#method man in the back lol

[fuckyeslilkim]

Carmen Electra making a cameo appearance in Lil' Kim's 'No Matter What They Say' Music Video, 2000.

[awesometothe3rd]

[goldensunset]

from one hot girl to another, the ultimate hot girl has traversed time and space

[beachyserasims]

My little cousin is opening for Redman & Method Man today at the Calgary Stampede!!

[dutybcrne]

Thinkings thinkings of Fatui!Kaeya have been reawakened in reviewing Arle's teasers/animations

[minterim]

just had my dad admit to me that even though he's fully aware of how much his alcoholism hurts me and my mum and brother he refuses to quit drinking outright because he likes it. cool

[universestreasures]

@ofhardknoxxx Continued From Here

It was that odd, he thinks. In fact, the entire situation perplexed the bright and intelligent young man. Technology that looked nearly identical to earlier Duel Disk models that were not made by his company...A city he's never heard of...A company he's never heard of...And a supposed famous duelist that a pro duelist like Reiji has never heard of...

Did he find himself in one of the other dimensions? That would explain why the other didn't hear of Leo Corporation. The world's appearance didn't look too different from the way things were in his home dimension of Standard, but he knows for a fact a city named Domino and a company called Kaiba Corp did not exist in his world. It certainly couldn't be Fusion or XYZ, for he did not get the sense that the world was at war here. Was this perhaps Synchro, the dimension he knows the least about?

He puts his hand to his glasses again, an action he did to try and stable himself, as he contemplated how to proceed. This could be trap by the enemy for all he knew. His father certainly loved to test his son in unusual ways, after all. Reiji decides to tread with caution, wanting to gather more information while his guard stayed up.

The other may seem harmless, but looks can be deceiving. The D/D/D user knows that firsthand considering the circumstances he's been through. In war, nothing was off the table.

"My apologies, but I am afraid I have not quite heard of your name before, or the other names you mentioned, Mr. Katsuya. I am...a visitor, I suppose you could say." An unintentional one, but it is the reality of the situation. He then holds up his duel disk, white, sleek, and modern, that was on his arm to show the other the difference between the disks they each held. He is being careful to not reveal information that an Academia solider wouldn't already know, considering Reiji is aware of no doubt the files his father has on him in that island fortress of a school he's built in the Fusion Dimension's ocean.

"Tell me, does your duel disk have the capabilities of Real Solid Vision with Mass? The ability to manifest the power of Duel Monsters cards into the physical world? I am rather curious if these...Kaiba Corp disks compare at all to the ones Leo Corporation, my company, have created."

[autumndragons]

i adore totk it skyrocketed to one of my favourite games very quickly and its the only thing thats been keeping me sane this last week but man that game is a full time job. like im sure when i played skyrim for the very first time i had a similar "my god, there is so many things to do" feeling but in totk it feels a lot more put together than skyrim? like you could skip half or more of the content in skyrim and not really lose much of the story/lore because its all pretty self contained for each part, but in totk a lot of stuff comes back to a central story in one way or another. like i took a break from the yiga clan stuff (theyre also gathering zonaite etc and have a bunch of lore in that area) after getting my fifth battery to very briefly do part of the 'main quest' (zoras) and then got distracted looking for the sky tablets (backstory on the old kingdom) and like. none of these things are completely self contained?? they all give lore for the grander setting and the main story! and im sure its designed that you can just go right through the main story, and maybe also get the tears, and be fine, but. i want the worldbuilding!! i LOVE the worldbuilding in botw/totk!

like dont get me wrong im having a great time flying my little bird plane from sky island to sky island hunting down the tablets now, but then im like. i need to finish the yiga thing. josha wanted me to find something around there too. sidon needs my help. i was supposed to get something from robbie's old lab. oh that typhlo ruins quest is probably updated now. oh theres a dragon tear- its not the next one i need and i should do these in order i'll come back later. i forgot i still have the last great faerie to unlock. ive used every single map pin and i dont remember what any of them are. is this one on the surface or in the sky? oh hey a new chasm-

idk. its just a lot. im having a great time but im like 58 hours in and ive done one (1) sage but i also have 14 hearts, an extra stamina wheel, and five batteries? lmao

totk is everything i couldve wanted and thats both a blessing and a curse

[nomairuins]

sorry it took me a second to get to those i rbed it instantly forgot and went to go do my little conlanging.

[sweet-as-kiwis]

International business is officially the Podcast Class

[rafesangelita]

hiii i might’ve sent this in already (you can just ignore this if i have) but i was thinking dealer rafe + sex pollen (like maybe a new drug he’s selling or something) possibly with dubcon?

warnings: dealer!rafe, kinda mean!rafe, reader is a stripper (you could read her lore here), brother’s best friend trope, dubcon (rafe drugs reader without her knowing), implied enemies, slut shaming (?), bratty behavior lol, rafe calls reader a bitch, rafe walks in on reader humping her pillow, manipulation, blackmail, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, dumbification, hair pulling, pussy slapping, multiple orgasms, finger sucking, pull out method

a/n: i made a fic not too long ago with rafe on viagra lol, so this one will have the tables turned <3

wc: 3.3k

“are you sure this stuff even works?” rafe looked down at the little pink pill barry placed in his hand. “trust me, it does.” he winked, pulling the neckline of his shirt down to reveal the assortment of hickeys littered across his skin. “my girl nearly ate me up, country club.” rafe sighed through his nostrils. at least one of them was getting laid. rafe had been so busy lately, he felt like he couldn’t catch any downtime. between selling with barry and dealing with his own shit at home, having sex was the last thing on his mind. surprisingly.

“so.. what? we’re supplying this now?” rafe placed the pill in a small bag, his business partner shaking his head. “i’ll tell you what; you could try it out yourself and decide if you want to make a little bit of pocket change off of it.” barry winked. “and who the hell would i give this to?” just then, you walked through the door, your heels clacking with each step. you looked up at rafe and rolled your eyes. “does he not have a home? why does he always have to be here?” you walked past him, your perfume intoxicating rafe more than any drug him and barry had laid out on the table.

“nice to see you too.” rafe watched you walk down the hallway, your hips swaying deliciously in that mini skirt of yours. “watch those eyes.” barry nudged him. clearing his throat awkwardly, rafe pocketed the pills, knowing exactly who he was going to have the pleasure of trying them out on later. “look, i got some money waiting for me on the mainland, i was wondering if you could break all this stuff up and bag everything while i’m gone? i’ll throw you a few hundred if you do.” rafe nodded, not having anything else planned for the rest of the day. “thanks, man. i’ll be back in a few hours.”

with that, barry left, leaving you and rafe alone in his trailer. you had changed out of your outfit and into a pair of sleeping shorts, fuzzy slippers adorning your feet as you pulled a pink crop top over your head. rafe could hear your music playing from your room, the mere presence of you making it impossible for him to focus. “where did barry go?” you walked out, opening the fridge even though you knew it was empty. rafe looked back, swallowing thickly as he eyed your bare legs. “uhm— he said he needed to get some money on the mainland, so it’ll be a while before he comes back..”

you noticed the way rafe’s voice lowered at the last part of his sentence, his suggestive tone making you raise a brow. “oh, really?” you took a seat across from him, leaning forward as he glanced at your chest. he hummed, his leg bouncing as he tried his best to distract himself from the curves of your breasts spilling out of your top. “yeah.” he weighed out some blow before putting it in a small baggie. the only reason why rafe felt on edge around you was because he knew he couldn’t have you. you were aware of this, and in turn you made it really hard for him to resist you.

“so, uhh— how was work last night?” rafe needed to make conversation or he was going to become stuck fantasizing about those pretty nails of yours digging into his skin. “since when do you ask me about my job?” you giggled, twisting open your water bottle before taking a sip. “well i have to form some sort of imagination of the place since barry said it’s off limits and all.” rafe met your eyes momentarily. “so? is barry is your daddy or something?” you watched as rafe’s jaw ticked. he didn’t think hearing the word ‘daddy’ would sound so enticing leaving your mouth til’ now.

“no, but i wonder where yours is.” he shot back in an attempt to put a wall back up. “that makes two of us.” you laughed. rafe shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. “seriously though, i think you would like to see me perform..” you scooted closer to him, making rafe draw a sharp breath. barry would kill him if he tried to make any kind of move on you, let alone go to the club where you danced at. “yeah, right. your brother would really have it out for me if i did that.” rafe scoffed. with the way you were looking at him right now, he was starting to think fighting barry would all be worth it.

“what if i invited you? what would he say then?” you were dangerously close to him now, your breath fanning the side of his neck. rafe’s fingertips itched to touch you. just as rafe was about to fall into your trap, you whispered in his ear; “too bad i would never do that, though.” you got up, nudging his shoulder with a laugh. rafe glared at you.“that’s real funny, is that how you trick those poor old men into giving you money down there?” rafe snarked. “no. unlike you, they might get a kiss on the cheek.” you winked, getting your phone from your room.

rafe made sure you were out of sight before he took the pink pills out of his pocket. throwing a couple in your water bottle, rafe shaked it until they fully dissolved. maybe he shouldn’t have done that, but you did have a point in what you said earlier. what if you came onto him, and not the other way around? “how long are you going to be here?” you came back, chugging the water bottle before plopping down on the couch. well, that was easy. “just until i’m done with all of this.” rafe muttered, the sight of your ass peeking out from under your shorts making him wet his bottom lip.

for the longest time, you had always been the forbidden fruit, the one thing he could never have. and he hated it. “well get on with it.” rafe swore you had enough sass for the entire island to have some. ignoring your comment, rafe got back to work, the sound of the tv providing background noise for the two of you. about fifteen minutes passed, and rafe could see you squirming from the corner of his eye. you looked bothered, your thighs rubbing together as rafe fixed his attention on you. “you alright over there?” you sighed, flashing him a look as you crossed one leg over the other.

“m’fine!” you were so sexually frustrated right now, it was like a wave of lust had just washed over you. rafe watched the way your eyes fluttered closed, your chest rising and falling with every breath. “are you sure?” rafe spoke again, and this time the sound of his voice made butterflies swarm your tummy. opening your eyes, you leaned the weight of your head on one hand, inspecting the man who sat not too far away from you. while there was always a tension there between you two, you couldn’t deny just how handsome he was. blue eyes, sharp features that made him look rough, his shoulders..

you shook the thoughts out of your head. leaving the living room with a sigh, you threw yourself on your bed. with each aching minute that passed, you only grew hotter for the man in your living room. you cursed under your breath, making sure the blanket you had hung up in your doorway was blocking all view from the outside before you grabbed your small pillow, tucking it between your legs as you grinded your hips into the soft material. with your shorts and your underwear in the way, it was hard to get any of the friction you needed. “fuck!” you whimpered in frustration.

‘what the fuck is wrong with me?’ you cried, feeling the most neediest and horniest you’ve ever felt in your life.. and that’s saying a lot. you continued rocking your hips on the playboy logo of a pillow, sitting up so you could rut against it shamelessly. your fingers dug into your sheets as your clit barely grazed where you needed it most. a moan slipped from your lips, the sound catching rafe’s attention. he paused all movements, his cock stirring in his pants when he heard another moan, this time followed by a whine. rafe listened to you until he couldn’t sit there any longer.

creeping up to the entryway of your room, rafe swung your makeshift curtain out of the way, revealing the sexiest sight he’s ever seen. there you were, shorts and underwear long forgotten on your bedroom floor as your teeth pulled on your bottom lip. “what the fuck are you doing?” you gasped, your eyes shooting open as you rushed to cover yourself. “what the hell, rafe!” you shrieked, scrambling underneath your bedsheets. “humping a pillow, y/n? how pathetic do you have to be to do that?” you glared at him, your lips parting slightly at the erection in his pants.

“i—” you couldn’t find your words, your cheeks heating in embarrassment. “what would barry think of this if i told him?” rafe stepped closer, “he already thinks you’re a slut for being a stripper, imagine if i told him you were humping your pillow like a dumb bunny while i was just in the next room? he’d hate you.” your heart dropped at his words, panic settling in the pit of your gut. “no, please, don’t tell him!” you sat up, tears pricking your eyes as rafe took a seat at the edge of your bed. “i don’t know what’s happening to me, okay? i’ve never felt like this before!” you cried out.

