in that natural state of spiky, his forehead relaxed without any wrinkles, that piercing in his eyebrow that he got in his first year at Irvine and that Tooru still shivers over, his eyes staring at the camera with an intensity in their greenish hue that takes breath away, his lips curved in a small lopsided smile, a shadow of dimple on his cheek, his jaw well marked by the lights, his chin slightly elevated.

Hajime sent it during one of his video calls while telling him about his day; the soda Oikawa was drinking at that moment shot out of his nose when he choked while opening the picture. Early in the morning, he stood in the nearest copy shop to his house to request eight copies, still blushing, heart racing, and ears still ringing from Iwaizumi's deep-playful-stupid-hot laugh and his Do I look so hot that it makes the great Oikawa-senshu this nervous?

One of those copies ended up in his grey silicone case (which actually matched Iwaizumi's, his with a chubby dinosaur drawing in the bottom corner asking What are u doing?; Oikawa's, with another smiling dinosaur hugging the rest of Iwasaurus missing tail, answering Miss you, hug me!), accompanying him everywhere for months along with a small family photo with his parents, sister and Takeru.

However, one night, during an interview on a popular and prestigious TV show, Oikawa completely forgot that he changed his usual cover for a transparent one and took out his mobile phone in the middle of the interview to show the presenter a really embarrassing video of Matias, his friend and San Juan's starting blocker.

And, of course, Tooru's loud and intense fandom erupted the minute they noticed (thanks to damn high-definition cameras that might as well show gaping pores in close-up as reveal a years-long relationship with a really hot athletic trainer) Hajime's photograph on his IPhone case.

Social media was abuzz with dozens of screenshots from different angles, threads about conspiracy theories (Hanamaki's favourite was that Oikawa had the wrong phone and used the phone of a technical member of the programme; Matsukawa's that Hajime was Tooru's older brother), civil wars between fans over who was more right until only a day later it was revealed (thanks to one Suna Rintaro) that the strange boy was Iwaizumi Hajime, the hot athletic trainer of Birtwistle University and the Japan Men's National Volleyball Team.

And there was no shortage of hashtags like #IwaizumiHajime27AthleticTrainer, #LGBTooru, #BiRighToorus, #IwaOi that became worldwide TT and the grotesque rise of followers on Hajime's official account and also Oikawa's own.

"You had to use a fucking transparent case" Hajime speaks when it's finally his turn to come to Argentina. He's sitting on the bed with Tooru propped up next to him, blinking at the memes that continue to pop up on his TL even though it's been a month of what Oikawa's fans have already dubbed IwaOi National Day. "You have a drawer full, full, of ridiculous phone cases and you pick the one that's transparent."

"I already said it was unintentional, Iwa-chan! Unintentional!" Oikawa protests, crossing his arms as he makes a pout that Hajime finds truly endearing. "I'd better have kept the picture that auntie took of you when you were nine years old and got stuck in the cat flap," he mutters, but Iwaizumi hears him clearly and Tooru squeals as a pillow hits his face, nearly knocking him off the bed.

...

the cute phone case inspired this drabble

as always thank u sm and u can find me on my ao3 🍉

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jim-bones-spock · 1 year ago

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LOVE AND OTHER PICKLES, a BabeRoe fic for @mutantmanifesto for the #hbowarsanta23

Hello there, @mutantmanifesto! It's me, your secret santa. I had so much fun writing this little fic for you, I truly hope you enjoy it :') I had a blast being your secret santa this year and I wish you all the best for this holiday season!

Title: Love and other pickles

Raiting: T

Pairings: Baberoe with a side of Webgott and cameo by the ever amazing Chuck Grant

Summary: When Babe's takeout meal gets mistakenly stolen by someone in his building, the young man doesn't have any other choice than to start a passive agressive post-it note war on the bulletin board for everyone to see. The thing is: he didn't expect someone to actually answer...

Tags: Modern AU, enemies to friends to lovers, kinda enemies, gratious mentions of pickles and smoked meat sandwhiches, holiday fun, HBOwarsanta23, secret santa

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52501954

Or read in its entirety below the cut!

LOVE AND OTHER PICKLES

Babe didn’t know he could get this angry over a pickle.

