#Flash Card Game with Normal Playing Cards

[saturnaous]

man I'd probably be more focused on collecting pop tabs if I knew where the hell my hug collection went ? I have my kisses and my sex in the upper area of my desk but I haven't a damn clue where my hugs went. I msis them thangs. I had quite a few.

[chaotic-for-good]

games

Luigi Mangione x Reader

NSFW 18+

summary: reader plays games with Luigi after missing him while he’s gone on a work trip. He reminds her who she belongs to.

cw: soft dom brat tamer lulu, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm control, edging, use of toys, established relationship, choking, he has a lot to say, you can bet he’s throwing reader around while he says it

author’s note: my first ever post on tumblr be nice to me I’m soft. longtime smut reader first time writer 🤗

When you finally caught his eye as your gaze slid down the dimly lit bar, you knew you were playing with fire. Seeing precisely the reaction you’d hoped for flash across his face ignited all your pent-up longing with a spark of glee: the sharp line of his jaw, shadowed lightly with second day stubble, twitched as he subtly lifted a brow and poked his tongue in his cheek. Nothing the baby-faced intern, still scratching his sparse mustache as they spoke, would ever notice. But for you, the message was unmistakeable: that’s enough.

Under normal circumstances, that would have been enough. You would have stopped brushing your coworker’s arm, found a polite way to bow out of whatever mindless small talk you were engaged in, and slinked back down the bar to his side, proving just how well-behaved you could be for him.

But the days spent apart and untended while he traveled to and from a work conference had made the throbbing between your legs unbearable. Desperate for a sliver of his attention, you knew you’d have to push him further to make him focus on you the way you’d been aching for all week.

You swept your long hair off your shoulder just how you knew he loved, pretending not to clock his reaction. Giggling sweetly at whatever comment your colleague made, you bit your lip lightly and smiled through your lashes over the rim of your martini. You weren’t even listening to what was being said anymore. The only thing that mattered was the game you’d just set in motion—and you knew if you showed your cards too soon, it’d be over before it had even begun.

You were still calculating how best to sneak another glance at him when suddenly, his broad frame loomed behind you, his large hand grazing the crepe fabric of your dress.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted lightly, his voice smooth, expression controlled���but the dark flash in his eyes betrayed him. He swept over to your coworker, offering a warm smile. “I don’t think we’ve met, have we?” Extending a hand, he continued, “I’m Luigi, y/n’s boyfriend.”

He punctuated boyfriend with a casual but deliberate dig of his knuckle into the small of your back, making you straighten on instinct, covering your sharp intake of breath by clearing your throat.

“Oh yeah, she’s mentioned you!” Mark—or was it Mike?—responded enthusiastically. “I’m Mike,” (oops). He reached out to grasp Luigi’s extended hand. “You’re an engineer, too, right?”

“I am,” Luigi smiled wide, his straight, white teeth and dimples on full display. “And I’d love to talk shop, Mike, but unfortunately traffic is picking up and y/n and I are now running a little late for our next engagement. Will you forgive me if I steal her?” He cast Mike an apologetic grimace.

“Hey man, no worries, yeah!” Mike responded, clearly confused by Luigi’s abrupt call to exit. He was already helping you into your coat as Mike trickled off, “Well, good talking to you, y/n.” 

You threw back the last swig of your perfectly bruised martini, setting the glass on the bar and sending a questioning look toward him as you looped your purse onto your shoulder. But he didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t even look your way—just grabbed your hand, squeezing authoritatively as he angled for the door.

“We’ll catch up soon, yeah?” Luigi called over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response or look at you at all as he led you into the cool night air. The moment you reached the back of his black SUV, he was on you.

His long fingers clamped over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, steering you roughly toward the passenger side.

“Hope you understand what you’ve started, brat.” He murmured, a restrained smile flickering over his lips as he opened the door—no trace of that earlier warmth to be found. 

“What do you mean, Lu?” You asked innocently, ignoring the dig. You hesitated, resting a hand on the dashboard. “I didn’t know we had other plans.”

His jaw flexed. “You and I both knew what was going to happen next when you went acting up like that in there.”

Before you could respond, he gripped your ass, hoisting you into the car as he held the door open. Now seated, he locked his hand around your neck, tilting your chin up until your forehead was almost pressed against his. Your breath hitched.

“You wanted my attention, yeah, y/n?” His voice was low, teasing—dangerous. “Let’s see how much you like it.”

With that, he pulled the seatbelt over you, clicked it into place, and slammed the door shut.

The second he was out of sight, you exhaled shakily, your chest heaving with the effort to appear composed. Squeezing your thighs together, you fought for relief against the building ache between your legs. As he slid into the driver’s seat, you forced your hands into your lap, smoothing your floral dress, schooling your expression into something demure.

You knew all too well—if he saw how much his reaction was affecting you, he’d make you suffer for it.

One hand on the steering wheel, he tugged at his collar with the other, his patterned button-down slightly wrinkled from the tension in his shoulders. He didn’t speak as he pulled onto the narrow one-way street toward his house.

The longer the silence stretched, the more your nerves prickled. His dark brows were drawn, jaw set.

Had you overshot?

You only wanted to tease him—just enough to get him to remind you who you belonged to. It was just a game. Right?

The car jerked to a stop outside his house. He threw it into park, finally turning to look at you.

His eyes burned with something almost feral.

“We’re both going inside.” His voice was calm, brutal.  “You will go directly to the bedroom. Undress. On your back. Legs open. Keep still—or else.”

The words sent molten heat pooling between your thighs. You scrambled out of the car, practically tripping over yourself as you hurried into the house to make your way to his bed.

As soon as you were in his room, you hastily started stripping off your dress. Your fingers trembled, pulling at the fabric as anticipation thrummed through you. By the time you were on the bed, legs spread just as he’d ordered, you were soaked.

And then—nothing.

Minutes passed. You clenched your fists in his sheets, fighting the urge to touch yourself, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

You didn’t even realize he’d been watching.

“That desperate already, huh, pretty girl?”

His voice made you jolt.

He was leaning against the doorframe, a wicked smirk playing on his lips, taking his time drinking in the sight of you. 

“Y-yes,” you stuttered, any attempt at appearing unaffected crumbling under the weight of his stare.

Pushing off the wall, he approached the bed slowly, methodically. The way his muscles flexed beneath his button-down as he tugged it loose from his slacks was almost obscene. You barely caught yourself propping up on your elbows for a better look—

A mistake.

In an instant, he was over you, yanking your wrists into one hand, delivering a smack to your throbbing cunt. You moaned, hips twitching, desperate for more.

“What did I say about moving?”

Your lip quivered. His hands slid under your hips, yanking you down the bed, trapping you between his strong thighs.

“Seems like you need a reminder about who’s in charge, yeah, baby?” His voice was dark amusement as he continued to unbutton his shirt, inspecting you through hooded brown eyes.

His smirk turned predatory. “Well, all you had to do was ask.”

You barely had time to gasp before his fingers were between your legs, taunting—taking his time. The game wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

He slides one inside, crooking it just right, pressing it against that perfect spot as if to say, good luck.

You thrash beneath him, moaning, “yes, Luigi,” and just as quickly, he withdraws, leaving you clenching around nothing, the sudden loss making you keen with frustration.

“So fucking needy, aren’t you?” He taunts, licking his lips as he watches you squirm.

Locking you between his legs once again, Luigi takes his time, pulling off his shirt agonizingly slowly before moving lower, unbuckling his brown leather belt. His movements are deliberate, meant to draw your attention—and it works. Your breath stutters as the belt slides free from its loops, your eyes fixated on the thick outline of his cock, hard and straining beneath his slacks.

When he finally pulls the belt free, he wraps it firmly around your wrists, securing it with a satisfied smirk. He chuckles mildly at your whining response.