“what do you mean?” rafe acted coy, as if he didn’t just drug you with enough horny pills to keep you soaked and needy for days. “i’m just— ugh, you’re the last person i should be explaining this to!” you rested your head in your hands, the wetness between your thighs making you shift uncomfortably. “tell me,” rafe urged, “or you’ll be stuck explaining this to your brother..” he shook his head, resting a hand on your blanket-clad thigh. the weight of rafe’s hand made a shiver run down your spine. “okay, okay..” you sighed, finally meeting his eyes. “one minute i was fine, and then the next.. i’m like this.”

rafe watched the way you shrunk in on yourself, your eyebrows etched in embarrassment. the way you were acting right now was such a stark contrast to your usual bitchy attitude. “like what?” rafe pushed forward, wanting, begging you to confide in him to help you out with your little problem. your lips parted, your gaze shooting down to the adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. oh, how bad you wanted to kiss it. “like..” your voice was barely above a whisper as rafe slowly pulled the covers off of you, “like i need to be fucked.” rafe’s eyebrows knitted together, your words making his cock twitch.

“sucks to be you.” rafe stood up, about to leave your room before you stopped him. “wait!” you cried out, “where are you going?” you crawled to the edge of your bed, fisting the back of his shirt. rafe smiled to himself, internally singing before he turned around to see you on your knees, your eyes wide and needy as you gazed up at him. “what? i’m leaving.” rafe pulled away, in which you shook your head. he was having way too much fun right now. “no!” you pulled him down, “please stay..” you looked down at his lips, running your nails across the back of his neck. “help me, help you.”

rafe leaned in first, taking your lips with his own as you moaned against his mouth. “you’re gonna help me, alright.” he pulled you on top of his lap, your thighs settling on either side of his waist as he fought to take off your baby tee. lifting your arms up, rafe groaned when your tits fell softly out of your top. tossing the garment aside, you let out a moan when rafe attached his desperate mouth to your sensitive bud, his tongue circling your nipple as you held him close to your chest. you moaned with every stroke of his hands against your skin, your hips grinding on his erection.

“holy, fuck!” rafe pulled away for a moment, looking down between the two of you where you grinded on his shorts. you were so wet, you left a wet patch where you rutted against him. leaning back on his hands, rafe watched as you used him to get yourself off, your glossy cunt sparkling underneath the light of the setting sun filtering through your blinds. you were so pretty like this, rafe felt like he could cum from looking at your pleasure filled face alone. “does that feel good?” rafe groaned when you picked up your pace, his length just throbbing to get out of the confines of his underwear.

“mm, fuck— yes, rafe!” you kept moving until your hips stuttered, your first orgasm hitting you pathetically as you whimpered and whined for something more. still shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm, you got down on shaky legs, not wasting any time in getting rafe’s shorts off. you were so desperate for his cock, rafe smirked when he saw the way your eyes widened when his length sprung up against his stomach. just as you reached for what you needed most, rafe stopped you by grabbing your hand. “nah, you don’t get it that easy,” he shook his head, “lay down.”

those were his last words before he had you laying flat on your bed, your head hanging off the edge as he fucked your throat mercilessly. “thought you were just gonna get what you wanted, huh? fuck no.” he said through gritted teeth. tears were streaming down your face, the noises bouncing off of the walls right now were nothing short of obscene. “always walking around here acting like a spoiled brat, fuck you.” rafe spat, the tip of your nose hitting his pubic bone. he held your hands in his, not allowing you to have any leverage as he fucked your face.

your tongue was dancing around his cock, the sensation bringing him closer to that glorious edge. “o-oh, fuck..” rafe sucked in a breath, stilling as you swallowed around his tip. pulling out to give you some air, you managed to gasp before he slid back in, a mixture of spit and precum connecting you two together. “m’gonna fuck this pretty little mouth of yours until you choke..” his hand snaked down to the apex of your thighs where he gave your soaked folds a harsh slap. you squealed at the stinging sensation, his cock continuously hitting the back of your throat.

sure enough, you gagged around him, his hot cum painting your tongue. rafe doubled over with a hiss, his mouth falling open as you took every last drop. “that’s perfect. yeah, fuckin’ take it.” rafe slapped your cunt once more, eliciting a whine from your lips as he pulled away. you were breathless, your wrists burning from the unforgiving grip rafe had on them. in one swift movement, rafe flipped you onto your back, using his large hands to pin your thighs to your mattress. “beg for it, you fucking slut.” rafe teased your entrance with his glistening tip, your eyebrows knitting together at his cruel ministrations.

“please! i need you so bad, ray!” fuck, you were a mess right now. with your lipgloss smeared all over your chin, those tear stained cheeks, and disheveled hair.. rafe couldn’t help but admire the sight. everything rafe wanted was so close, yet so far, he wanted to drag this out for as long as possible. who knew when you would be so needy and pliant for him like this again? “really? i don’t think so.” he quipped. letting out a shaky breath, you reached down between the two of you and lined him up with your entrance before sliding him in with a pierced gasp.

rafe’s eyes screwed shut, his hips moving on their own accord as he finally gave in to you. the man on top of you was in a daze. you were so warm, and so wet, he didn’t know how he was going to pull through with the way you were sucking him in with every thrust. “fuck.” he leaned down, taking your lips with his own. he tasted so good on your tongue, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he fucked into you. his pace was brutal, his toned stomach smacking against your clit as you moaned in his ear. “oh, my god!” you couldn’t help your nails from raking down his back.

“look at you..” he pulled away, grabbing a fistful of your hair so you can meet his eyes. “you’re just a bimbo whore with tits for brains, you know that?” you whimpered at his words, the degrading statement only making you clench around him tighter. rafe groaned, he should’ve known you’d be into that shit. unpinning your thighs from your bed, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he caged you between his arms, his biceps on either side of your face. he was a lot closer like this, the intimacy of it making your heart flutter in your chest. “i always thought you were h-hot.” you managed to mewl.

“yeah?” he inserted a thumb between your lips, your tongue circling around his finger. “mhmm— yes!” rafe watched with dark eyes as you started sucking on the digit. “why the fuck didn’t you said anything then? we could’ve done this a lot sooner, baby.” he tsked. pulling his hand away from your mouth, he replaced his thumb with his lips, swallowing all of your pretty sounds. cupping his face, you pulled away with a bated breath, your orgasm beginning to simmer in your core. “rafe?” your face morphed into one of full blown pleasure, your eyebrows knitting together as rafe stared you down.

“you’re close?” he could tell by the way your thighs trembled at his sides that you were about to hit your peak. you nodded weakly, your eyes meeting his as he watched you come undone beneath him. you paused, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lips parted in a silent moan. rafe knew as soon as you were able to get a breath out you were going to be in hysterics. sure enough, you gasped, a sob ripping from your throat as your body shook. from your head to your toes, you were buzzing in pure bliss. rafe stroked your face, bringing you down from your high with whispers of praise.

“so fuckin’ pretty.”

“shhh, i’m right here.”

you embraced him once more, pressing a kiss to his neck before he pulled out, using a hand to fist his length until he spilled onto your folds. you pouted, your teary eyes gazing up at him through your eyelashes. “why didn’t you stay inside?” you whined, the man on top of you breathing heavily. “w-what?” he panted, his cock twitching with sensitivity. “i wanted you to cum inside me, why did you pull out?” rafe did a double take at your words, his mind reeling with ideas of filling you up. “you’d be okay with that?” a hint of a smile played on his lips when you hummed in agreement. “wanna go again?”

you two were so busy building up foreplay, that neither of you heard the front door open. “i forgot my stupid wallet!” barry shouted. you moaned, your hips chasing rafe’s hand as he buried his fingers in your cunt. “did you hear that?” rafe froze, looking at the doorway of your room. “it’s nothing, i left the tv on, remember!” you turned his attention back on you, both of you laughing against each other’s skin. “y/n, have you seen my—” you and rafe jumped when barry barged in, a scream escaping you as you scrambled to cover yourself.

“i’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, country club!”

[mrs-weasley-reid]

DOCTORS ACROSS THE HALL

Spencer Reid x psychiatrist!reader

Synopsis: Sleep-deprived and traumatized, Spencer Reid attempts to pin the blame on his innocent new neighbor (he can't). Word Count: 2k+ Warning: meet cute-ish(?) fluff(?) i'm not sure anymore, lol. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. not proofread !!!! A/N: inspired by S2 x E14 & 15, we all know what i mean hehe

Spencer Reid's eyes are dry.

Each blink is a terrifying journey. Afraid that he'll go back in the past—in that hut—in between the millisecond of closing his eyes.

He's seeing nothing but blurry darkness, and yet he can still feel Tobias Hankel's shaky palms across the skin of his arm.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

The same four words ring in Spencer's ears, encouraging pain—paranoia.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

With every breath Spencer takes, they hitch in the middle of his throat. Forever stuck and dies there with no trace of hope for the next generation of traveling air.

Hope that he'll be able to breathe without tugging aches all over his chest is long gone.

No man would ever be the same had they been in the situation he went through. He can't help but feel weak. And it's eating Spencer alive to the point of deliberate insomnia.

He doesn't remember the last time he'd ever slept like a normal person.

"It helps."

Knock, knock.

"Trust me."

Knock, knock, knock.

Spencer opens his eyes. He's not sure when slumber took over his mind or if he even participated in sleep at all. Chances are he was too dissociated from reality that he's left his body frozen for a while. Nonetheless, in the little time he spent in serene blankness, only one emotion brews in him.

Anger.

Who in their right minds would go out knocking at—Spencer glances at the clock on his nightstand—2 AM?

Knock, knock, KNOCK—

It stops.

A creak echoes in the hall as muffled voices scratch Spencer's ears. He can't make out the words, only the wave of the softest and gentlest whispers he's ever heard.

On a different day, he may have let it go. Hell, a different him would have let it go.

The Spencer from one week ago would have let it go.

The Spencer who never felt so nauseous at the sight of his own blood along the canvas of his temple. The Spencer with an awkward grin without the baggage of Tobias Hankel's torture over his shoulders.

The Spencer he used to be.

But despite everyone's loving support. Despite the bragging rights he gained for surviving a serial killer. No one can loosen the throttling chokehold of trauma around his neck. Not even him.

Spencer catches himself clenching his fists too tight. Crescent indentations sting on his palm—nostalgic and unsettling. He only grits his jaw at the thought. And comes in the invigorating vibrations all over his chest.

There it is again.

The useless anger.

A loaded gun with no target.

The man is dead. Tobias Hankel is dead.

Spencer wonders about the use of his boiling anger when the person he loathes is already rotting in his grave.

Without any other outlet to unleash the colossal mass of suppressed rage brewing inside of him, Spencer makes good use of one of the most common defense mechanisms: displacement.

Maybe screaming at someone will deflate the tightness across his chest and clear his mind a bit in the form of self-loathing after he realizes the grave immaturity of his plan.

He lifts his body off his mattress, swinging his legs on the side of his bed as he methodically rubs his eyes against the lamp's brightness. Strands of his hair go array around the vertical circumference of his head like an electric halo.

A huff pulses off his lips. He swallows a lump of thick air as he weighs his next moves.

Part of Spencer died in that cemetery. What difference does it make if he screams at the world? If he screams at—

His brows furrow, eyes narrow, and ears perk.

It's different this time.

Irritating knocks. Opening door. Muffled whispering. Closing door. Then quiet for an hour.

That has been a constant for the past five days. A constant routine that he felt indifferent about but somehow grew annoyed by.

But it's different this time.

The door across the hall didn't close.

And it's been five minutes.

Before Spencer knows it, his hand turns the knob and swings the door open.

Two women across from him. They are in the middle of what seems to be a tight hug before one bids her goodbye and lightly runs down the stairs.

Spencer watches as the other disappears down the lower level. Anger morphs into confusion.

"Did we bother you?"

He jolts back, snapping his gaze to the woman across. "What?"