As in, a literal pickle. A perfect sour pickle, crunchy and heavenly in its vinegar distribution. The perfect balance to his takeout meal he had ordered, a rich smoked meat sandwich, filled to the brim with tender meats and dijon mustard.

The only bright part of his day, which, Babe thought, was depressingly telling of the state of his mental health.

Looking down sadly at his sandwich container, neatly placed by the delivery guy right by his mailbox, Babe couldn’t believe this was happening. His shoulder sagged, his eyes closed.

“What the hell took you so long?” said the ever-annoyed voice of Joe Leibgott right behind him.

“My pickle,” Babe whispered, his sadness slowly morphing into indignation.

Babe could physically feel Joe wrinkling his nose. “Hey, man, gross. Don’t talk about that stuff,”

“No, it’s… The restaurant forgot my pickle,” frowned Babe. “They never do, usually. They even put it in a little separate box and everything.”

Joe looked inside Babe’s bag and looked up, his deadpan delivery mastered. “Why would you want pickles with Chinese food? Is that a new thing kids do these days?” he added, as if he weren’t only two years older than Babe.

Now fully confused, Babe looked down at his bag. “Chinese food? I ordered a smoked meat sandwich!”

Joe shrugged. “Looks like someone from another apartment took your order by mistake. I wouldn’t blame them, honestly.” Joe pointed at the multiple food delivery bags, all waiting in front of their respective mail box’s apartment numbers. “I mean, look at the mess here! We can barely walk, it’s like a minefield of cold hamburgers.”

“But… We have a system,” Babe complained, waving in the general direction of the lobby. “People can’t just… take whatever they want and not check their bags!”

Joe sighed, a clear sign for Babe that he was already done with this conversation. He looked at his nails as he offered his measly sympathy. “Maybe they were as tired as we are. Maybe they were evil and took yours just to spite you. Now, stop whining,” said Joe, as if he weren’t the biggest whining baby of all time, “just eat the stranger’s food. We have to finish the presentation before tomorrow or else Nixon’s gonna have our skins.”

Babe grumbled under his breath. They did have to work late, hence the delivery at his condo and he and Joe working until probably midnight and then some. Still, Babe could not shake the pettiness growing inside of him like a vine. The feeling was familiar. His friends called it Babe’s Petty Principles.

As soon as Joe left after a tiring evening of crunching numbers and deciphering numerous Excel documents, Babe, half manic with fatigue, took a sharpie pen, his trusty post-it notepad and wrote down a few lines, what he thought would send a clear message.

Taking the elevator down, he stepped into the empty lobby. Sticking the post-it note on the bulletin board for all to see, he smirked. Ah. That’ll show them.

To the pickle thief - how dare you!!!! I was looking forward to that pickle all day. Shame on you. That smoked meat sandwich was mine.

Contented, Babe then went to sleep, unaware of the ridiculous set of events he had just put into motion.

The next day saw him awake around seven. Sure enough, Babe went on with his routine, the thief almost out of his mind. With breakfast and coffee down the hatch, he dressed in his usual gray suit, white shirt and black tie, put on his winter coat and made his way down to catch his bus headed downtown.

As he opened the front door of his building, letting in a cold December wind that ruffled his amber hair, Babe stopped dead in his tracks. From the corner of his eye, he could spot a bright blue post-it on the bulletin board. As the pickle incident came thundering back into his mind, Babe remembered distinctively using a yellow post-it note. Which could only mean one thing.

The thief had answered.

Retreating back into the warmth of the lobby, Babe hurried to the board. Instead of his chicken scratch, there was a new note written in neat and elegant cursive. Babe could only gawk at the response.

To the weirdo who likes pickles: why.

I threw the pickle away. Also, the sandwich was okay, although there was too much salt for my liking.

Signed: the pickle thief

Babe audibly scoffed as he ripped the post-it from the bulletin board. How… dare the thief write that! The smoked meat sandwich was deliciously salty and the… The pickle! In the garbage? Unacceptable!

Babe saw red, his cheeks heating up as they usually do under stress.

“Oh yeah?” he muttered, crumpling the note in his fist. “We’ll see, then, pickle thief. We’ll see who will have the last laugh.”