Digging through his bedside drawer, he extracts a bottle of lube and the navy blue vibrator—your favorite, usually. Tonight, it feels like a threat.

He pushes your bound wrists above your head, pinning them in place. A moment later, he drips the slick fluid onto your swollen clit, cool against your overheated skin. Your hips jerk instinctively, but his hand on your low belly holds you still.

Then—click, click, click, click. He brings the vibrator immediately to full intensity, its buzz unrelenting.

You gasp sharply, arching your back, but he’s not done. With two fingers, he spreads your hood up, exposing your delicate bud completely before pressing the vibrator directly against you as he crouches between your legs.

The shockwaves radiate through your entire body. You can’t hold still. It’s too much, and yet, not nearly enough.

The tension, the torment, the denial—it’s been building all night, and now you’re hurtling toward your climax at record speed.

And then—he yanks the vibrator away from your core, just as you’re about to unravel.

You all but wail in response, wrists jerking against the belt, hips rolling uselessly toward nothing.

“Look at you, baby,” he coos at you. “Thought I’d let you get off that easy?”

He strokes the soft skin of your trembling thighs with contrary sweetness to his biting remark.

“After toying with me like that at the bar, you’re going to have to prove to me you can behave if you want to come tonight.”

“Please,” you bear out through gritted teeth.

His eyes flash, predatory amusement flickering across his face. “Tell me how bad you need it.”

His taunts are relentless, but softened by the tender touch he continuously peppers you with: pressing kisses along your twitching thighs, fingertips caressing your cheeks as you gasp and shudder beneath him.

“More than anything,” you huff out, gritting your teeth.

Satisfied with your answer, the vibrator’s unforgiving buzz returns, rumbling against your overstimulated clit, a merciless, throbbing pulse. You’re so close again, so fucking close—

Just when he removes it from your heat once again.

You scream, almost sobbing, cursing and writhing against him.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” he murmurs, tracing soothing circles along your hips, but his grin is nothing short of smug.

“You’re so fucking dramatic, baby,” he shakes his head. “Shaking and falling apart. I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You whimper, chest heaving, body trembling uncontrollably. Your skin is burning with frustration.

“Think you can behave now?” He taunts, running his knuckles over your soaked folds, teasing along your entrance but refusing to give you what you really need.

Your hips buck uselessly after his hand, chasing any kind of friction. “Yes, yes, please, I swear. I swear,” you sob.

“Mmm, I don’t know.” He glides his fingers between your sensitive folds, keeping you on the ledge. “You look so pretty like this—" he dips in, just the tips of his index and middle finger, before pulling away again. “Maybe I should keep you here a little longer.”

“Luigi, please,” you beg, gripping his forearm like a vice.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans. His resistance begins to crack as he watches you tremble, the grit in his response showing you just how worked up he is for you. Then, with one smooth motion, he plunges two fingers into your desperate, dripping heat.

Your head snaps back, mouth falling open in a soundless cry as your entire body melts beneath him. The relief is so immediate, so overwhelming, you barely register the sharp curl of his fingers, dragging against that perfect spot inside you.

He keeps them there, pressing, stroking, working you open, watching with blown pupils as your thighs quiver and shake.

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, dragging his teeth against your skin. “Taking what I give you, just like you should.”

He rolls your peaked nipple with one hand as his fingers keep moving inside you—deep, slow, deliberate—but you both know it’s not enough. You’re too strung out from all the denial, and even as your walls flutter around him, you know you need more.

Your hands jerk uselessly against the belt around your wrists, the leather biting into your skin as you try to grab him, pull him closer. “Need you,” you whimper. “Please, Luigi—please.”

His dark eyes flick up to yours, hot and unreadable for an instant before he smirks.

“Oh, now you need me?” He curls his fingers sharply, wrenching a sob from your throat. “Could’ve sworn you were doing just fine teasing me all night.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you rush out, the words spilling from your lips, messy, frantic. “I swear, I’ll be good, I just—fuck, I need you.”

His smirk deepens. “Mmm,” he sighs. “That’s better.”

He withdraws his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching your wrecked expression with admiration as he spreads your slick with his fingertips. “So fucking wet for me, amore.” He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, groaning softly at your taste. “Jesus. Should’ve made you wait even longer.”

You whimper, squirming, arching up toward him helplessly. “No, no, please—”

“Shhh, shhh—I’ve got you.”

He grabs your chin, tilting your face up, catching your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss that leaves you panting. He’s done teasing now—you can taste it in the way his tongue claims you, the way his grip tightens around your jaw.

Then, finally, finally, he sits back on his knees, pushing his slacks and fitted briefs down in one fell swoop. His cock springs free: thick, heavy, his tip dripping precum.

The sight of him alone makes you whimper, legs spreading wider on instinct.

He strokes himself lazily, teasing you with the sight, but you’re so far gone, your body writhing, begging, aching—you can’t handle another second.

“Please,” you sob. “Need to feel you. Please, Luigi—”

His gaze softens—just a flicker, just for a second, before he gives in.

“Yeah, baby?” He knits his dark brows together, mischief and lust playing behind his eyes. “Need me to take care of you?”

You nod furiously as he lines himself up, running the thick head of his cock against your clit before dipping into your dripping folds, pressing just the tip inside before stopping.

Your breath catches, every nerve on fire.

He leans down, forehead to yours, voice a low, dark whisper.

“Then take it,” he whispers, forcing his entire length into you in one fell stroke.

Your eyes flutter shut as you cry out, body instinctively clenching as he stretches you, slow and deliberate.

Now edging back toward sweetness after making you endure his punishment, he thrusts into you with measured control, making sure you feel every inch. His fingers thread through your hair, gently but firmly tilting your face toward him.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark with intent. “Look at me when I give you what you’ve been begging for.”

He starts slow, rolling his hips with each stroke, pressing deep, hitting that perfect spot over and over. The coil inside you tightens, heat pooling and spreading through every nerve.

“You want to come on this big cock, pretty girl?” he taunts, his breath hot against your skin. “Show me.”

You meet him halfway, rolling your hips up, urging him deeper. When your hands grip the back of his neck, he stills for just a second—then shifts, lifting your hips and sliding a pillow beneath you as he throws your legs over his shoulders, angling for more.

“That’s it,” he grunts, palm landing on your ass before his pace quickens, matching your urgency. When your thighs start twitching, his fingers find your clit, tracing tight, focused circles between you.

“Oh, baby—I know you’re close.” His voice is deep, reverent, his eyes locked on yours as he drives you closer to the edge. His movements grow frenzied, determined, his own restraint unraveling as he works to push you over.

“Let go for me,” he gasps, his rhythm breaking as he fights against his own release. “I need all of it.”

His name spills from your lips as you shatter beneath him, the pleasure hitting like a tidal wave. Your hands clutch at his arms, nails leaving half moons in his skin as your body clenches around him, lost to the euphoria he’s dragged you toward all night.

“There she is,” he praises, looking down at you with a mix of awe and need. “That’s my good fucking girl. So good for me.”

But he’s still not done with you yet, milking every bit of your orgasm out of you as he chases his own high. You spasm around him as his thrusts turn rougher, more urgent—grip tightening, breath ragged against your skin. His voice is raw, fraying as he loses control.

“Fuck, baby—squeezing me so tight—” A groan rumbles through his chest as he pounds into you, chasing that final push as you jolt underneath him, still reverberating from your own drawn-out high.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, forehead pressed against yours. “I need to show you how much, baby—need to fill you up—”

He has you nearly has you folded in half from the way he’s drilling into you. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still as he thrusts deeper, sharper, his restraint slipping completely. “Take it—fuck, baby, I’m—“

His voice breaks, a strangled moan escaping as he shudders against you, buried deep, pulsating inside you as he gasps your name like a prayer.

He slumps against your legs, breath ragged, chest heaving. His weight presses into you, pinning you beneath him, and when he catches the strain flickering across your face, he shifts—easing out, rolling to the side, and turning toward you.