You smile apologetically, "I'm sorry about the noise—"

"Dr. Spencer Reid," He spits. Spencer's forehead creases. He wonders what prompted his mouth to openly provide his full name to a stranger, specifically when the information was not asked for.

"Oh," You blink, lightly jumping on your toes. An unseen glint sparks in your eyes. You introduce yourself as a response, a lot less threatening than he did but equally awkward. You smile again. Sweetly, this time. Like you're looking at a puppy.

Spencer's brows bounce over his forehead as the hand over his doorknob loosens. "You're a doctor?" He inquires.

You nod, "Mhm, what are the odds, right?" You chuckle. The sound echoes around the quiet hall.

"11.76%."

"What?"

"The odds—" Spencer scratches the back of his neck, "—it's 11.76%. There are fourteen tenants in this building, including you. We both found out we're doctors, and I know none of our neighbors are. Most of the neighbors are living alone besides the old couple on the first floor, but I know none of them are doctors. That's two in fifteen people. So 11.76%. But now I realize you weren't being literal about it..." Heat rushes against the skin of his face.

Silence hovers between the two of you. He feels more awake than he was minutes ago for an entirely different reason—embarrassment. Spencer wishes that some sort of earthquake would open up the floor and swallow him.

"Interesting," You finally speak, changing the leg where you placed your weight. "I tried calculating it myself and got the same result. You were right."

His mouth falls agape. A surge of warmth strikes his chest. "You were calculating?" Spencer squints, rubbing an eye out of habit due to his current predicament and baffled by your antic all the same.

You nod again, "Just cause you're my neighbor doesn't mean I'll just take your word for it, you know. But I have to admit, it was cool that you figured that out in a second. You have my respect." You flash a playful smile, hugging your chest at the sudden draft.

"Ahh," Spencer steps back into his apartment. The tinge of giddiness is quickly replaced by sleep deprivation and anxiety. A hand throws itself into the cavity of his eye socket, pushing it close to remove the pain that's settling in.

Flashes of bright light blind him in the dark shade of his eyelids. Frustration swiftly creeps over his shoulders. Like he's drowning above water, tied down, and has no air to gasp for. Panic begins to paralyze him. All seems lost, and darkness slowly—

"Would you like some tea?"

Spencer blinks, lifting his gaze back at you as your soft smile slowly adjusts his sight.

"I have a new brand of tea I've been dying to open. Would you like some?" You repeat, tilting your head a bit as you await a response. When you don't get one, you add, "I promise I don't bite." And your heart flutters at the little twitch at the ends of his lips.

He concludes you're roughly two weeks fresh from moving in. Here you are, inviting a stranger in the middle of the night to enjoy tea inside your home.

Seems reckless.

Idiotic.

But Spencer doesn't say no.

He walks towards you like he's leaving a world to explore another. Anxiety slowly dissipates with each step he takes. A contrast of what he feels each second that passes while he lies awake.

You step aside to give him way. "Grab a seat—" you gesture towards the kitchen -island-slash-dining-table, "—The girl you saw usually stays longer, so I already heat some water. Is chamomile okay?" You talk as you maneuver around your small kitchen.

Spencer finds a seat closest to the door. For all he knows, you're the serial killer on your end of the skeptical assumptions in his head.

"Nice apartment," He says out of the obligatory guest etiquette. Spencer takes in every bit of your reflection in your home.

It's inviting. Warm and cozy. The hint of oat and lavender whiffs past his nose. Your place is adorned with small, warm lights, brightening each corner with sunset tones.

Your chuckle brings his attention back to you. "Don't be shy, Dr. Reid," You glance at him over your shoulder. "It's messy. You can say it."

"If a couple of books on your table is messy to you, you should see my side of the building."

Spencer straightens up as confusion spreads over his face.

How do you do that?

Make him feel comfortable with words and a gentle voice. Everyone on his team has been doing the same exact thing, but somehow, you get something out of him without further prompting.

The image of your coffee table pops in his head. Cultural Psychology. Learning Psychotherapy. Trauma and Dreams. And a few more books that clocks his interest in you further down the rabbit hole.

"You're a psychologist," He announces into the air.

"Psychiatrist, actually," You place a mug in front of Spencer, finding a seat across from him. "But what gave it away? The tea or the messy apartment?" You ask into your mug that says 'you're purrfect' in pink lowercase and has a cat’s paw under the lettering. A playful smile is curving your lips.

Spencer accepts the blue mug, brows rising at the police box outlined image over the blue stain. He wouldn’t have expected you as a fan of Doctor Who, but who’s he to judge? A part of him wants to discuss common interests, but he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to change the subject.

"T-the books." He says hesitantly, uncertain whether the art of observation has marked him a creep right at that moment.

You hum, "Thought I would've been more mysterious than that." You chuckle, pulling a leg against your chest. "And you?" You inquire back.

"I have three PhDs," Spencer shares shyly, breaking eye contact masked as drinking your quite tasteful tea. He notes to ask the brand you're so enthusiastic about later on.

"Three?" Your eyes glisten under the warm light.

He nods.

"Let me guess, 190."

"190?"

"Your IQ," You lean back against the table, "My guess is you graduated young. Went to high school, college, and graduate school as a puppy." You add, amping with adoration over the new information.

"A puppy is a strong word, but yes," Spencer blushes now, hoping the small lighting leans in his favor to hide the red tint over every bit of his skin. “And just 187, not that big of a deal.”

"Just 187? You're just being humble, right?" You giggle, "I bet some prestigious agency hired you at a young age, and you're called the genius kid." You jest, genuinely interested in him more than ever.

More like the boy genius. But can’t possibly expose himself more than you already did out of sheer lucky guesses. Spencer avoids meeting your eyes like it's the plague. "You awfully guess a lot..."

You gasp, placing your mug on the table, "Shut up! I was close, was I? Oh my gosh!" You're laughing now, utterly comfortable to show quirks that people you just met shouldn't see yet. "I'm good at this. I think I'll be okay later, then." You say to yourself, nodding in satisfaction.

"For what?" Spencer chimes, troubles slipping away to the back of his mind and the sound of your hush laughter lulling him. It might be the tea or the possibility that you'd drugged him, but his body felt light for the first time in weeks. He doesn't have any complaints.

"I moved here for a job," You start attentively, making sure that you don't share too much. "But I have people. They'll search for me in case you turn out to be a serial killer."

His brows jump, "How do I know you're not the serial killer? Women can be one, too. And statistically, women who are serial killers are attractive."

"Are you saying I'm attractive, Dr. Reid?"

"I—" Spencer freezes, heat flowing to his ears. "I-I was making a point—" He cuts himself off. He wonders when the earthquake he's wished for earlier is coming to save him from embarrassment.

You stay silent, reveling in his stuttering voice.

"Is that coffee? I thought you made tea." He changes the subject—poorly.

You don't mind it one bit, indulging at the sight of his pinkish ears covered by his unruly hair. "I invited you for tea. I didn't say I'll drink one with you." You take a sip of the caffeine, rubbing the idea on his face.

Spencer responds with a subtle roll of his eyes that makes you chuckle more than intended. "Why coffee at three in the morning?" He asks gently, not wanting to step over any boundaries.

"I'm supposed to start my job later. I heard my patients need a lot of assistance, so I need to study and make sure I give them the right help."

"That sounds noble," He yawns, the first of many.

Spencer never thought your smile could get any sweeter, "I haven't officially met them yet. So, I really wish it goes well."

It might be the chamomile tea with a hint of honey finally working in his veins, but Spencer thinks you're beaming like an angel descending from the skies.

He yawns, and you giggle once more, "I think you should go to sleep, Dr. Reid."

“Yeah, yeah, I should,” Spencer’s eyebrows collide at the sadness in his chest. His body feels comfortable in his seat. Getting out of it feels like torture. 

You both stand from your seats, walking him towards the door. 

Spencer turns around before he closes his, a sleepy smile on his face. "Thanks for the tea," He yawns, a hand covering his mouth.

“You’re— hold on, give me one second,” You turn around and back inside your apartment. He can’t see you but can hear your light footsteps on the floorboards as you run to your coffee table and back inside the frame of your front door. 

Spencer patiently waits as you walk to his end of the hall, take his hand out, and hand him a heart lollipop. 

“Take this. They help with the bad craving,” You advertise as you walk backward. Before he completely shuts the door, you call for him, "Oh, and Dr. Reid."

Spencer swings the door open back wider, "Yes?"

"I think you're attractive too."

reid masterlist | masterlist

[catiuskaa]

you asked me to stay. [Not yet].

PAIRING! idol!bangchan x reader

SUMMARY: even if idols 'don’t date fans', there are no rules against a little bit of teasing, and so it happens that Mr Bang Chan here really likes your kind of thinking.

WC: 4.1k

CW: starts off fluffy, then angsty if you squint?, but develops into a (short but still) spicy NSFW. lol, the triangle of (fan)fiction! not gonna say anything else cause I don’t want to spoil it, teehee. Have fun! (I did!)

REQUESTED! here by my sweet 'n spicy baby @sharonxdevi, hope you like my take on it! <3

A/N: wanted to pop down here as a reminder that just because the setting is a fan meeting and yada yada, this work is still unrelated to Channie as an idol. now, please keep reading! I really like how this one turned out 🤭

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

He's so sweet.

You kept giggling and blushing like an idiot, but how couldn't you? The Christopher Bang was right before you, smiling and laughing at the lame jokes you blabbered as a blush surely creeped out, your face a deep shade of a pinkish tone.

“Oh, and I wanted to mention that you look so amazing in your performances! You have me addicted, Chan.” You giggled.

He chuckled, blushing lightly, raising a hand to his mouth, half covering it. “Really?”

You could melt at the sight of him.

“Yeah! I’ve watched all your fancams.” You nodded with enthusiasm.

His laughs turned louder, his ears red. “I feel so shy knowing someone as pretty as you watches me dance so much.”

…

You blinked, your eyes wide.

As what?

He cheeked his tongue, eyeing at you sheepishly.

Oh. So he knew what he was doing.

You smirked softly. Your change in attitude made him raise his eyebrows slightly.

“One minute.”

You eyed at the suited man that came to talk to Chan and smiled. He left back to his position, and you leaned closer to the idol.

“Just have to say, that tongue of yours?” You chuckled, and to him, it was one fo the most enticing sounds he had heard in a while. “Keep it in your mouth if you don’t want STAY to act up.”

There was a bubbly feeling in your stomach that only heightened when you watched his face displaying raw surprise.

You were about to combust in spontaneous fire because, well, you just flirted with an idol, a real famous one, that is, but then, he smirked, leaning even closer to you. You could feel his breath on the shell of your ear. His hand softly took yours, and your breath hitched as he snickered playfuly, making you feel a shiver travel down your spine.

“I’m thinking there are far more interesting places where I could keep it.” He grinned in a teasing tone, staring at your lips for a second, licking his own. “But I’m obedient. I’ll keep my mouth shut if you say so.” He stated lowly, his eyes locked on yours. …

Oh.

OH.

MY GOD.

He squeezed your hand, sitting back again. His face was covered by a shade of red, and he couldn’t exactly place what had taken over him.

For a moment, he bit his lip, wary of your reaction, considering you hadn’t so much as muttered anything, frozen in your place.

But then you chuckled, struggling to grasp what had just happened, and his whole body relaxed when you squeezed his hand too.

“Bet. You won’t.” You snickered, standing up, siren eyes staring down at him as you moved away, allowing the next person’s turn.

He winked at you as you left.

W-What had just happened?

Your mind felt fuzzy.

Had Bang Chan just done the triangle method on you?

Chan stared at your back before facing the person in front of him.

He could’ve sworn he had seen you before.

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Chan grimaced at Hyunjin, sinking his head back on the pillow in his hotel room.

“Leave him alone, Jinnie.” Yongbok frowned slightly. “But I have to say. Not the smartest move, mate.”

Chan sighed in frustration. “I know, I know.”

And it was because he knew that he didn’t dare to say, but just thinking about you, he also knew for a fact that he wouldn’t hesitate on doing it again. Had he had the opportunity, maybe even more.

But idols don’t do that.