As he ruminated on the bus, dark snow clouds literally hanging above his head, it dawned on Babe that he was taking this way too seriously. That it could happen to anyone, mixing up delivery bags.

Then, the image of his dear pickle in the trash came back to him in a flash. Babe sighed.

He knew himself pretty well, after almost thirty years of living in his own head. He knew that he didn't have a choice.

He'll take this way too far and win the post-it war. He had to.

As soon as came back home after a tiring day, Babe took the yellow note with the message he had carefully crafted during his lunch hour out of his pocket and pinned it right where the rude answer had been.

To the pickle thief,

Your crimes will be punished. How dare you throw away a poor innocent pickle. I should call 911 on you!!!! Poor small, innocent pickle! I will have revenge.

I am vengeance.

Now fully certain he had the last word, Babe was actually surprised to see a new post-it the next morning as he made his way through the lobby. Whoever was answering, they must be working nights, because Babe never saw a glimpse of anyone in the mornings, nor around five in the afternoon when he came back tired and hungry from the office.

This time was no different: a blue post-it note waiting, mocking him from afar. Babe hurried to the board, almost dropping his case in the process of tearing the offensive bit of paper from the wall.

Calm down, Batman. You seem a little obsessed over the pickle. Are you having pickle problems on your side?

Signed,

The pickle thief who recommends you get checked out.

Babe knew exactly what to answer. Without hesitation, he dug in his bag for his post-its and scribbled the answer leaning on the board itself, his tongue sticking out of his mouth for better focus.

Wow, that’s rich, coming from a guy (I guess?) who can’t even read the numbers of the apartments right! You can’t just take anything in front of you and call it Chinese food.

We. Have. A. SYSTEM. The world would crumble if we can’t get our orders straight!!!!

Triumphantly sticking the note to the board, Babe turned to the elevators, only to see his next door neighbor, Chuck, waiting in front of the reflective doors, his usual calm expression now puzzled. Babe waved as he walked closer.

“Hey, Chuck! How’s it going, man?” Babe asked, eyeing the already pushed button to call the elevator.

“It’s… I’m fine, thank you,” answered Chuck, still looking curiously over Babe’s shoulder at the board displaying his passive-aggressive note. “Uhm, Babe… What were you doing?”

Babe chuckled, his face heating up. “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” he answered, pushing the button a couple of times just in case it would help the elevator come down faster. “Just a pickle issue.”

Feeling Chuck’s stare on the side of his face, Babe kept his gaze carefully averted, scratching his head and scrunching his nose as he prayed for the doors to open.

“You’re having… pickle issues?” Chuck repeated. Judging by the tone of his voice, Babe was right to avoid his eye.

“No, no, not like that, jeez, why does everybody…” Babe trailed off with another nervous chuckle, scratching his nose. “I mean, someone took my delivery meal ‘by accident’”, he added, air quotes and all, “and now we’re having a friendly conversation over it.”

Silence.

“Through the bulletin board," Babe added, voice weak, "with post-it notes.”

It took a long few seconds for Chuck to process the information.

“Oh,” he eventually said, his deadpan delivery as Chuck as could be. “So it’s a Babe’s Petty Principle kind of thing. I see.”

The elevator finally dinged, the doors sliding open in front of them.

“You know what, I’ll take the next one,” said Babe, looking down. “I… forgot something in my car.”

Chuck nodded and entered the cabin. “I hope you win,” his neighbor said, “but don’t get that poor guy kicked out of the building for a pickle.”

“It was a very good pickle!” Babe shouted at the closing doors, as Chuck’s laugh echoed in the lobby.

In the reflection of the doors, Babe could see his cheeks were as red as his hair. He sighed, and pushed the button calling the elevator again.

I’m a new guy (confirmed) here. I didn’t know the “SYSTEM”. I do know how to read though, and you don’t need that many exclamation points when you write.

-Pickle thief

Babe grabbed the latest note absentmindedly that morning, reading it on the bus. Rolling his eyes and crumpling the paper in his coat pocket, Babe arrived at the office and headed straight for his post-it notes. Before he even opened his emails or removed his coat, Babe was furiously scribbling.