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he runs his thumb along yours. “You look especially beautiful when you’re wrecked like this.”

You roll your eyes at him lovingly, smiling slightly in your fucked out haze.

His fingers trace your face, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before rising from the bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

With effortless strength, he lifts you, carrying you bridal style before setting you on unsteady feet near the bathroom door. A hand glides down your back, and with a soft pat on your butt, he gently nudges you forward. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, swiping your water bottle on his way out.

Still breathless, you glance at the mirror and stifle a giggle at your reflection—mascara smudged, hair a wild mess.

“You laughing, pretty girl?” His voice rumbles as he steps back in, ice rattling against the sides of your bottle. He’s stripped down to just his black briefs, gaze warm, inviting. “C’mere,” he pats his thigh. “Tell me what’s so funny.”

Your legs tremble as you shuffle his way, and the moment you reach him, he pulls you into his lap, tucking you against his chest like you belong there.

He strokes your hair as his own laughter rumbles underneath you. “Your little stunt was cute, baby. Was all that attitude at the bar worth it?”

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Ace Trappola - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

When Summoned: Yaaaawn, sooo sleepy... But it's a waste to keep sleeping! I think I'll roll around in bed some more.

Summon Line: Since it's my birthday, that means I can pretty much get away with askin' for whatever I want, right? Wonder what I should get my roommates to do for me...

Groooovy!!: No way, I overslept!? No way I can hit up the school with bedhead on my birthday of all days!

Home: Whew, now I'm feelin' fresh～

Swap Looks: Guess I'ma go wash m'face...

Home Idle 1: I couldn't find the shirt I was gonna wear tomorrow, but it ended up being mixed in with my roommate's stuff. Annoyin' how that happens sometimes.

Home Idle 2: Ruggie-senpai forced some vegetable seeds into my hands. He said I better share some with him when I harvest 'em... Would this even grow that much?

Home Idle 3: You wanna know about this hoodie? I bought it at a clothing shop in Foothill Town. It's pretty comfy, and also perfect to wear as loungewear, don'tcha think?

Home Idle - Login: Don't birthday mornings just feel special? I'm so jazzed I even get really into doin' up my hair!

Home Idle - Groovy: Kalim-senpai threw me a huge party as a celebration even though I'm not in Scarabia... Maaan, he's always so insanely nice!

Home Tap 1: Sometimes I'll play darts or card games with my roommates. 'Though, there's one loud-mouthed, thick-headed idiot that's always gettin' in the way!

Home Tap 2:I can't even imagine what kind of present Malleus-senpai could pick for me～ I guess I got nothing to lose by asking him... Nah, never mind.

Home Tap 3: I got softer hair, so I get bedhead super easily. Man, I've been late so many times 'cause of it!

Home Tap 4: I was messin' with Sebek, pushing his buttons and sayin' he probably sucks at gift-giving, when he shouted, "I'll show you what I can really do!" Ahaha, oh, I totally can't wait to see what he comes up with～

Home Tap 5: Eh, my hair's sticking out in the back!? Ugh, seriously? I thought I fixed it up. Guess I'll hafta fix it up in a flash during break.

Home Tap - Groovy: You like my taste in loungewear? I knew you'd get me. And see, I even picked these sandals in the same color to give it an overall coordinated look!

Duo: [ACE]: Can't wait to see how you'll celebrate with me, Kalim-senpai! [KALIM]: Let's dance, sing, and party hard, Ace!

Birthday Login Message: Oh hey, did you come to celebrate my birthday? Nice timing, we just finished morning basketball practice! My clubmates all wished me a happy birthday, too. Jamil-senpai said it as soon as he saw me, and by some miracle, Floyd-senpai gave me a very normal birthday greeting. I'm sure glad he was in a good mood～ Oh, hey. We should hit the Mystery Shop between classes. ...Hm? Why're you tensin' up? Huuuh? C'mon, I didn't say nothing about treating me, now diiid I? Hehe, see you later～

Requested by @thelonepearl.

[animeshotsh]

Chains | Husk x SisOverlord!Reader / Yandere!Alastor x Reader |

Summary: Its been years since you saw your brother...

Warnings: Alastor its a warning himself | Yandere!Alastor | Overlord!Reader | Canon Violence | Grammar Mistakes |

No one expected the doors of the Hotel to burst Open that afternoon. Vaggie was the first to react, being ready to fight whever decided to attack that day (it was becoming something normal).

Charlie on her part was jumping towards the stranger, ready to shake hands and introduce herself.

"Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, im Charlie, whats your na-" Before Charlie could finish two voices sounded in the back.

"(Y/N)?"

"(Y/N) MY DEAR!!"

Husk and Alastor voices echoed in the looby, the only response their got were a set of flashing sharp poker cards being directed at the radio Demon and Husk.

"ITS HAS BEEN 12 YEARS AND THATS ALL YOU GONNA SAY?" You screamed at both men.

Husk looked away, shame over his cat face. Long time ago you two used to rule. The brother and sister duo, the ones who could destroy everyone. That was till Husk destroyed himself, giving his soul to the radio Demon. Leaving you behind.

Alastor was amused by your anger. He knew you hated him, he was the one who took your brothers soul after all. And he never felt remorse because of it, he was almost happy he did it. It was the only way he got to see you, ever if you only showed him hate.

He would take whatever from you.

"Wait...are you Husk's gilfriend?" Charlie still not catching up asked, getting the most bizarre look from you.

"Hell no, im his sister" You responded making the princess blush and apologie too much. "Its fine, I know he does not talk a lot about me"

Charlie could hear the sadness in your voice. She took a moment to see you, and now she saw how similar Husk and you were. Cat face a pair of wings, the colors were different and so were your eyes, but there was something that just connected you two.

"This is (Y/N), The Casino Demon, you bet against her and you lose your Soul" Alastor explained appearing besides you. "She and Husk used to rule together"

"Yeah, well thats in the past now" You responded to Alastor both of you killing each other with your eyes.

The tension was broken by Husk, "why are you here?"

"Im here because you are here and because I want to redeem myself" You responded with your head high, not looking at the obvious smirk from Alastor or the questioning look from Husk.

Charlie quickly took your hand, guiding you towards a desk to check you in, she ramble about the hotel, the guests and things they did in here.

You kind of feel bad for her, you could see her passion but the only reason you were in here was because of Husk. Ever since Alastor took his soul it ended being a game of finding him. Alastor would make Husk's soul appear and since you two were connected as brother and sister you would fly there only to find him gone and a smirking Radio Demon.

But this time, his soul had been in one place for a long time. So you decided to use this chance to be by your brothers side.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Later that same night you went to the bar, Husk tried to ignore you, cleaning glasses but ended facing you. No one dared to speak first, silent tears fell from your eyes, slowly your hands reached his, his fluffy hair welcoming you.

"I have missed you so much" You said smiling at him. Husk felt his heart break, he knew how Alastor played with you using him. He had tried many times to make you hate him, but you never did. You also never fought Alastor knowing he would use Husk to get you.

"Lets have a drink for the old days"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

After many drinks you went back to your room. So many years apart...Husk and you had so much to catch on.

"You know you cant have him back"

The radio Demon appear behind you, you ignored him not wanting to fall for his games.

"Not without a deal at least"

"And what would that deal be?" You asked not looking back at the Demon.

In a flash he got closer to you, not touching you but you could feel his breath down your neck.

"Your soul for his, be mine for the eternity and free him" Hell, you could feel the psycho smile and listen the radio laughts.

"Goodnight Alastor"

You left him alone outside your room. Alastor smiled to himself, hands behind his back he started to walk to his own room.

"Just a bit more" he whispered his body turning to his full Demon form.