Because it is for a reason that idols don’t date fans. Marketing? 100%. Sure. But it also protected them from scandals and such. Or that’s what Chan liked to say to himself.

Felix felt a bit guilty. Chan had gotten scolded by almost all the members now, some who went more ballistic than others —like Hyunjin, who still was fuming, claiming that if Chan was going to do something forbidden, he could’ve said something better than that—, but he looked at the fellow Australian and stood up, laying his small hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder.

The taller one stopped his rambling against Chan and his alleged lack of creativity regarding flirting, and his eyes softened, looking at Yongbok.

“Give the man a break.” Felix smiled softly. “He understands what he’s done. He’s a big boy. Right, Channie?”

The big boy lazily raised his hand from the bed, not moving his head from the pillow as he hummed and raised his thumb.

“This bitch—” Hyunjin started, threatening to throw a pillow at the older one, but Felix quickly pushed him away, taking him back to their room.

Finally alone after what seemed like a lifetime, Chan turned around, staring at the ceiling.

He covered his face with his hands.

Reckless. Stupid, reckless idiot.

It had to be past twelve when he got tired of waiting for sleep to get to him. That never happened anyways. So he stood up with a groan, yawning out of boredom, quickly fetching a jacket and heading to the elevators with slow steps.

He got in and slowly started to put on his beanie and his mask, which wouldn’t really make a difference if someone recognized him, still, it gave him some reassurance. But then, the elevator stopped barely two floors after he got in.

His whole body tensed up.

He recognized who stepped in, messy hair, funny slippers and padded jacket on.

He knew who that was, because he had been right.

He had seen you before.

“Oh.” You smiled, and he could tell by the small wrinkles in your eyes, because the bottom half of your face was hidden by the jacket’s high neck. “Good night.” You mumbled softly.

He nodded. He was afraid you’d recognize him. He was unsure of what to do himself —or if he should do anything—, he couldn’t even think of how you would react. And just the idea that you wouldn’t like seeing him there made him hide his face more in his dark mask, so instead, he fidgeted with his room card, not daring to look at you for too long.

“Trouble sleeping?” You pondered in a kind tone. He nodded again, and you smiled. He had to hold back the impulse of lowering your jacket just so he could see your bright features, the ones that had charmed him so much barely a couple of hours ago.

“Same here.” You muttered, and he could’ve sworn that your voice alone, warm and soothing, could singlehandedly lull him to sleep in a heartbeat. “Walking helps though, don’t you think?”

He, again, just managed to nod. But for some reason, your presence didn’t make him feel guilty for not talking. In the middle of the night nothing seemed to have any rules between you two and the four walls of the elevator.

“Sorry, am I bothering you?” You asked in a murmur.

It was the first time he shook his head no, vigorously so, and you blushed lightly, smiling.

“Good to know.” You grinned, chuckling softly. The elevator dinged, arriving to the last floor. Chan held back a frustrated groan, yearning to keep hearing your voice.

“Have a good night.” You smiled, but his hand softly took yours.

“Huh?” You muttered softly.

Chan struggled. Fuck, shit, fuck. He had done that completely out of reflex. He didn’t know what to say, and just scrathed the side of his face, staring at your linked hands.

He shook his head once more, asking you to stay.

To you, you already had the weird feeling that you knew him. But he touched your hand, and something from it felt shockingly familiar.

Now, you could’ve sworn you had seen him before.

“What is it?” You asked, your voice coated in something sweet, something that Chan suddenly wanted to taste. “Would you like to walk with me?”

He nodded eagerly. And you grinned sheepishly.

You two crossed through the hotel main’s hall nonchalantly, and Chan just followed you, intriegued that you hadn’t taken the main entrance door to exit.

“Trust me,” you muttered, smiling. He felt it was scary that he would, in a heartbeat. “The gardens are so much better.”

You took his hand. A motion completely out of reflex, that both of you only allowed yourselves to yearn for in silence.

You grinned at him, turning around, and his breath hitched, lips parted beneath his mask when he realized how close you were.

You opened a black door to your right with a soft push of your body.

The hotel gardens at night were like a dream. The moonlight turned everything into a soft, magical scene. Tall trees swayed quietly, and you could hear crickets and leaves rustling. There was a small lake below it, its water calm, that reflected the image above it like a mirror, moon and stars glistening on the clear surface.

Even if Chan was only looking at the glow through your eyes.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You grinned.

You stared back at him. Something in his eyes reminded you of someone you knew. A peculiar someone, that is.

He hummed in agreement, and your smile widened.

“Shall we?” You giggled in a murmur, letting him step outside before you.

There was a warmth in the night that ushered Chan to take off his mask and hat.

But he didn’t dare to. Not yet.

You two walked alongside, hands and knuckles brushing against each other, and the idol allowed himself to grin as you smiled, looking at the flowers that decorated the place. It was the first time in his life that he had found solace in the shared silence of insomnia.

With a swift motion, he surrendered. He felt like it wasn’t fair to know who you where if you didn’t —or couldn’t— recognize him. To hell with it, he thought, taking his hat and mask off.

But, much to his surprise, you didn’t so much as glance at him. You just snickered when he sighed, sounding happier, breathing in the sudden cold breeze that swooshed in the garden.

“Better, huh?” You mumbled in light amusement.

He smiled, shoving his hidden identity in his pockets.

“Much.” Chan muttered.

His heart beat loudly on his ears. He could feel it pulsating rapidly, waiting for the moment where you would turn to face him.

But you weren’t, just strolling down the stone path, callously ignoring his nervous demeanour.

He was about to stop and move you, but instead, your hand took his again.

And then you squeezed it lightly. Much like he had done a couple of hourse ago.

His breath hitched. He stopped walking.

“Chan?” You smiled.

He felt chaos unravel inside him, his cheeks blushing, his palms getting sweaty, and his heart giddily beating in his chest.

Another rush of soft air crossed through the hotel’s gardens, making your hair move with it. He could smell your light scent, something that felt warm inside him, something that he felt could lull him asleep.

You grinned.

“Hi.”

He chuckled lowly. He hadn’t let go of your hand. A part of him didn’t want to. Not yet.

“Hi.”

He saw you blush under the moonlight, not knowing his red-tinted cheeks were more obvious than yours.

“What’s a boy as pretty as you doing in a place like this?”

…

He blinked, his eyes wide.

As what?

He saw you cheek your tongue, doe eyes looking at him teasingly.

Oh. So you knew what you were doing.

He chuckled, thinking that was going to be all your teasing.

“Judging by how long it took for you to talk, I guess you did mean to keep your end of the deal.”

“Huh?” He inquired softly.

“You know.” You bit your lip and blushed a bit more, making him more interested, taking a step towards you without realizing. “Keeping your mouth shut. Like the obedient boy you are.”

He started breathing heavily, a low laugh rolling off his tone.

“Oh, yeah?” His smirk was only powered by yours. “I must say, I can be quite rebellious.”

“Really?” You snickered, feeling his hand squeeze yours again.

“Very.” He gulped. His bravado only lasted for so much, and deep inside, he was equally scared as curious.

He wanted to keep going. He wanted you to stay.

“Are you trying to prove it?” You mocked cheekily.

He stared at your lips, his breath felt heavy. “Would you like me to prove it?”

His hand threatened to reach for your cheek, but it was you who finally held it and moved it towards your face.

“Bet.” You giggled. “You won’t.”

The night air was crisp as your eyes, deep and expressive, locked with his, inviting and enticing, a secret to be held in them. His hair, often styled with flair, rested curly and messy, but you couldn’t help but get lost in the untamed beauty that he portrayed. Not even his lips gently grazing yours could wipe either of your smiles under the moonlight.

And then, for a moment, it wasn’t gentle.

Maybe it was because he sighed against your lips, or maybe it was because you followed an impulse and bit his lower lip, but then it got twisted. Tongues danced with one another, fighting for dominance in a burst of sudden passion.

“C-chan,” you gulped, arms traveling to his nape, playing with his hair. It made him weak.

“Chris,” he sighed, yearning to taste your lips again. And again. He didn’t want to stop. Not yet. “Call me— call me Chris.”

You chuckled. “Only if you call me…”

You were going to tease him, but your ideas suddenly flew away form your mind when he started peppering kisses on your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth.

“What?” He snickered. “A pet name of sorts?” He was teasing you, and he was so enjoying it, tasting the weirdly sweet and enticing flavour of your skin in his lips. “Would you like that, princess?” God, he needed more.

You bit your lip, holding back sounds behind heavy breaths, and he patted your thighs, making you jump into his arms without hesitation. Quickly, he moved the both of you, pinning you against the wall closest to you.

“C-chan…” He bit your skin slightly harder. “Chris! Ah, Chris…!”

“F-fuck…” He muttered. “I… I can’t…” He leaned his head in the crook of your neck, now covered in small and red lovebites. “You smell so good.”

You pecked his forehead, trying to catch your breath, your hands stroking his soft hair.

“Not here, right?” You smiled, soothing, comprehensive. His heart softened.

He nodded, sighting against your neck. He let go of your legs, allowing you to stand back on your feet tenderly.

“I’m sorry….?” Chan mumbled shyly. You giggled, brushing it off.

You were about to say something, but then the gravel cracked under someone’s weight. One that wasn’t either of you.

He tensed up under your arms.

You sighed. “Move!” You ushered in a whisper.

He frowned, his eyes darting from you and from where the sound had come from.

“But you—”

“Chan!” You pushed him away, hiding him behind another wall, and quickly took your phone from the pocket of your jacket, zipping back up what Chris had lowered.

“Who’s in there?”

Chan’s breath haltered.

You had hid him just a wall more, meaning that if the security guard found any of you, chances were that he wouldn’t be caught. You would.

You both held your breathing, hands interlinked even if your bodies were as far away as they could to do so, your heartbeats quickening in sync.

And then, it was just silence for a minute, the gravel cracked below the security guard’s feet, and he left as sudden as he had arrived.

You legs felt like jelly, and you let your back fall down the wall, ending up sitting on the floor with a huff.

“You were going to get in trouble.” Chris muttered.

You looked at him from the floor. The moonlight highlightened his lean figure and charismatic features.

You nodded. “It wouldn’t be me who’d get in the worst of it.” You smiled softly.

He nodded with you.

“We should go before it gets too late.”

Just before heading back together to the elevators, you looked to the reception, and grinned softly.

The elevator back up felt more silent than usual. And for some reason that could speak and make him blush, Chan missed the sound of your voice.

“Good night, Chris.”

It wasn’t going to be a good night.

Not after that interruption, which not only scared the shit out of him, but also made him rethink everything he was doing with you.

Chan arrived back to his room. After half an hour of mindlessly staring at the nightsky through the window, someone knocked on the door.

Could it be you? Chris blushed at the thought.

He opened the door to find nothing. Then, he looked to the floor, and found a mug of hot chocolate and a small note.

may have taken a peek to your room card before. i had fun tonight! see you tomorrow? xoxo, your princess.

He grinned.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad night after all.

[♦️☆🔓☆♦️]

When he woke up the morning after, his mouth still tasted like chocolate.

There had been nothing that could wipe the silly grin on his face that day. Not his packed schedule, not the knowledge that they had to go back home and it would be his last night there, not the fact that Han had come into his room just to look for his missing sock —which, for obvious reasons, he never found there—, not the fact that Hyunjin was still bitter with him because of what he had named the ‘pretty girl disaster’ —which Chan intended to tell you just to see if you’d laugh like he had imagined.

His mind was filled to the brim with thoughts of you.

Your flavoured chapstick, your sweet scent, the way you mumbled his name —his real one, that is—, how your eyes glowed under the moonlight, how his hands fit perfectly in the curves of your waist.

He sighed happily for the upteenth time that day, coming out of the shower.

But then, Minho came in to his room.

“Hyung.” He started, and his low tone didn’t seem to bring good news.

Chan nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I know I’m not really good at these things, but I think you should see this.”

The dancer handed him the phone, and Chan turned pale.

It was a picture taken from last night. Chan’s silhouette was fairly obvious, slightly pixelated and hidden by his beanie and his mask. And right in front of him, back facing the camera, was you, your hand holding his.