I’ll write as many as I want, new guy !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then, blindly grabbing another post-it note, he covered it in exclamation points. Finally satisfied, he rolled back his office chair, looking up and nearly tipping over when he realized Joe Liebgott was watching him from above, leaning on the dividing wall between their cubicles. Even though Joe didn’t physically roll his eyes, Babe knew he was doing it in spirit.

“Back at it again with the passive aggressive notes, I see,” Joe trailed off, smirking.

Babe shrugged, discarding his coat on the back of his chair and turning his work laptop on. “The guy keeps answering ,” he muttered, half amused and half annoyed that Joe could read him so well.

“Look like you found your match,” Joe pointed out, glancing down on his side of the wall to grab his coffee mug and slowly sipping the hot liquid. His friend wiggled his eyebrows, much to Babe’s dismay.

Babe groaned. Just as he began praying for something, anything to wipe the smug expression off his friend’s face, he glimpsed David Webster, accountant extraordinaire, strolling in behind Joe, his expression furious.

Thank you, Lord, Babe thought as he assessed Webster’s level of anger to be a solid seven out of ten.

“Looks like yours found you ,” he said, smirking as Joe’s eyes widened.

“Liebgott,” Webster snapped, right on cue, “how many times do I have to tell you to file your reports before the due date?”

Closing his eyes only for a moment, Joe turned to face his work nemesis, as Babe liked to call Webster, who, when not in presence of Liebgott, was actually a very decent guy, albeit sometimes a little arrogant.

“Webster, it’s eight in the fucking morning,” Joe snapped back, and Babe settled in his chair, thankful for a distraction this early in his work day.

Webster scoffed. “I can read the time, thank you very much. I was here at six this morning, because of you, fixing your mistake so that the company wouldn’t implode .”

Leigbott put down his coffee mug, raising his eyebrows to give Webster a snarky once-over. “Not my fault you have nothing else to do in the mornings. You probably sleep in a suit, waiting to go to work.”

“I don’t sleep in a suit, you know very well that I sleep in- '' Webster started, before shutting his mouth very fast, his cheeks reddening.

What? thought Babe, watching Joe’s eyes dart over to him and back to Webster.

“Anyway , that’s not the point,” Webster continued, flustered. “I need you to make copies of this document and go give them to Nixon, because I’m not taking the fall for your incompetence.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Babe watched them leave, their steps angry, but their expressions… almost eager? Babe blinked, shutting down the thought. He hadn’t had his coffee this morning yet. He wasn’t ready for the truth. He decided to wait for his friend to come back, but not before shamelessly stealing Joe’s mug off his desk and taking a few sips.

If his hypothesis was true, Joe would owe him much more than one coffee.

For starters, therapy.

Alright, this is getting out of hand. Sorry for the pickle, won’t happen again.

Signed: pickle thief, over and out.

“Well, now I feel bad,” Babe told Joe after showing him the last post-it the next morning at work. “Maybe I pushed too far.”

Joe shrugged in his office chair, handing the post-it back. “Nah. It’s good, you won. You got it out of your system.”

Frowning, Babe leaned on the cubicle wall and gave Joe a sarcastic look. “Like you got Webster out of your system?”

Joe’s smile was all teeth. “Twice last night, I got him out of my system.”

Babe groaned. “Joe, come on! Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing him?”

Shrugging again, Joe leaned back In his chair. “Dunno. Didn’t think it would be a recurring thing until it was.”

“So are you… official?” asked Babe, folding the post-it in his pocket.

Liebgott smiled again, this time a little more genuine. “I guess, yeah.” Then he seemed to remember where he was, because he snickered. “I won’t tell him, though, and I'll complain that he forgot our anniversary in a month. That’ll drive him mad.”

Babe kicked him lightly in the shins. “Hey. Be nice. Webster’s a catch, actually. Don’t know how he fell for your ugly mug.”

Liebgott sighed. “Yeah, me neither.”

A pensive silence fell on the two friends. Wanting to lighten the mood, Babe nudged Joe’s shin again. “You know he actually went to Harvard?”

“Webster went to Harvard? No, really? He never mentioned it before,” Joe answered, completely deadpan, while Babe barked a laugh.

“You really should write to the pickle thief if it’s that important to you, you know," Joe eventually said after a few hours of serious work. "Maybe invite him somewhere to make peace, or whatever.”