"Just a bit more to be mine"

[madaqueue]

FOOL'S GOLD SINKS ALL THE SAME

aventurine never fails to cause a scene, in public or in private.

pairing: aventurine x gn!reader

themes/content: reader has a history of sexual trauma (it is not described in graphic detail but it is very clearly alluded to. it is not romanticized or sexualized). smut. mentions of aventurine's past, oral + fingering + penetration (reader receiving), lots of ocean metaphors bc i'm normal abt it. 18+ MDNI (wk: 4.7k)

a/n: letting this blond man ruin my life

“Bet on me.”

The words barely land in your ears as Aventurine snakes his way around the table. You can’t respond, can’t even look at him, without inviting catastrophe, and he knows: he makes it a challenge, of course, reflecting the glimmering lights almost more brightly than the gaudy disco ball twirling away overhead. In the corner of your vision, the black flash of armed guards weighs in your mind, and instead of straining your eyes to catch his, you let your attention fall aimlessly ahead.

Then, you do precisely as you were told: nothing (technically, the IPC’s orders were to “Observe and gather intel” which you know means “Don’t let Aventurine cause a scene.” Perhaps that’s why they’ve sent you on so many jobs together - they need him chained, and you’re an inexpensive stand-in leash. Being a collar doesn’t take much skill, after all).

The game continues, cards and chips moving hands, and Aventurine loses after a stupid play he’d never make, and pouts.

“What a shame,” he says to himself, resting his chin on a glove you know is more expensive than the ruby velvet lining the table. “Dye like this is hard to find,” he once told you. “It’s almost impossible to get anything this dark. Only fools pay for red, but that’s why gamblers love it: it’s cheap and flashy.”

When the next round begins, he taps his fingers along the table, a tell he’d never let slip, one subtle enough not to miss. With barely-controlled eyes darting from player to player, he feigns nervousness and shuffles his chips to the center.

“Guess I’m all in,” he chuckles, letting his smirk waver for half a second.

The fools around you think he’s bluffing; they think they’ve got him. People tend to let their guard down when they think they’ve won, when they can’t see that the finish line has been moved. More chips rattle onto the table - they’d be idiots to not get in on pulling one over on the well-loathed IPC.

Again, you hear ‘bet on me,’ and for some stupid reason, you follow, clearing the space in front of you with a hesitant push of your own wealth (well, the IPC’s, of course) into the ever-growing pile.

On the neighboring stool, a man leans over, letting his scruff tickle the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sweetheart. Let that man lose his money, and when I win it back, I’ll spoil you.” He smells like cheap whiskey and cigarettes and you want to claw his throat out.

Across the table, one of the other gamblers lets out a shrill complaint of, “No coaching during the plays!” and the man beside you innocently raises his arms, not before winking at you, and you wonder if you were to kill him on this table how much the velvet would cost to replace.

Instead, you bat your eyelashes and lay your cards down. “Oh well, maybe I’ll win the next one,” you giggle, sending your chips toppling onto the others with one final shove.

The next moves happen rather quickly: Aventurine reveals his hand, people shout, the money is claimed from the table, and somebody grabs your arm. It’s only when cool cloth softly rubs your skin that you recognize the man dragging you towards the exit and let your muscles be pulled behind.

“Told you,” Aventurine whispers, his breath lighter than feathers.

He cashes out silently and guides you towards the elevators, this time with one palm placed on your lower back rather than wrapped around your wrist. Less possessive, you think - less likely to cause a scene.

The moment the elevator doors close, you turn to him.

“What the hell was that?”

“What?” He cocks his head to the side and lets that impish grin spread across his face, the one that’s nearly landed him with knuckles on his jaw in an attempt to wipe it off.

“You know that wasn’t what we were sent here to do.” You cross your arms, and he basks in the heat of your body, his wrists now fully snaked around your waist.

“Details, details,” he murmurs with a wave of his hand. “We got the information we needed. It’s not a crime to have a little fun afterwards.”

“It is a crime to disobey orders-”

Just as your annoyance begins to bubble over, the elevator chimes and opens directly into his suite. To break free from his grasp, your feet step forward and graciously carry you inside.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, light bouncing off the white marble that lines every surface.

Of course Aventurine gets a penthouse for these missions. The IPC certainly has to keep up appearances, and with a man like him, anything else might as well fully blow his cover.

He lets you enter on your own, at least, as he waltzes behind you, with the saccharine smell of pride blooming from his skin.

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” he hums, and you want to smack that smug smile off his face.

Before you can, he tosses a cloth sack your way, the coins inside clanking with a sound you nearly don’t recognize.

“For you,” he says easily, leaning against the ever-opulent stone counter.

Something in the sound makes your head feel heavy, under pressure like you’re drowning. It’s familiar in a way you hate, in a way that you remember from the mattresses of shitty hotel rooms and men who smell like cigarettes and the way your tears look under the fluorescent lights of an unfamiliar bathroom.

You know what money like this means for them. And worse, you know what it means for you.

It’s just work, you told yourself the first time someone propositioned you to their room. A way to clear the debt, to push you a little closer to an ever-moving goal. It’s just a body, just a hole, just a few minutes. But it’s different when it’s Aventurine’s body, standing three feet away from yours, when the velvet smells like him and is still warm from his palm.

You don’t open it, you don’t want to. You can feel the metal sitting in your stomach, all too heavy. The act isn’t new, you suppose, but you never thought Aventurine would-

It doesn’t matter.

Now you see the point of his plan - involving you in it was sick, but the IPC must keep up appearances. It’s only fitting for them, you suppose.

So, you slowly make your way across the kitchen, sliding the pouch into your coat pocket. You don’t look at him, you can’t, not anymore. Standing mere inches before him, you lower yourself to your knees - they love the ceremony of it, they always do - and rest your hands along his waist. Practiced fingers begin unworking his belt - normally, at this point, you’d turn your gaze to the man above you, but you can’t.

It’s just work. It’s just work. It’s just work.

But something about this, something about it being him, makes your stomach turn, makes you want to vomit up the metal taste that sits in the back of your throat.

Too busy in your mind, you don’t notice the way Aventurine tenses, nor the panic in his hands as he wraps them around your wrists.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words come out fast, blended into a single breath.

“I’m – I’m doing what you paid me for.”

Finally, you look at him, and see the sheer horror raging behind his eyes. The smooth mask of a practiced liar doesn’t chip easily, but if you listen close enough, you could hear its pieces falling to the cold tiles beneath your knees.

“No. No.” Pulling you from the ground, he doesn’t let go of your shoulders as you rise. “That’s – that’s not what I’m paying you for.”

“Oh.”

Desperately he searches for something in your face, some hint of the rage that burns beneath his skin, but he finds nothing, just glossed-over eyes and a practiced smile. It’s just work, after all - he of all people should know best.

For a moment, he nearly lets his questions get the better of him - What sick fuck is paying you? Is this a part of your contract? Who do I have to kill for making you think you’re nothing more than a body to be used like this? - but easily, he slips the silk mask back on (he wouldn’t want to frighten you with anger; he wouldn’t forgive himself).

“That money is for you. Just you.” Gloved hands smooth the wrinkles along your collar. “It’s the first installment for the debt you owe - in three months, you’ll be rid of the IPC,” (and me, he nearly says), “forever.”

“Aventurine,” you rasp - you aren’t sure why the words get stuck in your throat, now, after all this time. You aren’t sure why they taste so hot - maybe it’s the burning that lingers in your knees. “You can’t.”

“I can. And I did.” The flash of his smile nearly blinds you again. “You can thank me later, but for now, let’s celebrate-”

“No.”

Your eyes sting, and that pit in your chest is back, heavier, threatening to swallow you whole. It aches and makes your head spin and you want to spit it out, let it claw its way from your insides and take your blood and bones and viscera with it.

“The debt was mine to pay off.”