“So it is you. That’s what I thought,” Minho mumbled. “A random number sent it to Hyunjin. He saved the picture and blocked it, but we thought you should know.”

“Did they know it was me?” Chan stuttered.

The cat owner shook his head, and Chan was able to breathe normally again. “They thought it had been me with Jisung.”

It was there when Chan’s daydreaming faltered.

His thoughts started spinning, not knowing how or where to start.

Would you know about this?

What would you do?

“Hyung.” Minho sighed. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

And Chan hadn’t been able to grasp that, but someone did.

The same someone who knocked on his door at night.

“Guys, you have your own cards.” Chan muttered, opening the door.

But it hadn’t been any of the guys.

“Hi.” You let out in a sight, panting.

Had you ran your way there?

“Hi.” He mumbled weakly.

“Can I…?” He opened the door for you, and quickly closed it back. He turned his back to you, his eyes wide and his heart going crazy.

“Chris.” You mumbled.

He turned around to face you.

“You asked me to stay last night and I went with you to the gardens.” You huffed. “But I want to stay here with you tonight.”

He blinked, passing a hand through his wavy hair. You were there. In front of him. Speaking. God, he had to concentrate.

“We’ll make a deal.” You breathed slowly, staring deeply into his eyes, yearning to know the secrets hidden behind them. “I’ll leave this here.”

You gently plopped your phone on the table near the door to his room. He was still standing there, as if frozen, pyjama pants on and only a bathrobe covering his lean and toned chest.

“A pretty man called Hyunjin came to me talking about some picture,” you started softly. “But yesterday didn’t happen so I’d ruin a man’s career.” His eyes followed how you raised your hands and smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s off.” Your voice lowered, and he got slightly closer, as if wanting to hear you better. “The phone, I mean. Feel free to check it.”

Surprisingly, he just stared at it, then smiled cheekily, heading towards you.

Your eyebrows shot up and you felt deliciously small under his new-formed grin, and how his hands cradled your face.

He pecked your lips with a yearning sigh.

“I missed you.”

You blushed.

“You can have me all night.” Your smile made him feel butterflies on his stomach. “Just me and you.”

He kissed you again, longer this time.

His frame slowly caged you against the door, and he broke the kiss, stroking your cheeks. His body was pressed up against yours, his lips parted as he breathed softly, taking you in. He could feel heat running down his body just by the feeling of you back in his arms, and the only thought that he had clear is that he couldn't hold back anymore.

He needed to kiss you, again, and again, and again. He needed to figure out what you tasted like. He needed to have you. Your hands had gone back to where they had been the night before, and the way you stared at his lips threatened to make him fall to his knees.

His eyes were glued on your lips, and not long after, his mouth followed.

Chris’ heart was pounding against his chest, and he knew for a fact that he had never felt this way before. Never in his whole life. The more he tasted your lips, the kiss almost as passionate as your first one, the more you ruined him, claiming him as yours, making him addictied to the way you sighed and grinned as he moved your bodies to the bed, the hotter his body became.

He fell with you on the matress, and much to his surprise, you moved your bodies, sitting on his lap, taking a groan out of him.

“Such a beauty,” you mumbled, almost to yourself rather than him. “All for me, huh?” You smirked.

The whole world was hazy, the only thing that was clear was your body and your words. Just hearing your voice saying those words to him made him shiver, a shiver that he never experienced before.

He smirked too, and sighed when you untied his bathrobe, your hands roaming freely wherever you wanted to, stroking his chest, claiming him with kisses, the soft colour that they left behind, pink due to your lipstick, and the soft scratches of your nails, that made him bite his lip to keep his sounds hidden.

“Nuh-uh.” You tutted at him with a smile.

He snickered. “Oh, princess. Two can play that game.”

His hands pinned you down against the bed, his lips quickly going back to yours.

“You said I needed to keep my tongue to myself, and I promised that I would” He grinned, almost menacingly, lowering himself, trailing kisses down your body, discarding your underwear.

“I intend to break that promise.”

Maybe you and him would be difficult.

But he had asked you to stay, and you did. And he didn’t want to stop trying. Not yet.

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

~Kats, who did most of this in a hospital bed (‘m okay now dw) but fell asleep and didn’t publish it, lol. I LOVED THIS IDEA POOKIE TYSM !!

[contact-guy]

lol THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG but it's such a cute story opening that I had to draw Watson roasting Holmes's messiness for the newspaper and Holmes skillfully maneuvering his way out of having to do chores. It's all canon, even the indoor sharpshooting, except for the bit about the cold bath.

canon text under the cut:

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter’s night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here’s the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this really is something a little recherchè.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children’s toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“These,” said he, “are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.”

I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. “I should be so glad,” said I, “if you would give me an account of it.”

“And leave the litter as it is?” he cried, mischievously. “Your tidiness won’t bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.

-The Memories of Sherlock Holmes: The Musgrave Ritual

[v6quewrlds]

❝ goodies, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: ja'marr is a lot of things, subtle is not one of them. when he drops the bomb of joe's no nut november pact, it's only fair you make it as difficult for him to stick to it as possible, right?

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: the idea that started this entire nnn series lol lsu joe 😵‍💫. day six of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, arkansas slander, reader is a menace, sexting, dick pic, unprotected sex, mention of the pull-out method, handjob.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: lsu!joe burrow x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.2k.

Your living room buzzed with the chatter of friends and the distant sounds of a video game battle royale. You leaned into the couch, your elbow digging into the cushion as you listened to Alani and Portia's latest gossip, their laughter echoing off the walls. Across from you, Joe, Ja'Marr, and Justin were huddled around the TV, controllers in hand, immersed in a digital world of basketball glory. The aroma of pizza and the occasional snort of laughter filled the air.

Ja'Marr looked up from the screen and caught your eye, a sly smile spreading across his face. "So, Joe," he said, pausing the game, "How's No Nut November treating you?"

Joe's thumbs hovered over his controller, his eyes flicking over to you before returning to the screen. "It's fine, man. No big deal."

But your ears had perked up at the mention of the infamous challenge. You felt your eyebrows furrow in reaction to Joe's participation in something so ludicrous. "No Nut November?" you echoed, your voice laced with disbelief.

Ja'Marr chuckled, leaning back into the couch. "Yeah, Joe suggested we do it this season. You know, build up that testosterone for the big games."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, so you're telling me that if I showed up at your place, begging you to fuck me, you’d turn me down?” You challenged, your voice a blend of playfulness and disbelief.

Joe, ever the poker face, barely glanced away from the TV. "Well, you're not begging," he quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And it's not just about saying no. It's about self-discipline."

You rolled your eyes and whispered to Alani and Portia, "Can you believe this?" The three of you stifled your laughter, exchanging knowing glances.

"Hold up," Portia said, leaning towards you, "If Joe's really into this 'No Nut November' shit, maybe we can make a bet of our own."

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. "Yeah, like how much you think it'll take for him to crack?"

Your competitive spirit ignited. "I bet he won't make it through the week."

Alani and Portia's giggles grew louder, their eyes gleaming with excitement. "Okay," Alani drawled out as she thought for a moment. "We'll bet on it. If you can get Joe to break before the week is over, we'll buy your drinks for the rest of the month. But if he makes it, you're cleaning the apartment for the month."

Your mouth twitched with a smirk. "You're on," you said, tossing your hair over your shoulder. You knew Joe's resolve was iron-clad, but you had a few tricks up your sleeve.

"Are you seriously betting on my bet? That's cold, babe," Joe called out from the couch without taking his eyes off the TV, a hint of amusement in his voice. You stuck your tongue out at him before turning to your friends, your eyes gleaming with determination. "Game on," you said, raising your hand for a high five.

-

The week began with a series of subtle teases from you. You would strut into the room wearing nothing but Joe's oversized t-shirts, your bare legs leaving little to the imagination. You would bake his favorite cookies, their warm, sweet scent wafting through the apartment when he'd stop by to see you. You would casually drop sexually charged innuendos into typical conversations, watching Joe's reactions with a devilish glint in your eye.

But Joe remained unfazed, his resolve stronger than ever. Each day, he'd give you a knowing smile and say, "Good luck with that," before retreating back to his phone or his laptop. The tension grew thicker than the smell of those freshly baked cookies, and the conversations between the two of you were more heated than the Baton Rouge summer humidity.

One evening, as the week dragged on, you sat on the couch with Joe, your legs thrown over his lap, watching the latest episode of your favorite TV drama. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his muscular thighs tense beneath you. The room was dimly lit by the flickering TV screen, casting a warm glow on your faces. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his neck, whispering sweet promises and nibbling on his ear. His grip on your thigh tightened, and you knew you had his full attention.

"Come on, Joe," you purred, your voice dripping with seductive challenge. "You can't tell me you're not feeling it."

Joe's jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving the TV. "Babe, I'm serious. This is a commitment I made. And I'm not losing."

Your smile grew wider, your eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, I know you're serious," you whispered, your hand sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. "But I'm just saying, you've got to be close to the edge by now."

Joe's eyes darted to yours, a spark of annoyance mixed with lust. "I can handle it," he said firmly, his voice strained.

The days turned into a dance of temptation and denial. You upped your game, slipping into his apartment while he studied, dressed in his favorite set underneath an oversized hoodie, your moisturized skin glowing in the soft lamplight. You would whisper dirty thoughts in his ear, your breath tickling his skin, your fingers tracing the waistband of his sweatpants, feeling the growing bulge beneath. Each time, Joe would push you away with a gruff laugh, calling you relentless.

But you were more determined than ever. You knew Joe's weaknesses, the way he liked his kisses—needy, all tongue as you moaned into each other's mouths—and the way his eyes would glaze over when you touched him just right.

-

One evening, you decided to bring in the big guns. As you sat side by side in your bedroom, you leaned over and whispered, "Babe, I need you to help me with something."

Joe looked up from his laptop, his blue eyes piercing through the darkness. "What's up?"

You bit your bottom lip, your heart racing. "I can't focus on my homework," you whined, your voice low and seductive. "I'm just too distracted."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "What do you need my help with?"

You leaned closer, your hand sliding onto his thigh. "Well, you know what usually helps me focus..." You trailed off, your eyes flicking down to his crotch before meeting his gaze again.

Joe sighed, setting his laptop aside. "You're not playing fair," he said, though the smirk on his face betrayed the seriousness of his words. You giggled as you shrugged playfully. "But I need you, Joe. I really do."

The air grew thick with tension as Joe contemplated his options. He knew he was close to breaking, and your touch was making it increasingly difficult to hold out. You slid your hand up to his waistband, your thumb brushing against the bulge that had formed in his shorts. His breath hitched, his resolve wavering like a candle in a storm.

"Babe, I can't. You know the rules," Joe murmured, trying to ignore the heat building in his pants. But you weren't one to back down easily. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear. "Please, Joe. Just a little bit," you begged, your voice a seductive purr.

Joe's hand shot up, gripping the back of your neck firmly, his eyes flashing with desire. "Babe, you're going to be the death of me," he groaned.

Your grin grew even wider, your brown eyes sparkling with mischief. You sat up, straddling him, your hips pressing into his lap. "Is that a yes?"

Joe's gaze drifted down to your full lips before he pushed you away, a little too roughly, his breathing ragged. "Nope. Not happening," he said, his voice finding its gruff firmness.

You pouted, your eyes glinting with determination. "Come on, Joe, I'm begging," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and desperation.

Joe leaned back, his hand still on the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. "You know I can't," he said, his voice strained.

You leaned in, your breasts brushing against his chest. "But baby, I'm horny," you whined, your voice dripping with exaggerated need.

Joe's eyes narrowed, and he chuckled. "You're always horny."

You rolled your eyes as you shifted away from the bed, Joe's smug grin following you. "Fine," you said, pouting. "But you know this isn't over."

Joe chuckled, standing up and stretching. "I'll make it up to you after the month's over," he promised, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

-

By Friday night, you were more than ready to throw in the towel on your little bet. Joe would be playing against Arkansas Saturday night, and you knew he would practically be MIA most of the day. Sitting in the living room of your apartment, you had all but accepted defeat.

"You know what," you said to Alani and Portia, "I think I'm gonna lose."