“Yeah, maybe," Babe said, his mood immediately picking up "Thanks, Joe, that’s actually a great idea."

“I am smart most of the time, you know,” Joe muttered, sighing dramatically.

I’m sorry, man, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Let me make it up to you.

Sandwich shop, this saturday, seven o’clock. My treat. I’ll be wearing a blue sweater.

-E. Heffron

The bell jingled and Babe’s head shot up for the tenth time since he sat down at a quarter to seven. Thirty minutes later, no sign of his pickle thief. This time it was a family making their way to the counter, the children running around happily while the father gave their order.

i dont think he’s gonna show , Babe texted Joe, frowning.

Joe’s answer came swiftly. Just wait. Maybe he was busy stealing other pickles.

Babe decided that he would wait until eight, to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. He ordered another coffee and sighed, scrolling on his phone.

Around seven thirty, the door opened once more. This time, Babe almost didn’t look up, engrossed in an online quiz about which Hunger Games character he was. Glancing up, he saw a man scanning the restaurant, then zoning in on Babe, his fierce eyes as focused as a hawk. The man looked down at his blue sweater, then started to approach.

Babe gulped.

While the guy walked towards him, Babe had time to detail him. Green, almost hazel eyes, dark hair as jet black as the night sky in January, pointy nose with the tip reddened by the cold outside, and the most attractive set of features Babe had ever seen on a man completed the portrait.

His face was as sharp as it was delicate, his strong cheekbones making him look straight out of Babe’s favorite tv dramas. A light stubble covered his cheeks, and as he walked even closer, Babe cringed as he realized the man was frowning deeply. Something in Babe suggested that this was probably his neutral expression, but Babe couldn't count on wishful thinking.

The stranger took his last steps towards Babe, who started to really panic. His pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes suggested someone who probably rarely got out. Then again, Babe had the same matching set of dark circles, so perhaps the guy was working in a soul-sucking office too.

The man wore a long black coat made of wool, unbuttoned, and when he finally stopped right in front of the table, Babe could make out dark blue scrubs underneath. Ah. Not an office worker then, maybe more like a doctor, or a nurse.

Great. Babe antagonized someone who helped others on the daily. Nothing to calm his anxious conscience.

They stared at each other in tense silence for what seemed like an eternity. Babe maintained eye contact, trying to decide if it was normal to be slightly aroused by the intensity of the man in front of him, while being terrified of his scowling.

“Heffron?” the man asked after eyeing him as Babe did to him not a minute ago.

His voice was raspy and Babe was delighted to hear a Cajun accent, hidden beneath the layers of animosity the man seemed to radiate towards him.

“Y-Yes, that’s me. Uhm. Please, sit down,” said Babe, willing his voice not to waver.

The man seemed to think about it, then sat in the booth in front of Babe, stiff as a stick. They sat in silence, Babe’s face hotter by the minute. He felt so warm, from awkwardness and panic, the only image his brain conjured was the Wicked Witch melting at the end of W izard of Oz.

“So,” Babe said after clearing his throat. “Uhm. Pickle thief.”

“Eugene Roe, actually. Pickle thief was my father,” Eugene Roe said with an absolutely deadpan delivery that made something in Babe’s stomach flip.

“Right. The famous mister pickle,” Babe joked lamely.

Then, something incredible happened. Eugene's expression softened, like he thought Babe’s line was actually a little funny, but wouldn’t let it show. It gave Babe a little courage. Maybe this wouldn’t be so disastrous after all.

“Look,” Babe breathed out as Eugene kept looking at him, “I’m gonna say it right now: I’m sorry I was a jerk through post-it notes.”

Babe swallowed before continuing, keeping to the little speech he prepared and practiced to a supportive Chuck Grant last night. “I shouldn’t have snapped, it wasn’t fair to you. It was a Babe’s Petty Principle situation and it shouldn’t have escalated like that, so, uh… Yeah.”

Beyond embarrassed, Babe grabbed his empty coffee cup, nervously tapping the sides with his short nails. “Sorry,” he added again, wincing.

Eugene blinked, the first sign that he heard anything Babe had just said.

“Babe?” he asked, his frown deepening.