“Well, no offense, but you were doing a pretty terrible job of it,” he laughs, hesitantly. In all his calculated planning, in the hours and days and weeks and months he spent dreaming of this moment, he had a vision of how you’d react, how you’d smile and sigh and wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek and how he’d get to hold you, pick you up like you weighed less than air, free from the chains that kept you down, beneath him.

“It doesn’t matter. It was mine.”

Boiling tears stream down your cheeks, leaving trails of steam in their wake, and you want to collapse into yourself, you want to let the pressure build up until you explode and take out this entire building, this entire planet for all you care.

“You can’t – you can’t just buy people, Aventurine,” you choke, the words landing in the room like smoke.

For the first time, his smile falters. “I wasn’t-”

The coin purse finds its way back into your hand, and then to the ground below his feet. He doesn’t reach out to grab you as you turn away.

You’re grateful that the bar is rather empty, aside from a lone stranger on one end with his head down and an empty bottle beside him, and a couple trying to consume one another in the corner. Most other patrons seem too engrossed in the thrill of throwing their lives away, you suppose; that’s the nature of a casino, the price of feeding its hunger. Empty chairs have become quite a comfort over the years, separating you from those who would grab too tightly, or beg for a kiss, just a kiss, or slide a pile of coins your way and wait for you by the elevators.

And yet, when he approaches from behind you, you don’t flinch (you’d know his steps anywhere, you think - they’re too evenly timed to belong to anyone else).

“Is this seat taken?” he grins, but makes no move to sit until you gesture him forward with a wave of your glass.

The two of you let the silence settle, even though Aventurine feels he may choke on it, even though he wants to speak and speak and speak until you forgive him and tell him it’s alright and tell him he’s not evil, he didn’t hurt you, he didn’t mean to. Instead, he silently orders two drinks and lets you sip yours slowly.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I know you were trying to do something good.”

There are words sitting on the tip of his tongue begging to be let free, but he swallows and lets them burn his throat.

“I didn’t plan to work for the IPC this long. I didn’t plan for any of this, really.” You chuckle, a dry sound, and wash it down with the liquid in your cup. “But my debt just kept growing, and they kept saying they needed me - ‘just one more job,’ - but it’s never really just one more, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” and he lets himself laugh.

The casino’s sounds settle atop you, those of victory and highs and pride left to sit out for too long, until it starts to rot.

“The IPC bought my debt,” he says to the empty bottles behind the bar. “It was a long time ago, longer than you’ve been here, I’m sure. It was selfish of me to try and do the same to you.” (Nobody should be owned like that, he almost says. The mark on his neck aches and itches and pricks at his skin like hot iron. He ignores it.)

His empty glass sits on the table, its wet ring bleeding into the wood. A wiser man would have used a coaster, or perhaps, a poorer man, one who couldn’t afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.

“The money is still yours, of course. You don’t have to take it, but I have no use for it.” My debt is too grand to be counted and held in velvet, he thinks.

When your gaze meets his, his pupils dilate - one of the few tells he can’t control.

“Well then,” you hum, the ice clinking against the glass as it swirls in your hold, “I suppose I should use my new-found wealth.” Setting your cup upon the table, the condensation makes it slide towards his, and you grin, an unpracticed one, unpolished. Your cheeks pull back unevenly and you let the cracks in your lips show. “Can I buy you a drink?”

He laughs and you wonder if this is the same sound that plays from the slot machines lining the walls, if this is the bell that rings for victory, the one that makes people willing to throw their savings away for the chance to hear it just one more time.

“Well, I’d be a fool to say no.”

He’s lighter now that your forgiveness has settled on him, kissing his cheeks like a butterfly’s wings, in a way that tickles and doesn’t make him brush it off, a way that reminds him of spring and flowers, of his home and of you.

“Do you remember that job we worked on Belobog?”

“The one where I had to pretend to be married to you?” you laugh, nearly falling off the back of the barstool before Aventurine’s hand catches you in the dip of your back.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he whines, letting his lips turn upwards.

“I just never took you for someone so…comfortable in public.” There’s a glimmer of something sparkling behind your eyes, more than just the neon lights flashing overhead.

Leaning forward, he’s so close you can nearly smell him, wood and liquor, smoke and velvet. Rich in all the ways he ought to be, in all the ways he pretends he is.

“I was just selling our cover,” he purrs, and a part of you wonders if this is dangerous, to be letting him in like this, to tilt your head until the heat radiating from his skin gets trapped in the space between you.

“Yeah? I didn’t know you had orders to pull me onto your lap and kiss my neck every second we were around someone else. It was a bit much, don’t you think?”

“A little overkill never hurt anyone,” his eyes narrow and he wants to open his mouth and swallow you. “Besides, you certainly didn’t seem to mind.”

Your face grows warm, but you don’t back down, don’t turn away, not when you hold the winning hand. “I guess I just took you for someone more private, Aventurine.”

“Oh, you have no idea how I am in private.”

“No?” your glass lands heavily along the bar, and he straightens his back as you stand. “Then why don’t you come back to my room and show me?”

And he’s on his feet in the time it takes to blink.

Your room is smaller than his, of course; the two of you nearly fill the hallway, swelling until every inch of it is consumed by your bodies, leaving imprints of your flesh along the walls. It’s not opulent, it's not marble or pillars or gold, but it’s yours, and now, his.

He ushers you inside first, and the moment the door closes, you press into him.

You don’t speak, and neither does he; you don’t have to, not anymore. When your hands trail up his sides, the breath in his throat catches, a beginner’s tell, one he should have outgrown by now, one he knows better than to let slip. The lilting chuckle he lets out, too, tells you all too much.

When your lips meet his, it’s soft at first, all feathers and butterflies. Hesitant and nervous, but yearning.

In a moment, he lets the silk mask slip.

Then, he’s starving. Hands reach around you and grab and beg and hold, trying to tear off pieces of you so he’ll never have to leave this behind. Your teeth sink into his lower lip and he groans into your mouth and you’re grateful for the wood door as you lean every ounce of your weight against him.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you,” he sighs, and his breath melds with yours until you’re exhaling one another, until the only thing you can feel and hear and taste is him.

“I do.” Blown pupils meet yours, decorated with stars and constellations. “You’re easier to read than you think, Aventurine.”

“You just know me too well,” he smiles, and his lips are back on yours, hungry and gnawing.

With needy hands you drag him from the entryway and towards the bed, the only real piece of furniture inside, luckily.

There’s a practiced ease as you fall to your knees once again, and a gentleness to his hands as he lifts you where you stand.

“Allow me,” he hums.

Softly, he kneels before you, and he can’t bring himself to look away from the warmth radiating from your face. He’s a flower planted beneath you, watered with your smile and grown by your fingertips; you can step on him, if you’d like, or leave him here until his petals kiss your ankles and pluck him so he may stay in your heart.

He undoes your belt and he tugs your waistband down, too impatient to let gravity do the work. Your shirt’s buttons prove a similarly fluid task, despite the way your hands shake as you rush to undo his. Jewelry and accessories drop to the floor before they’re kicked away, lost to the depths of cloth and fur. Finally, he removes his gloves, tugging off each finger with polished teeth.

“Lay down for me, would you?” he asks in that sweet, silky voice, the one that tastes like wood and liquor, that you want to pour down your throat and swallow with heaving gulps.

The bedding is cotton and scratchy and you don’t even mind, not when he leans over you and you feel his skin on yours, soft and bare. It’s the first time he touches you, truly touches you, with his hands, no expensive velvet or obligation or orders in the way, just his flesh and desire.

You know how much his time is worth, the mental tally of credits summing in your mind with each passing second, and yet, his fingers trail patiently downward, resting at your ribs, your hips, your thighs; his lips follow, marking a path along your body, a map he can return to when he inevitably gets lost and must be found.

Settling between your legs, he inhales and fills his lungs with you, with the salt and sage that blooms from your pulse points. Expensive, but not gaudy - the IPC certainly knows how to maintain an appearance.