Your friends exchanged knowing glances, their smiles smug. "You can't give up now," Alani said, nibbling on a slice of pizza. "You're so close to breaking him."

Portia nodded in agreement, her eyes glued to the TV. "Besides, the game's tomorrow. They're playing an SEC rival tomorrow, he might get caught up in the adrenaline and forget all about the challenge."

You scoffed. "Yeah, because Joe Burrow—Joe Cool if you will—is just gonna forget about his sacred 'No Nut November' because they beat Arkansas... a trash SEC team." But deep down, you knew they had a point. The pressure was on, and you had one last shot to win the bet.

That night, as the clock ticked closer to midnight, you lay on the couch, scrolling through your phone. Your mind was unable to focus on the trash reality show that had become a Friday night tradition for the three roommates. Alani and Portia were sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by snack wrappers and empty soda cans, their laughter bouncing off the walls.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you looked down to see a text from Joe. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the message.

You're home, right?

You responded, playing it cool.

Yeah, why?

Good.

Came his curt reply, followed by a photo that made you gasp. It was a picture of Joe's covered but visibly erect length, straining against the fabric of his shorts. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight, your pulse quickening.

Your boyfriend had never been one to send many pictures of himself, let alone pictures that bordered on nudes. You felt a thrill of victory run through you as you realized Joe was finally cracking under the pressure.

You texted back, your thumbs flying over the screen.

Oh, is that for me?

Joe's response was swift.

Yeah, it is. Fuck No Nut November.

The words sent a jolt of excitement through your body. You looked over at your roommates, who were now watching you with confused expressions.

"Joe just sent me a dick pic," you sang, rising to your feet, the excitement in your voice palpable.

Alani and Portia's laughter abruptly cut off, their eyes snapping to you in disbelief. "Wait, what?" Alani squealed, reaching for your phone. You dodged her hand, holding the device away with a grin.

Your phone pinged again with another incoming text from Joe.

Open the door.

Your eyes gleamed with victory as you strutted over to the door, your hips swaying with confidence. You threw it open to reveal Joe standing in the hallway, his expression a mix of frustration and need. He stepped into the apartment without saying a word, his eyes locked onto yours.

Your boyfriend was a beautiful man. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, clocking in well over 6 feet tall, with a gorgeous smile. But as he towered over you in the doorway, visibly frustrated with pink brushes of color over the bridge of his nose and the apples of his Louisiana sun-tanned cheeks, you couldn't help but feel as if he'd never been more beautiful.

"You told them?" Joe's voice was a mix of annoyance and amusement as he stepped into the apartment, closing the door firmly behind him, hand already reaching for the flesh of your hip. You nodded, unable to suppress the wide grin on your face.

"You sent me a dick pic, Joseph Burrow," you said with a smirk, leaning into his broad frame. The sight of him standing there, looking so flustered and needy, had your heart racing.

Joe rolled his eyes, his grip on your hips tightening. "I know," he said, his voice gruff. "I’ll get you guys your 20 bucks in a minute. Right now, I’ve got something more important to handle."

With that, he scooped you into his arms, his eyes dark with desire. You squealed with surprise, your friends’ laughter trailing behind the two of you as Joe carried you into your bedroom, kicking the door shut.

Alani and Portia giggled, retreating to the front door to give you two space. "Take all the time you need, we’ll find somewhere else to spend the night. Just don’t break the bed!" Alani called out as she closed the door behind her, leaving you and Joe alone in the apartment.

The room was bathed in a soft moonlight, the only sound was the rustling of your clothes as Joe laid you on the bed. He hovered over you, his gaze intense as he reached for the hem of your shirt. Your heart thundered in your chest as you watched Joe's strong, calloused hands peel away the layers of fabric, revealing your bare skin. His touch was like fire, leaving trails of heat wherever he went.

"So, Mr. Self-discipline," you smirked up at Joe as he hovered above you, the bed creaking under your combined weight, "What lesson have we learned this week?"

Joe's eyes narrowed in mock anger as he grabbed the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down. "The only lesson I've learned is that you're a distraction," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Your laughter turned into a breathy moan as Joe's mouth found your neck, kissing and sucking as he worked his way down your body. His hands skimmed over your curves, igniting a trail of pleasure that made your toes curl. You felt his erection press against your thigh, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"I think we've both learned some things," you whispered, arching your back as Joe's teeth grazed your collarbone. His hands moved your hair away from your face to trail his kisses down to the valley between your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you couldn't help but whimper. "But the most important one is that I always win," you said, your voice filled with triumph.

Joe chuckled darkly, his eyes meeting yours as he peeled your panties away from your skin. "We'll see about that," he murmured, his voice a mix of challenge and lust. He held back a groan of appreciation as he took in the sight of your bare pussy, already glistening with need.

Your hands found the bottom of his shirt, tugging at the fabric until it was over his head, revealing his broad, muscular chest. You traced the lines of his obliques with your fingertips, feeling his muscles tighten beneath your touch. Joe leaned down to kiss you, his tongue sliding into your mouth with the same urgency that was building between your thighs.

He broke the kiss to pull his shorts off, his erection springing free, standing tall and proud. You licked your lips as you took in the sight of him, feeling a fresh wave of arousal wash over you.

Joe leaned over you, his breath warm and minty as he whispered, "You're so needy, baby. Couldn't go a week without me, huh?" You felt a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you didn't deny it. Your body was begging for his touch, your pussy throbbing with anticipation.

You smiled into the kiss he pressed to your lips. "Not as much as you, clearly."

Joe's smirk grew into a grin as he hovered above you, his cock standing proudly at attention. "Clearly," he murmured, his hand moving down to stroke your thigh, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner leg.

Your eyes fluttered closed as Joe's touch grew bolder, his fingers tracing the edge of your pussy. You were already wet for him, and you knew you wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. "You're so fucking beautiful, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse with need.

"Show me how much you've missed me, Joey," you urged, your voice breathy.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes a stormy sea of blue. Then, with a curse, he gave in, pushing inside you with one swift stroke that made you arch off the bed with pleasure. Your nails dug into the sheets, your body stretching to accommodate his size. He was thick, and you felt every inch of him, filling you completely.

"Fuck," Joe groaned, burying his face in your neck. His hips began to move, setting a rhythm that had your toes curling and your legs shaking. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. The friction was exquisite, and you knew it wouldn't be long before you both started spiraling towards your climaxes.

Your hands trailed up from his back into the strands of his hair, his hips beginning to set a relentless pace that sent waves of ecstasy crashing over you. You could feel the tension in his body, the desperation that mirrored your own. You moaned his name, urging him on, your breath coming in pants that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Jesus, babe," Joe grunted, his movements growing more erratic as he continued working you both to your orgasms. You could feel the muscles in his arms tensing, his hand reached down to draw your thigh to rest against his waist. His fingers squeezed at the soft, supple flesh until you knew you'd have bruises in the morning.

But you didn't care. All that mattered was the feeling of him inside you and the way he filled you so completely.

Your moans grew louder, filling the room as you gave in to the pleasure that had been denied for too long. You felt his muscles tense, his grip on your thigh tighten, and knew he was close to losing his battle against the bet.

"You're gonna break, baby," you whispered, your voice a seductive purr. "You're gonna lose the challenge."

Joe's eyes snapped to yours, a challenge gleaming in your depths. "Don't you fucking start with that shit right now," he growled, his breathing ragged despite the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

Joe groaned, the sound of pure agony and pleasure as he fought the urge to come too quickly. Your eyes glittered with excitement, your heart racing as you watched him struggle. But you weren't about to let him win.

He had hell to pay for making you wait.

You slid your hand down between your bodies, your fingertips circling your clit as Joe's cock hit just the right spot inside you. The combination was electric, and you could feel the beginnings of your orgasm building.

Your laugh was breathless, a sweet sound that seemed to push him closer to the edge. You sat up, your breasts bouncing with the movement, and kissed him deeply, your tongue dancing with his.

Joe’s eyes rolled back into his head, a low groan escaping his throat. He could feel his self-control slipping away, the pressure building to a crescendo that he hadn’t felt in weeks. He knew he was going to lose this bet, but he also knew it was going to be more than worth it.

"Let me know when you need to pull out." your voice seemed to curl around him, your eyes gleaming with mischief as you watched Joe’s face contort with pleasure.

"Fuck off, you’re enjoying this way too much," Joe murmured, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold back. "You're on the pill, remember?" He continued, his voice strained as he pushed into you deeper.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you nodded, your hands running over his back. "Mmhmm," you hummed, your hips rocking into his. "But I'm not ready to bring a little light-skinned baby into this world."

Joe groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. "Goddamn, babe," he warned, his voice strained. "Can't say shit like that when I'm about three seconds away from making it a reality."

"Pull out, dummy," you laughed, knowing he just wanted to prolong the inevitable.

He pulled out with a gasp, his cock glistening with your arousal. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, your body begging for more. But you knew the game was still on.

He hissed out a strained, "Fuck," and your eyes widened as you watched Joe’s hand wrap around his throbbing cock, the veins bulging with the painful pulse of his ruined orgasm. The sight of his angry, red tip was almost too much for you to handle, but you bit your lip, keeping your own desire in check. He leaned over the side of the bed, reaching to pull out a condom from the stash in the nightstand.

With trembling fingers, he tore the packet open and rolled it over his erection. The anticipation was killing you, and you could feel your pussy clenching, begging for him to fill you up again.

"Get on top," Joe ordered, his voice gruff with need. You didn’t miss a beat, straddling him and sliding back onto his cock with a moan that seemed to resonate through your very bones. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

Your hands braced on his chest, you began to move, your hips rolling in a sensual dance that had Joe’s eyes crossing with pleasure. The head of his cock hit your g-spot with every thrust, and you could feel your orgasm building again. You threw your head back, your hair cascading down your back like a waterfall of chocolate silk.

The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the walls. Your breath grew ragged as you worked yourself closer to the edge, your eyes crafting a hazy image of Joe in his bliss. You could see the need in his gaze, the desire that was just barely being contained.

Joe’s hands roamed over your body, cupping your tits and teasing your nipples until they were pebbled and sensitive. He rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers, a smug smile playing on his lips as he watched your face contort with pleasure.

You leaned forward, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kissed him again, your tongue delving into his mouth with a hunger that matched his. You could feel Joe’s body tensing beneath you, his muscles straining as he held back his release. You broke the kiss, panting, your eyes locked on his.

"You’re so fucking beautiful, baby," Joe murmured against your neck as your hips rolled faster, your breaths coming in pants. He could feel the tightness of your pussy clamping down around him, your walls fluttering with the beginnings of your climax. His own release was barreling towards him like a freight train, the pressure in his balls becoming almost painful.

"Pain in my ass, but so fucking beautiful. "Joe’s voice was a gruff whisper in your ear as his hands moved to your ass, urging you to ride him harder.

You laughed wholeheartedly, a sweet sound that seemed to push Joe closer to the edge. You leaned back, your hands on his thighs, and increased your pace, feeling him swell inside you with every thrust. The sight of you bouncing on him, your pussy clenching around his cock, and your breasts engaged in their own mesmerizing dance, was almost too much.

"Don’t hold back, Joey, I can take it," you teased, your voice thick with lust as you continued to ride him with wild abandon.

Joe's eyes rolled back, and a guttural groan escaped his lips. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, pushing you to the brink of his own release. The tension in the room was palpable, an intense mix of desire and competition that seemed to fuel your passion even further.

You threw your head back, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you felt Joe's cock swell even more. You knew he was close, and you reveled in the power you had over him.

"Do it," you breathed out, your voice a command. "Come for me, baby."

Joe nodded frantically, eyes closing. Then with a whimper, he let go, his hot seed spilling into the condom. Your own orgasm crashed over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. You remained like that for a few moments, your bodies entwined, breathing heavily as you both came down from your shared highs.

You collapsed onto Joe's chest, your heart racing. You felt his chest heave with his breaths, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of victory. You had won the bet, and more importantly, you had Joe's full attention again. You kissed him softly, your hand stroking his sweaty hair.