“Yeah?”

“No, I mean… Your name is Babe? Babe Heffron?” Eugene asked again, his puzzled expression doing unfortunate things to Babe’s stomach.

“No, uh… My name is Edward, but everybody calls me Babe,” he explained, feeling a familiar blush creep up to his ears. “I’m the youngest of my friend group.”

“Ah. I see,” Eugene said slowly. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “No way I’m calling you Babe.”

“But you just did,” Babe contered, smirking.

Eugene gave him a dark look. Oops. Why was it so attractive? Babe’s stomach felt like it was on a rollercoaster of contradicting feelings.

“So anyway, sorry. Again. I thought you wouldn’t show up,” Babe said, while Eugene flagged down the waiter.

“I just came out of a shift at the hospital, actually. I came straight here when I saw the board,” Eugene casually explained. “Hi,” he added when the waiter came over. “We’ll have two smoked meat sandwiches, pickles for both. Thank you.”

The waiter nodded and disappeared behind the counter. Babe watched as Eugene removed his coat, revealing a small, but strong frame.

“So… You’re a doctor?” asked Babe, desperate to hear Eugene’s drawl in any way possible.

“Surgeon,” Eugene clarified. “You?”

Babe sighed. “Marketing. I mostly do Excel spreadsheets that nobody looks at after. Exciting work.”

Eugene shrugged, his expression once again softening. “S’not bad. What else do you like to do, except antagonize perfect strangers in your building?”

Babe smiles sheepishly. “I only antagonize the doctors in my building, actually.”

The smallest smile undid the frown on Eugene’s face. “I see.”

“I'm actually a boring person,” continued Babe, eyeing the waiter as he got out of the kitchen balancing two plates on his arm.

“Someone who has a catchphrase for his… what was it again? Petty principles? That’s not boring to me,” shrugged Eugene, just as the waiter stopped by them and delivered their orders. They both nodded in thanks as he walked away.

“My friends coined it. I can be… I mean, principles are important,” Babe said, waving his hands around, intent on being the most humble he could be.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re going to give me your pickle again,” said Eugene, his eyes now twinkling with a light Babe was enchanted to see.

Oh, he wanted to play it like that, uh? Alright. Babe could play.

“No way,” he answered, placing a protective hand over his plate, “ you owe me a pickle, mister.”

Eugene frowned, but this time Babe could tell it was fake, which made his heart miss a beat.

“What about the emotional damage I had to endure? I demand reparation,” Eugene said, crossing his arms on his chest.

“But you don’t even like pickles. You threw the other one away!” countered Babe, now genuinely confused.

Eugene scratched at his cheek to hide his mouth. “I might have lied about that.”

Laughing, Babe threw his hands in the air. “I knew it! I knew nobody in their right mind could say no to a delicious pickle with a smoked meat sandwich.”

“So… Can I have yours?” Eugene said after Babe dropped his arms.

Babe dramatically sighed. “I see only one way of settling this. We’ll split the pickle. How ‘bout that?”

Eugene pretended to think about it. “Yes, that would be satisfactory.” He extended his arm so that Babe would shake his hand above their plates. “Shake on it? From now on, we’ll always split the pickle.”

Babe eagerly took Eugene’s hand. It was firm and dry, and Babe had to make his brain shut up about the other things Babe would like to see Eugene’s hands do.

“Agreed.”

They shared a smile, Eugene’s first real smile since he stepped in the restaurant. Babe was glad, a million pounds off his shoulders.

Reluctantly letting go of Eugene’s warm hand, Babe started eating his sandwich. Soon, Eugene joined him. They ate in companionable silence. Babe eyed Eugene every chance he got. The doctor ate with appetite, even licking his thumb when a splash of mustard dropped on his fingers.

“So,” Eugene eventually said. “This might be the weirdest meal I’ve ever shared."

“Not me,” Babe casually answered, cutting the pickle in half and placing it delicately on Eugene’s almost empty plate. “Last night I ate dinner with my friend and his soon-to-be boyfriend.”

“What was weird about the dinner?” Eugene asked, seemingly curious.

“They kind of love and hate each other so much, they ended up aggressively complimenting each other. It was tense,” Babe added.