His tongue is quick and deft, and he nearly misses the way you tense. When he searches your face, he finds furrowed eyebrows and a frown that a more foolish man would pass off as pleasure.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. How do you respond to a question you’ve never been asked, one you’d never prepared for? “I think so, yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The sound makes you flinch. “No, just…”

What more is there? It’s just work, you’d say; Use me, he’d say.

“Here.” Intertwining his fingers with yours, he lets his palm sink into the crater of your own. “Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.”

You nod and smile, crooked and sweet, and he sends one back in return. Slowly, the haven of your thighs welcomes him once again.

He’s softer, now, as he savors you, the way your skin lands on his tongue, the way your hips shift into the mattress. When he presses a finger to your entrance, you gasp and nearly grip his hand, but he pauses, he lets you breathe and relax your knees and stomach. When he pushes further in, a moan falls from your lips and he thinks he’d bet his life savings, go in debt a thousand times over just to hear it again. He knows his luck is true when he adds a second finger and he’s graced with it once more.

“Aventurine,” you breathe, your muscles tensing as the heat in your core builds. You worry what your body will do when it finally overtakes you, when the flames kiss your skin half as kindly as him, so you dig your palms into his hair instead. It’s soft, impossibly so, as you knot it around your knuckles; he groans when your nails scratch along his scalp.

He lets you pull him in, swallowing every sound and touch you’ll grant him with an eager throat. You cry his name when you come undone, and he wonders what fate he owes a debt to for the chance to taste you, hear you, feel you like this.

When he finally leans away, the depths of his pupils have drowned the vibrant cyan and violet that normally kiss their shore, and his chest heaves like a man just saved from the sea. He’s damp like one, too, sweat-slicked hair clinging to his neck.

Light catches on his shoulders and he glows, rising above you as though gravity wouldn’t dare touch him. He kisses you again, and he passes along the ocean and salt and stone, a secret message a fool would miss, but one you can read: I crave you.

There’s no nervousness left as you guide his tip to your entrance, no fear or duty or chains, just his hips and devotion.

“Are you sure?”

Your palm interlinks with his once more, and you grin. “Of course.” The soft, warm skin of his neck finds its way between your teeth, letting it rest behind your canines, and he chuckles eagerly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know,” he sighs into you.

“What a wonderful way to die.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him forward. Cool air blesses your spine as your back arches from the bed, more gentle than feathers or a butterfly’s wings, and you welcome him with ease.

He shudders when he bottoms out, cold in spite of the heat emanating from your skin, trapped in the single layer of atoms between your bodies.

A moment passes, then two. And you realize, in the still seconds, that he’s waiting, restraining. A hand held out, an invitation.

Tentatively, your hips circle his, and a golden whine flows from his lips. It drips from the corners and you lap at the fountain of his wealth.

He lets you guide him, then, lets you move and lead and make a show of what you want, what you like. There’s a rhythm he settles into, an angle, a single spot that makes you claw at his back and drink the air from his lungs. And he, an ever-grateful actor, is more than happy to perform.

There’s a control to it, though. A mask.

“Let go,” you whisper into his open mouth.

He chews the words but barely swallows. “What do you mean?”

Your eyelashes flutter open to find him staring down, blinded by the spotlight of your presence; he blinks to clear the flashing. “You’re holding back; let go.”

It’s a miracle you’ve never noticed until this moment, until you’re this close to him, but his grin is a bit uneven, too, the right side of his smile curving ever-so-slightly higher than the left. You wonder how hard he’s had to work to hide it; you wonder what it would take to see it again.

“If you insist.”

His lips crash into yours and you wonder if this is what drowning feels like, to have something in your lungs and your stomach and on your skin and dragging you into it; you wonder if the sea has ever felt this greedy.

Each swell of his pelvis is another wave, crests with no rhythm, an unpredictable high and low. Boats have been lost to less; perhaps they would have been saved if only they’d had his hands waiting to catch them. His, meanwhile, dig into your waist, holding you just under the surface.

Moans blend into each other, and he hits so deep inside you that a cough to dispel the water lodged inside would surely have his name in it, not that you’d ever want to; you want him in every part of you, seeping into the cracks and living there, forever. You inhale and inhale and inhale, until you can’t tell the difference between him and air, until he’s the thing keeping you alive.

The bed shakes, its cheap wood headboard bouncing against the chipping paint of your shitty hotel room, leaving behind damage that you’ll surely have to pay. But how lucky you are to be with a man who can afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.

“I-” he starts, but you already know what he’s about to say (he’s not that hard to read, after all - not when his entire body begins to shake, when his whines strain higher, when he lets his smile fall crooked).

“Don’t stop,” is all you have to say; not that he could, with the way your legs wrap around him; not that he would, with the way you bloom and writhe and swell beneath him.

When he comes undone, it’s accompanied by the most beautiful sound, the most beautiful flush of his cheeks and arch of his back.

And yet, all he hears is you as you hold him, as you follow him under and kiss him through the brine, as you clench around his length and let him twitch and shake and tremble.

It takes a moment for him to still inside you (the sea is never quiet right after a storm). When he does, his eyes search for yours immediately. When they don’t find a smile, he begins to panic - Did he hurt you? Are you scared? Will you hate him? - but in an instant, they crinkle at the corners.

“Well,” you say, breathless.

“Well?” he mirrors, trying to hide the water that still rests in his chest.

“I have to be honest with you,” you hum pensively, letting the practiced control slip back into your voice, letting him worry for half a moment before you continue, “I can now say with confidence, you are exactly the same in private.”

His face stalls for a moment, and then he laughs, and you’ve found a new currency, one you’d happily be indebted in for the rest of your life. “So I take it you’d want to do this again sometime? In spite of the overkill?”

Your grin widens at the corners, uneven and shining. “I’d be a fool not to.”

[colossrat]

keranos? like the magic card?

Batman: I ask that when leaving, anyone who agrees with the approach proposed by me and Superman signs the pamphlet next to the door.

And then the heroes come out, whoever thinks it's a good idea to be discussed again at the next meeting signs with their hero name. but Captain Marvel was the first to sign, so he didn't see how the others signed and didn't know if he should use "Captain Marvel".

He has an argument with Solomon inside his own head that lasted a little less than a second, and in the end they come to a consensus that he can sign as one of the many names of the champion of magic. but they were so… simple… billy decided to add some details, a signature worthy of an entity that's zibilions of years old and a store of immense magic.

The other day, while Billy is "saving" some kitchen leftovers in his pocket dimension, Batman arrives and approaches him while holding a paper.

Batman: Captain… What did you put in the signatures?

Marvel: oh? hmm, my name?

Batman: your name... Can you tell me how to pronounce it?

Marvel: oh. Yes? Ahm, its Keranos. sorry, its hard to read?

Batman: no, it's okay. It was what I thought it could be. It's just that I never found these types of letters before, despite the similarity with the current alphabet…

Marvel noticed that he exaggerated a little with the decoration in the signature: yeah… it's a-- rune language that died a long, long, time ago, but I tried to mix it up a little with the letters from the current world so it wouldn't look so strange. The sound of the pronunciation is "keranos", so in our alphabet it could be written with k-e-r-a-n-o-s… Next time I'm going to use the normal alphabet, sorry… I… I didn't think that much when I wrote it.

Batman: of course. Don't worry captain. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a world where your name can no longer be written the way it should be.

Marvel: its... ok, i like Marvel a lot too.

Batman: So… would you like us to start calling you Keranos?

Marvel: well, if you want, of course, I have no problem. It's one of my oldest names. but you don't have to if it's confusing, you know, me having several names.

Batman: don't worry. It's a pleasure to meet you, Keranos.

Marvel: The pleasure is mine, mister batman sir!!

There are several league members hiding in the hallway near the kitchen, whispering.