After a moment, you pulled back, your eyes twinkling with triumph. "How are you gonna explain this to Ja’Marr and Justin?" You asked, a smug smile playing on your lips.

Joe rolled his eyes, a grin spreading across his face despite his defeat. "I'll think of something. Maybe I'll say you’re a witch with magical pussy powers," he quipped, earning a playful smack from you.

"Asshole," you said with affection, snuggling into him. "You’re so gross."

Joe chuckled, his arms tightening around you. "But you love me anyway."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a sweet echo in the quiet room. "Unfortunately, I do."

The two of you lay together, basking in the aftermath of your passionate encounter, the only sound was your mingled breaths and the distant murmur of Baton Rouge outside. Joe separated from your warmth briefly to get rid of the soiled condom. You could feel his dick pulsing gently as it rested against your thigh, the reminder of his release. It was a feeling you hadn't felt in a while, and it brought a sense of contentment that you hadn't realized you had been missing.

Finally, Joe spoke up, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "You know, I should be mad at you."

You pulled back slightly, your smile fading into a look of concern. "Mad? Why?"

Joe sighed, his grip on you loosening. "Because you didn’t even give me a chance to win. You played dirty."

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. "But you love it when I play dirty." You wiggled your hips, feeling him harden against your thigh once more.

Joe groaned, his grip tightening again. "You're going to be the death of me," he said, though his voice held a playful lilt.

You giggled, leaning in for another kiss. "But what a way to go," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

Joe's chuckle was strained, his body still humming with the aftershocks of his orgasm. "True," he murmured, his eyes drifting shut as your kisses turned gentle, exploring his jaw and neck.

Your fingertips trailed over his chest, tracing the muscles that had flexed so beautifully under your touch just moments before. Slowly they trailed down to his semi-hard cock, which twitched at the contact. You couldn’t resist the urge to tease him, your nails scraping lightly over the sensitive skin.

Joe groaned, his smile growing wicked. "You're not helping." A large hand dipped down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before smacking it lightly. You giggled, the sound spurring his already raging libido.

Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him with the same skill that had driven him to distraction the entire week. "What if I don't want to help?" you whispered, your eyes full of challenge.

Joe's eyes snapped open, his smirk turning predatory. "You're playing a dangerous game, babe." But the twitch in his cock told you he enjoyed it.

Your hand stroked him more firmly now, your thumb circling the sensitive head. "Isn't that what you love about me?" you purred, feeling the beginnings of his arousal building again.

Joe groaned, his eyes closing briefly as he fought the urge to let go again. "You're a menace," he murmured, his voice a mix of pleasure and exasperation.

"And you love it," you whispered, leaning down to kiss him again. Your hand never stopped moving, your touch growing more insistent as you felt him swell beneath you.

Joe’s eyes snapped open, a smoldering look in their depths. "Maybe," he conceded, his voice thick with lust.

Your smirk grew into a full-blown smile, your hand picking up the pace. The feel of him in your hand was intoxicating, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him. "Maybe?" you teased, your voice rising in mock innocence.

"Fine, I love it," Joe groaned, his hips bucking up to meet your strokes. "But you're going to pay for this."

With a flourish, Joe eased away from your hand and flipped you both over. You found yourself pinned beneath him, his eyes dark with desire. He reached over into the nightstand, grabbing another condom to replace the discarded one sitting in the small trashcan beside the bed.

"Oh, really?" you challenged, your voice laced with excitement. "And what do you plan to do to me?"

Joe's eyes glinted in the moonlight as he leaned over you, his teeth grazing your neck. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight," he murmured, his cock nudging against your entrance.

Your eyes widened with excitement, your pussy already slick with anticipation. "Is that a promise?" you whispered, your voice breathless.

"You bet your sweet ass it is," Joe said, his voice a low growl as he pushed into you again. Your walls clenched around him, and he had to bite back a moan at the feeling. He’d missed this, missed you, and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass without making it count.

He began to move, slow and deep, watching as your eyes glazed over with pleasure. Your nails dug into his back, leaving half-moons on his skin. Your moans grew louder with every stroke, and Joe knew he had you exactly where he wanted you. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all passion and possession, his tongue dancing with yours as your hips met in a rhythm that seemed to be choreographed by fate itself.

The room grew hot, the scent of sex and sweat mingling with the faint hint of your perfume. The only light came from the moon, casting a soft glow over your tangled limbs. Your breath grew ragged, your moans turning to whimpers as Joe hit that spot inside you that made your toes curl. You felt your orgasm building again, a wave ready to crash over you at any moment.

But Joe wasn’t done with you yet. His hips picked up speed, his strokes becoming more forceful as he claimed your body once again. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back as you matched his rhythm, urging him deeper. Your nails scored his back, leaving red lines in their wake as the intensity grew.

"Such a greedy girl," Joe murmured against your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. He could feel you tighten around him, your pussy begging for release. He didn’t plan to give it to you just yet. He wanted to savor the feeling of you beneath him, savor the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

"Couldn’t let me go for a month, huh? Just had to have my cock fuckin' split you open, huh?" Joe grunted, his rhythm becoming erratic as his own release built.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your breathing coming in short gasps. "Y-yes," you managed to whimper out.

Joe’s smirk grew wider, his cock swelling even more inside you. He knew you were close, your pussy clenching around him. He reached between you, his thumb finding your clit, and began to rub it in small circles as he continued to fuck you hard. Your eyes snapped open, and you stared up at him with a mix of pleasure and desperation.

"Joe, I’m gonna—fuck, yes!" Your voice was a breathy whisper, your body trembling with anticipation.

Joe’s own need was palpable, his strokes becoming more urgent as he felt your walls tighten around him. "Come for me, baby. Show me how much I’ve been neglecting you." He growled, his voice a low rumble that made your insides clench.

Your eyes snapped open, meeting Joe’s intense gaze as you felt yourself teeter on the edge. The orgasm built, a crescendo of pleasure that made your toes curl and your body tighten. With a scream, you shattered, your pussy clenching around Joe’s cock in a vice-like grip that had him groaning in ecstasy. He followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he filled you with his hot cum, the feeling of him losing control only adding to your own pleasure.

Your heart raced, your chest heaving with every breath. Joe leaned in, placing a soft kiss to your forehead, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "You win, baby. You always win."

You grinned, your eyes still hazy with passion. "Damn right, I do."

You lay there basking in the afterglow, your bodies sticky with sweat and the scent of sex filling the room. Eventually, Joe rolled off you, his cock slipping out with a wet sound, his cum coating the material of the condom. He disposed of the second soiled condom and then collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving. You couldn’t help but admire the view, his muscles defined and glistening from the exertion.

"Fuck, I needed that," Joe mumbled, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You chuckled, turning onto your side to face him. "You say that every time we fuck, but it’s like you forget how good it is when you go on those stupid bets," you teased, playfully poking his chest.

Joe caught your hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. "Maybe I need the bets to remind me how much I miss this when I’m not getting it," he said, his voice still rough from his orgasm.

Your eyes searched his, and you could see the truth in them. Despite the teasing, you knew he enjoyed the challenge you presented, and the thrill of the chase was just as much a part of your relationship as your intimate moments of passion. You leaned in to kiss him, your lips meeting in a gentle caress that spoke of something deeper than the physical connection you had just shared.

As you two lay there, your hearts slowly returning to a steady beat, your mind raced with the implications of your victory. You had won the bet, but more importantly, you had proven to Joe that you could break through his walls of self-control. It was a dizzy feeling, one that filled you with a newfound sense of power in your relationship.

"So, what do I get for winning?" you asked, your voice still husky from your love-making.

Joe chuckled, his chest rising and falling with his breaths. "What do you want?" he replied, his eyes playfully challenging yours.

You pretended to think for a moment, your hand tracing a line down Joe’s chest. "How about you never make a stupid bet like that again?" you suggested with a cheeky smile.

Joe rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face betrayed his amusement. "Okay, fine, I’ll never do a No Nut November again if you promise to leave my fantasy football league alone," he countered, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek gently.

Your eyes lit up with mischief. "You’re an NCAA athlete, you shouldn’t be betting in the first place."

"Hey, a guy’s gotta have fun somehow," Joe said with a grin. He kissed you again, his hand resting innocently on your body for the first time that week.

Your smile turned sly. "Well, you definitely had your fun tonight. I’m surprised you have anything left in you after that performance."

Joe’s grin turned wolfish, his eyes darkening with renewed desire. "Oh, don’t you worry, baby. I’ve got plenty more where that came from." His hand trailed down to your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before sliding up to cup your ass. You giggled, squirming against him.

"That’s enough for tonight, Joseph. Maybe if you win tomorrow’s game, I’ll consider it," you teased, playfully swatting his hand away.

Joe’s eyes narrowed, his competitive spirit riled up. "Against Arkansas? Babe, have some faith in me, holy shit," he said, his voice a low rumble as you both laughed. "But when I win, you’re all mine for the weekend. No distractions, no friends, just you and me."

Your pulse quickened at the thought of an uninterrupted weekend of Joe’s undivided attention. "Can't wait," you whispered.

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 1.

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

MASTERLIST TO ALL THE OTHER PARTS.

Link to AO3 in case you prefer to read it there.

The papers were passed around the Military board members, each set handed off in tense silence. The room’s air had cooled quickly as the sun dipped below the horizon, making Levi’s coat, almost too heavy to bear earlier, feel suddenly necessary. The chill seeped through the old walls, hinting that a bit of heating might soon be in order. 

With methodical precision, Levi slammed the stack of reports against the wooden table to align them perfectly, every edge sharp and in place. He moved aside the sticky notes he’d scribbled on hours before, crossing off the last item on his to-do list with finality. Job done for the day— 

“Well, that’s it,” he muttered, eager to leave the stale room behind. 

A pointed clearing of someone’s throat halted him, making him glance up slowly. Levi’s senses flared; he wasn’t done after all. The tension thickened, and the air shifted to something more ominous. His gaze travelled around the table, landing on each board member’s face. Some looked uncomfortable, others entertained, as if they’d been anticipating this moment. Hange, seated beside him despite their role as Commander now, avoided his eye, their head lowered in apparent resignation. Recent meetings had seen the appearance of new, vaguely unsettling faces, like Kiyomi's, who now looked across the table with a subtle smile. 

“Captain,” Zackly’s voice rasped as he cleared his throat yet again. 

“The day’s agenda is finished,” Levi stated, irritation biting at his words. The official telegram had detailed the topics to be discussed, all of which they’d already addressed. Anything beyond that, he knew, was meant to be cleared with the entire board beforehand. 

“This was a last-minute matter,” a Military Police officer interjected, though the smirk twitching at his lips betrayed more amusement than urgency. 

“Captain,” Zackly called again, knitting his fingers together. “You know we’ve always valued your dedication to Paradis.” 

The pause was rehearsed, the words strangely formal, making Levi’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is going on?” cutting through the man’s attempt at civility. 

“Let the Commander finish,” Kiyomi insisted, her voice smooth and elegant, though tinged with a superiority that grated on him. 

“We wouldn’t have managed to retake Wall Maria without your bravery—” 

“A lot of people sacrificed themselves for that,” Levi replied sharply, cutting off the praise that felt, at best, patronizing. “Including the previous Commander, Erwin. No need to thank me.” 

“Nevertheless,” Zackly forged on, tiring of the interruptions, “without your skill, all those sacrifices might have been in vain. Not only did you dare to fight for Eren’s retrieval from the Female Titan and against the former tyrannical regime, but—” 

“It wasn’t just me. My squad and the brat over there were in it too.” 

The tone of the conversation was growing increasingly uneasy, the excessive praise no longer just annoying him but setting off alarms. 

“Quite right. You and Mikasa were essential in humanity’s progress,” Kiyomi added, eyeing Levi with a calculating gaze. As her look shifted back to Zackly, Levi’s own attention followed. 

“What we mean to say is… even if Paradis positions itself favourably in the new world, more capable individuals like you and Mikasa would be ideal assets for our success.” Zackly straightened in his chair, clearing his throat for the third time, making Levi wonder if the man needed water—or to finally give up smoking like a chimney. “Have you ever considered marriage, Captain?” 