Shuddering, he thought back on the ferocious intensity in Webster’s eyes as he declared that no, Joe was actually the most wonderful person he ever met as Joe practically growled in agony at Webster.

“Oh… You’re right, that’s a weirder meal than this one,” Eugene said, laughing.

“Wait until you hear this other one,” Babe added, galvanized by Eugene’s laugh, “the other day, my friend Bill-”

The night dwindled away as they both shared stories of their respective friend groups. Eugene ended up telling Babe a few gross hospital stories, while Babe spilled the crunchiest office drama. Hours went by without the two men ever checking their phones, or wanting to leave.

Babe could feel a certain warmth as Eugene relaxed and laughed more easily. He was still guarded, but that made his smiles all the more rewarding. Babe was quickly addicted and discreetly texted Joe when Eugene went to the bathroom.

Pickle guy okay. Might be on a date, now??????

WTF??? please call me after.

Babe could feel Eugene’s eyes on him more and more, and let his blush reign freely. There was no way he could hide the effect Eugene Roe had on him, even if he just met the guy. As the night went by, Babe could feel a certain tension come back, this time a much more pleasant tension. Babe knew it well, could feel it in bars when he eyed a good-looking stranger for a night of fun, could feel it when he (mostly tried) to flirt with the blind dates his friends would send him on.

What really emboldened Babe was that Eugene was giving this energy right back, was now making jokes and letting the silences linger, happy to be in the moment with Babe. Thrilled by this unforeseen turn of events, Babe, for once, let it happen and didn’t fight the lightness and giddiness he felt, letting himself be totally genuine.

All of that because of a pickle.

As the closing time approached and they had to put on their coats to brave the cold outside, Babe found himself wanting this evening to last forever.

“Well, this was… uhm… very fun,” Babe commented, stepping outside and holding the door for Eugene. “I’m glad I could say sorry in person. And I’m glad you didn’t think I was a total jackass,” he added sheepishly.

“I’m happy you reached out… and that you’re not a psycho killer,” Eugene added, flashing him a small smile as he went outside.

The clouds above hid the dark sky, rendering it more like a soft, gray color. Suddenly, Babe looked up. Heavy snowflakes, as if on cue, began to slowly fall down on their heads. Babe’s heart leapt in his chest as he looked back at Eugene to find out that he was already looking at Babe.

“You look like an angel,” Eugene whispered, almost to himself, pointing at the halo of a nearby streetlamp illuminating Babe’s hair, bright white snowflakes sticking to the copper strands.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Babe said, his voice strangled, after a few seconds gathering himself so he would not have to muffle a yell in his thick scarf.

Eugene looked down, smiling, and Babe couldn’t believe the sweetness of the moment. The snow falling felt more like powdered sugar at this point, with how sweet they were being.

Always the go-getter, Babe took a step forward, bringing him closer to Eugene. The other man did not move, turning his head so that he could look at Babe from the corner of his eye.

Being slightly taller than Eugene, Babe had to look down, inhaling through his nose to calm his nerves. He blinked a few times, drinking in the sight of Eugene, the tip of his nose already turning red, smelling the sharp, cold air around them alongside Eugene’s warm and rich scent.

Slowly, leaving plenty of room for Eugene to take a step back, Babe leaned down. Not only Eugene didn’t push him away, he leaned in , like he knew exactly what Babe would do. and pressed his parted lips to the corner of Eugene’s mouth in a chaste and sweet kiss. Electricity seemed to travel between the two, a sharp realization of wanting more, of seeing the other, almost like a recognition.

“Weirdest date I’ve ever been on,” Eugene chuckled warmly when they separated, his hand flying to his lips, like an afterthought.

Babe smiled wide, holding onto the sides of Eugene’s coat. He feels like if he let go, he would float away.

“Tell me about it,” he whispered, feeling himself blushing furiously as they walked back to their homes.

The next day, on the bulletin board, two post-it notes were pinned for everyone to see.

I’m very, very, very glad you stole my pickle :) How about same time, same place, next week?

I’ll be there

I think this time, it’s you that stole something of mine.

#band of brothers #BOB #hbowarsanta23 #I hope you'll like it!!!#baberoe #webgott #modern au #christmas exchange #happy reading!

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