Flash: that's so cool! Marvel is so tight with his personal information, but he's letting go, he even gave us one of his names! That means he's finally opening up, right?

Wonder Woman: Indeed. Keranos… This name is familiar to me from the stories my sisters and I told each other. a god of the wrath of storms…

Hal: Just like the magic card???

Superman: I remembered that too. It's literally the definition of the creature, isn't it?

Hal: technically it's only a creature if your devotion is less than seven, anyway. even the way it is written.

Flash: my god, you are two nerds.

If one day they ask Marvel about the magic card, he will be genuinely confused because he didn't know it. billy never had the money to buy these games.

"oh, is there a game card with my name? a god of storms? wow, I'm embarrassed, I didn't know that name had been kept alive by these stories haha"

I was playing with Billy and Marvel's signature, thinking about how they would write differently in each form, and I ended up thinking about this

I don't know if the captain's fandom took keranos from the magic card, but that's what I found when I looked up the name and I thought it was brilliant

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | v.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You flinch as you enter Livia Cardew’s house, the attention drifting towards you causing your stomach to knot. 

You suck in a lungful of bravery. 

What a strange sight you must make, strolling in with Clemensia Dovecote and Coriolanus Snow of all people, her arm twined with yours while his hand rests on the small of your back. Your heart pounds in your chest, the urge to retreat and run outside radiating from every cell in your body.

You don’t belong here.

They will laugh at you.

Silly girl playing dress-up.

Tendrils of doubt creep alongside the walls of your fretful brain. You feel assessed, and perhaps found to be lacking, with every step you take. 

“Don’t look down, angel.”

A sharp exhale flies from your lips as your chin is tilted upwards. You drown in the ocean beneath Coriolanus’ furrowed brow. His intense focus tugs you back to the present. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“It’ll be fine. You look stunning,” Clemmie assures, bumping your shoulder with hers. 

You give a shaky nod. It’s true. After all, Clemmie put so much effort into your appearance. You should at least hold your head high and act normal.

Livia comes up to you. The dim candlelight reflects in her bouncy golden curls. Her bright red lips stretch in a wide smile as she gauges you.

“You guys came together?” 

Despite her perky inflection, you don’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes, or how they track the position of Coriolanus’ hand on your back.

“I drove them,” Coriolanus informs.

“Oh,” she says, nodding. She opens her arms. “You guys should get a drink, make yourselves comfortable.”

“I actually don’t…”

Clemmie flashes you a reassuring smile. 

“It’s fine. We’ll get you something else.”

They both bring you to a table where an intense game of cards is in progress. You hear Festus curse and bang his fists over the table after seemingly getting a bad hand. The others around him laugh, one of them reshuffling the cards.

Some faces you recognize from the University and others you don’t. You feel their intrigued gazes when Coriolanus pulls a chair for you. As you take a seat, he and Clemmie do the same. Your eyes roam over the table. Piles of chips, row of cards and red dices. Clemensia mentioned games. You supposed she meant card games. And from the looks of it, money appears to be on the line. You suppose when they are not betting on the lives of children, these are the kind of things Capitol kids are up to.

With money and time to spare, it makes sense you suppose. Your head has always been buried so far in your books, you have never stopped to wonder what the future leaders of Panem are up to.

A sliver of fascination flutters through you as you soak in the scene at the table. 

“Snow. Clemmie. Took you long enough,” Ivy says.

“You cannot rush perfection,” Clemmie replies, flicking her glossy raven locks above her shoulder. 

Ivy rolls her eyes while Coriolanus grabs a set of cards from the draw pile. He frowns at them, a look of displeasure spreading on his face. A King, a queen and two aces. You don’t know how this particular game is played but you gather from his expression that he must hold a bad hand. 

Dices are thrown. Despite not understanding the rules, you try to follow along. When someone offers you a set of cards, you politely decline.

The dark-haired stranger cocks his head as he scrutinizes you. 

“So, you’re her daughter, right?”

Confused, you cast him a puzzled look.

“Gaul,” he specifies. 

You shrink. Wherever you are, you cannot escape the overwhelming reach of your mother’s shadow. Twisting your fingers in your lap, you give a mumbled reply.

“Yeah, she’s my mother.”

He shifts in his chair, letting out a quiet whistle.

“Wow. She always gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

Clemmie groans before scolding him. 

“Well, she’s nothing like her mother so shut up and play, Octavius.”

Another girl sitting across from him pipes up.

“All those snakes in the arena, just crawling around and climbing over that girl.” She shudders. “I still get nightmares about it.”

The boy turns to Coriolanus.

“What happened to her anyway, that songbird of yours?”A smirk blooms on Octavius’ lips, his eyes locking with the blond’s. “She was yours, wasn’t she, Snow?”

An eerie quiet falls over the table. Even the soft piano notes playing in the background dwindle as every eye travels to Coriolanus. You shift in your chair, curiosity driving your gaze towards him as well. 

A tight-lipped smile decorates his handsome features, his icy blue eyes zeroing on Octavius. 

Your blood chills as his cool baritone rises.

“It’s your turn to play,” Coriolanus says, completely ignoring the question. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. Everyone knows Lucy Gray Baird, the beautiful, sharp-tongued tribute who belonged to Coriolanus Snow, is a subject that should never be brought up in his presence. No one exactly knows what happened between the two. Perhaps they reunited during his time in District 12. Perhaps they did not. Coriolanus wouldn’t speak of it. And the rare times you witnessed him being asked about it, there was a coldness in his blue eyes that unsettled you. Like now. 

Whatever happened between him and the singing girl would remain a mystery. The only certainty is that he came back to the Capitol changed, with an aura around him that made everyone wary. 

You can only assume he and that Lucy girl did not last. So the subject must still be a sore spot. 

Octavius flinches under the blond’s stare, showing his cards for the entire table to see. 

The blond’s brow arches. Scoffing, he displays his own hand. 

Octavius curses under his breath as laughs erupt. He begrudgingly slides his entire stack of chips towards Coriolanus. 

Victory glints in the blond’s cobalt orbs.

“Perhaps you should focus on your game,” he says. “Instead of blathering about ghosts and district rats.”

Slack-jawed, you stare at Coriolanus. His expression before had you believe he drew a terrible set of cards. Obviously it wasn't the case. He somehow fooled you and everyone else at the table. 

The game continues. More chips are exchanged. Coriolanus’ pile keeps getting higher. It’s clear he’s an expert at the game. Everyone at the table tries to read him but his collected demeanor concedes very little.

“You must be my good luck charm, angel,” he says, sending you a smile that has your stomach fluttering. 

Luck…as you note the staggering amounts of chips he’s collected thus far, you wonder if that’s what this is. If there isn’t more to it. Coriolanus seems terrifyingly adept at luring his opponents with a false sense of comfort. He’ll make a bad hand look like a good one, and a good hand look like a bad one. Set a trap and watch as others confidently walk into it. 

Growing overwhelmed, you rise from your chair. The clamor of your heart fills your ears, the weight of others’ attention making your head spin.

Coriolanus’ head slants.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

The words leave your mouth in a breathless heap. “I just need a minute.”

“Is everything alright?” Clemmie inquires, concern scrunching her pretty features.

You shift and scratch your arm.

“I’m just gonna get a drink.”

“I could get you one,” he suggests.

“No, you guys stay and play,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m fine on my own.”

You ignore the way his eyes linger as you walk away, that itchy prickle over your nape that ripples down to your spine.

Swallowing thickly, you shuffle across Livia’s living room. An Avox maid offers you a glass on the way but you turn her down. 

You ask for an alcohol-free drink and the maid tosses you an apologetic look. Your shoulders slump. 

You peer around and find a spot at the bottom of the stairs. You sit, relieved to finally have a moment of peace. Being around so many people at once is still a novelty. You lean against the wooden railings. Was coming here a mistake? You can’t help but wonder. You noted someone pulling a bottle of morphling earlier and Ivy swallowing a handful of pills. At this point, everyone has imbibed, indulged, or both.