The question hit him like a bucket of ice water. It was so absurd Levi could only scoff. “What?” 

“How old are you now?” Zackly continued, feigning casual curiosity. “Thirty-three? Thirty-four? A prime age, I’m sure. And for a high-breed alpha like you—” 

Behind him, low chuckles began to echo from the MPs, each one making Levi’s grip on the chair’s arm tighten. 

‘This is a trap.’ 

“Whatever it is you’re implying, I I suggest you rethink it,” Levi spat, the weight of their words starting to settle. 

“Let’s be frank,” Kiyomi leaned forward, hands placed firmly on the table. “Captain, we once thought the Ackermans extinct, only to discover Paradis has not one but two. Even Zeke couldn’t deny that meeting you at Shiganshina was... less than pleasant.” 

“Of course,” Levi replied dryly. “I beat that monkey’s ass.” 

“Exactly.” The dark-haired woman showed no amusement, her voice all business. “To the point, then: we intend to provide you with a suitable wife to ensure that you bless this island with as many Ackermans as she’s capable of bearing.” 

Levi shot to his feet. “You must be out of your damned mind if you think I’d agree to this. I’m not here to be used as a breeding tool.” 

“Oh, but you wouldn’t be the one doing the birthing,” an MP remarked with a smirk as the rest of the board broke their facades, amusement flashing in their eyes. All but Hange, who looked as if they might vanish into their seat. 

“You’re insane,” Levi snarled, preparing to leave, feeling insulted to his core. “You can use Historia as your political pawn as much as you want, but I’m not some 17-year-old girl at your disposal—” 

“Think of it as a service to your country,” Zackly replied coolly. 

“I serve this island every damned day,” Levi snapped, baring his teeth. With a sharp slap, he pressed his papers against the table and strode toward the door, signaling his utter rejection of the idea. 

“If you won’t consider it…” Kiyomi's calm, piercing voice halted him at the door, the threat clear. “Then we’ll turn to the only other Ackerman left.” 

Levi stilled, staring at the golden knob in his hand, fury boiling in his veins. He wasn’t about to fall for this. 

“Mikasa is too valuable to be reduced to a broodmare.” 

“She’s a girl of duty,” Kiyomi replied, a note of satisfaction in her voice. “Something you seem to lack. And she’s an alpha. I’m certain she could bear at least one healthy child before returning to the battlefield.” 

Levi clicked his tongue, pushing open the door with disdain. ‘Who the hell do they think I am?’ Hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, he stormed down the royal city’s military headquarters hallways, curses slipping from his lips. The whole idea was absurd; they’d lost their minds if they thought he’d even consider it. 

As Levi stormed down the dim corridor, every step sharp and swift, he couldn’t shake the rancor rising within him. The brazenness of it all, to drag him into their twisted ambitions with such flippant disregard for his will—and then to threaten Mikasa. The audacity alone made his fists clench. 

He barely noticed Hange keeping pace with him until their arm was outstretched, catching him by the shoulder. 

“Levi,” Hange began softly. Their usual spark was subdued, gaze serious, and voice almost apologetic. “I know you’re furious. I knew this would be hell to hear, but I didn’t know how else to—” 

“Save it.” Levi shrugged their hand off, glowering. “You knew, didn’t you? That they were going to bring this shit up?” 

Hange hissed, as if asking them to confessed was almost painful. “Yes… I knew.” 

Levi gritted his teeth, eyes dark with betrayal. “You agreed to this?” Both of them whispering on the empty cold halls of the building.  

“I… didn’t agree,” Hange answered carefully. “But I was there when the discussion happened. Look, Zackly and the others—” Hange hesitated, running a hand through their hair. “They’re dead set on this idea. They think they’re planning for a stronger Paradis, and if they think that means Ackerman bloodlines—” 

“Save the speech.” Levi’s tone was sharp. “They can be dead set on whatever they please, but I'd like to see them drag the entire MP battalion if they want to force me into this.” 

The past year had hardly been easy on either of them, especially Hange with their new title as Commander. Levi was well aware of this—yet the sense of betrayal cut deep. “For fuck’s sake, Hange, you could’ve warned me.” 

A tense silence hung between them, until Hange finally sighed and adjusted their glasses, pressing on the bridge of their nose. “You think I had a say in this? Kiyomi's paying for the entire coastal expansion and the railway. She thought it was a decent idea, and with her money backing it, she’s got the final word on everything.” 

Levi clicked his tongue, crossing his arms in exasperation. “Those bastards in the upper ranks are just itching to get on my last nerve since we changed the policies.” 

“Look, I know it sounds—insane. But maybe… if we don’t try to protect the future of the island, there won’t be one. And if there’s a way to keep the Ackerman bloodline alive, maybe there’s value in that…” 

“Don’t give me that bloodline nonsense.” Levi’s tone was ice-cold, his gaze sharp. “This is some harebrained scheme they’ve cooked up. And let me guess: it reeks of Zeke. That bearded bastard’s across the ocean, and he’s still screwing with my life.” 

Hange pressed their lips together, saying nothing. The silence was confirmation enough. 

“That son of a bitch,” Levi cursed under his breath. “He’s the one with royal blood, not me.” 

Hange’s lips twitched in something close to sympathy. 

“Well, since you two are such good friends these days, feel free to let him know he can kiss my ass.” 

“Levi…” Hange sighed, not because they disagreed but because Levi’s sense of betrayal cut both ways. They were the last two left of the original veterans—family in all but name. It wasn’t just an argument; it felt like a wound between them. 

Convincing Levi? Impossible. But convincing her? That possibility hung in the air, lingering like a storm on the horizon. Levi paced with conviction at first, then with dread. They both knew it, and, worse, Zeke likely knew it too. Mikasa had just turned seventeen, still almost a child, recently visited by someone claiming kinship with her clan. Levi couldn’t care less about all the ancestral politics, but he was all too aware of how they worked. 

“You can choose whoever you wish for the father,” they had told her, as if it was some generous offer. And, step by step, he watched Mikasa’s face transform from disgust to something akin to acceptance. Perhaps it was because she, too, held a certain pedigree; perhaps she felt duty-bound. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care what methods they used to sway her. 

‘She’s smarter than that,’ he tried to tell himself. 

But then he overheard Historia, almost childishly enthusiastic, whispering to Mikasa, “See? I told you—we’re girls with responsibilities.” The blood drained from his face. If they’d managed to convince Historia, to make her some kind of pawn in their twisted ambitions, what was stopping them from pulling Mikasa down the same path? 

‘It’s disgusting,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Maybe this is how those classist bastards operate. They talk little girls into this like they’re just trading dolls for something more ‘exciting.’’ 

That night, back in his office, Levi was a restless storm, pacing the room with his suit jacket hanging loose, fingers curled around his glass of whiskey, his movements sharp and frustrated. The glow of his cigarette flared in the dark room as he took a deep drag, gritting his teeth. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Slouched in his chair, forearm draped over his eyes, his mind circled back to Mikasa’s hesitant, almost innocent blush—her teenage imagination painting a faint, rosy tint over whatever twisted future she thought she might face. And in his mind, as if staring him down, were Eren’s haunted eyes, that deadened look of someone who already knew more than he could say. Maybe the brat already knew Levi wouldn’t let it happen. 

“She’s a damn kid,” he muttered. The thought of Mikasa shouldering this burden felt like a betrayal of his own values. 

Though technically, she was not much younger than many girls who’d borne children before. But this felt different, disturbing— He let out a humourless chuckle, as a man that waits for getting hang. “Those bastards knew… I wouldn’t let them ruin her life like that.” 

And like a cursed prophecy that tightened its grip the more one tried to escape it, Levi found himself back in that same damned office, slouched in his chair as if seated at a poker table. Bargaining his future. 

Levi sat stiffly across from the military board, his expression a blend of frustration and disgust as they spoke. Zackly lounged in his chair, lazily smoking as the other officials presented folders adorned with detailed painted portraits, lists of family properties, and who knows what else. As they laid the offers on the table, a random thought clouded Levi’s mind: It feels like searching for a button that matches at the notions store. 

He was reminded of long strips of fabric with various buttons sewn onto them, each one a potential fit. “Many of the noble families are eager to show their loyalty to the new government,” one officer stated with a practiced calmness. “Some have offered up alliances in exchange for the return of their territories and titles. This includes a number of unclaimed young omegas. You’ll have ample choices.” 

Levi’s jaw clenched. He knew they expected him to appear grateful for the options lined up before him, as if he were selecting a new weapon. Instead, he leaned back, crossing his arms tightly. “I’ll be imposing some conditions.” 

They paused, exchanging glances. “Naturally, Captain,” one of the men replied, steepling his fingers. 

“No fancy bullshit,” Levi declared. “The wedding will be plain. Just a civil ceremony. I have no intention of making a spectacle out of this.” 

The room fell silent, the officers exchanging looks that spoke volumes. One of them cleared his throat, hesitating before responding. “Captain, you should consider—” 

“I’m not considering anything,” Levi interrupted, his tone sharper than before. “This is a plain arrangement, and it will remain exactly that. I don’t need fanfare or ceremonies—just a quiet signing of papers.” 

The officers shifted uncomfortably, their discomfort palpable as they struggled to reconcile Levi’s cold practicality with their expectations. “Think of the girl. Many young omegas dream of their wedding day, waiting for it their whole lives. It’s—” a female alpha soldier attempted to be the voice of reason, but Levi was clearly listening to none of it. 

“No buts,” Levi said, his patience wearing thin. “If I’m going to go through with this ridiculous arrangement, it will be on my terms. I’m not dragging this girl through some overblown ceremony when neither of us wants to be there.” 

With a loud sigh, Levi lifted himself slightly from his seat to grab the portfolios. He barely looked at them, frowning deeply. “Don’t you have pictures where they look— I don’t know—human?” he spat out sarcastically, noting how overly produced their painted portraits appeared. 

“That’s what’s in fashion,” one officer muttered defensively. 

Groaning in disinterest, Levi rolled his eyes. “Nobles and their weird tastes.” But as he turned the next page to examine the descriptions, it was as if the world had tilted off its axis. “Sixteen,” he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice. He looked up, venom lacing his words. “You’re offering me sixteen-year-old girls? Girls who could be my damn daughters?” 

“It’s common, you know—” 

“I don’t care what’s common. Twenty-five,” Levi interjected. “At least twenty-five. I’m not getting tied to a child.” 

“Come on,” an exhausted soldier exclaimed, “some are seventeen, eighteen—” 

“Twenty-five,” Levi snapped, his eyes blazing. “I’m not interested in any of this unless you bring me someone who isn’t still in their childhood.” 

“Be realistic,” Zackly finally spoke up, looking weary and disinterested. “How many omegas do you know that aren’t claimed by twenty-five?” 

“Fuck if I know; that’s your job to find out, not mine.” Levi’s anger flared, echoing in the sterile room. “Weren’t you the one telling me to think of the girl? Don’t you think of her?” 

“Why? Are you planning on hurting her?” Zackly questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Fuck no.” 

“Then I’m not concerned. Choose one and stop being a pain in the ass.” 

It was clear they were not going to reach any middle ground like this. Amid the hastily scribbled notes, he noticed a name: Y/N, age twenty-one. He pointed decisively at the line, cutting through the cacophony of voices. “That one.” 

There was no picture, no description—nothing. Perhaps it should have raised suspicions, but Levi was too tired for this cheap drama. 

“Why her?” one member scoffed, glancing at the paper. “We have better offers on the table.” 

Levi didn’t hesitate. “She’s the oldest.” He placed both hands on the table, pushing himself upward. He had made up his mind the night before; he just needed this to be over. Striding toward the door, he exited without allowing anyone to stop him. As he walked out of the conference room, he could hear the murmurs behind him. 

As the door shut firmly, one of the cadets held the papers against his chest, confusion written all over his face. Slowly, he turned to the higher-ranking officer. “Shouldn’t we tell him that she’s scheduled to marry this weekend to her childhood fiancé?” 

Zackly chuckled, flicking the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray. Between coughs, he said, “Oh well, he can find out from her once they’re both married. It’s no longer my problem.” 

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