The thrall of oblivion is often strong in the Capitol. Too many things need forgetting. Too many sins. Too many horrors.

In that moment, as laughter from the living room rings inside your ears, you feel acutely out of place. 

“Sorry. I only have posca, wine or whiskey.”

You lift your head. Your eyes widen when you realize Livia Cardew’s standing in front of you. “Well. I swiped that last one from my dad’s stash,” she adds with a small giggle.

You shrug. “It’s fine.”

You’ve probably overstayed your welcome anyway. This isn’t your crowd. But Clemmie insisted and you had no idea how to refuse. How do you even refuse something you have painfully yearned for all these years? 

Livia scrutinizes you for what seems an eternity before speaking again. 

“He’ll throw you away once he’s done with you, you know?”

You blink, dismayed by her abrupt statement. “I’m sorry?”

She lets out a weary sigh, a look grazing sympathy flickering on her face. It vanishes quickly. Her mouth tightens. 

“Snow,” she groans, frustration evident in her tone. “He doesn't care about anyone or anything but himself.” Your brows knit. “I’m just trying to warn you.” She chews on her bottom lip, seeming to hesitate before bending closer to whisper, “Just…watch out, okay?”

Stumped by her sudden display of concern, no word leaves your tongue. You fold your arms, shifting on the stairs. Can you even trust any word coming from Livia’s mouth? Without Clemmie’s interjection, you’re fairly sure you wouldn't have been allowed into her home. Ever since she met you, she’s considered you with such blatant disdain. As if you were a stain that won’t let itself be erased.

You struggle picturing her delivering helpful advice.

“Liv, I hope you’re not giving her a hard time again.”

You let your body sag, grateful for Clemmie’s impromptu appearance. You get to your feet. Livia whirls towards the brunette, feigning innocence. “I’m being a gracious host,” she chimes.

Clemmie’s gaze narrows. 

All smiles again, she turns to you as Livia stomps away.

“Don’t worry about her.”

You nibble your bottom lip.

“Maybe it’s best if I head out.”

She frowns. “But you just got here.”

“I suppose…” Your mind scrambles for an excuse. You blurt out the first thing that springs inside your head. “I need to go feed Walter anyway.”

Curiosity fills her onyx stare.

“Walter? Who’s Walter?”

“My cat.”

Silence stretches for a long minute before she bursts out in uncontrollable laughter. 

Hand draping over her mouth, the brunette says, “Is that your excuse? You need to go feed your cat?”

Heat rushes to your face. Said aloud, you concede it sounds silly. Akin to a lame, hasty excuse. While there are bits of truth in your response, you can’t deny you’re craving for a way out. 

Clemmie cradles your face.

“The first time is always a bit awkward. You’ve got no idea what you’re doing, what is even going on…” She beams at you. “But you can’t back out. Not when you’re already here.”

You mull it over.

After all, wasn’t it what you wished for? Being seen, included. For years, longing twisted inside your chest while you watched your classmates form bonds and forge lifelong friendships. Meanwhile, you withered in a corner, making yourself smaller and smaller everyday. Clemmie has been nothing but kind. And Coriolanus…while his presence plucks at your nerves, you have to admit he’s been a gentleman so far. Offering to drive you home, carrying your books, and berating every guy who said something mean to you or brushed you off. No one’s ever stood up for you like that before.

Maybe you ought to try harder to fit in, be normal.

Giving a slow nod, you surrender.

“Alright. I guess I can stay a little longer.”

“You know what you need?” Her eyes twinkle. “Liquid courage.” She grabs two glasses of wine from the Avox maid’s tray. “Let’s just drink. To your first party. One of many, I hope.”

She tries to place one in your hand but you resist. 

“Clemmie, I told you I don’t-”

“I know. I know…but don’t you want to mark the occasion?” She tilts her head sideways, sympathy etched on her pretty face. “Come on, do you want to be that girl who finishes Uni and hasn’t tried anything new? The girl who’s never taken a chance?” She holds your gaze, pressing the drink between your fingers. “Sad, alone, not a single experience to reminisce…Is this really  what you want?”

“No, it’s not. You’re right,” you mutter, your fingers tightening around the glass. 

“You came here to be someone else. So be someone else.”

Her words embolden you to take a large swig of the drink. When there’s still some of it left, she encourages you to finish it. Then, she nudges you to have another glass, sliding a tiny yellow pill inside your other hand.

You scowl down at your palm.

“What’s this?”

“Morphling extract. It’ll help you relax.”

You look at Clemmie. Excitement sways in her eyes.

You toss your head back and gulp down the pill. She congratulates you. It catches in your throat and you wash it down with more alcohol. 

The effect is near instantaneous. 

Your muscles uncoil, your fear melting away. Soft, fluffy clouds replace the foggy cluster of your thoughts. A pleasant buzz spreads through your veins. 

“Come on, let’s join the others,” she says, seizing your hand and tugging you along. 

You end up on the sofa, wedged between her and Coriolanus. 

He drinks you in, a subtle smile blooming on his lips.

“You seem happy.”

“I am happy.”

Your sharp, immediate answer broadens his smile.

“What are you guys doing?” Clemmie asks. 

Livia sighs. “It’s a stupid game we haven’t played since the Academy.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid. I like it,” Ivy protests. She grabs a bottle of posca and begins to pour some in everyone’s glass. “You take a drink when there’s something you haven’t done. Simple right?”

The game is indeed easy. It also makes you want to crawl inside a hole and never come out as the night gets further along. A myriad of questions is flung at the group. Each of them grows the well of embarrassment pitting in your stomach. 

You’re forced to take a drink when Ivy asks who’s had sex, who has done it with more than one person, who has kissed a boy or girl. 

Many times, you are the only one grabbing your glass, exposing your lack of experience to the entire group. You hear a stifled laugh somewhere besides you. Your face ignites. 

You bolt upwards, shooting the group an apologetic look. 

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say. 

You stumble away. However after just a few wobbly steps toward the exit, you keel over and almost collide with the marbled tiles. 

A pair of strong arms slither around your waist, preventing your collapse. 

“Are you alright, angel?” Coriolanus whispers against your temple. 

You raise shaky fingers to your face, or what you think is your face. Your fingertips are like cotton, nothing beneath them feeling as it should. 

Your brows crumple.

“I can’t feel my legs. I-I can’t feel my face.” Your mind swirls as you look up. The room bends off its axis around you. Panic rushes through you. “I have to go home.”

“I’ll take you then,” he says.

You shake your head. Even that tiny motion makes you want to puke. 

You swallow the surge of bile in your throat. 

“No. You should return to the party. I couldn’t, I can’t…”

Coriolanus’ brows furrow. 

“I’m not letting you go home by yourself at this hour and in this state,” he says, practically carrying you out of Livia’s house as you slump against him. 

“What about Clemmie?” 

He smiles at you as you hobble alongside him. 

“She can find her own way home.”

[p0orbaby]

i would love something from the “Spark Enough and Something Catches” universe 🥹 was so happy for R allowing herself to be more vulnerable, would love to know how those two cuties are doing further down the line!

-

You never thought you’d end up here—dating a world-famous footballer with legs for days and a laugh that makes your chest feel weird, but here you are, sitting at your kitchen table, staring at a bouquet of flowers she sent you. Just because she can. Of course, they’re perfectly arranged, like something out of a magazine that you’d flip through absentmindedly in a dentist’s office, all pastels and thoughtful greenery. You wouldn’t even be surprised if the florist’s apprentice cried while tying the ribbon, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of their creation.

The card attached? “Hope these brighten your day, even if you don’t like football. xo, A.”

You’ve been staring at it for about 15 minutes, wondering if this is what people in normal, functional relationships do. Get flowers. Smile. Maybe cry a little, but the good kind. You’d text a thank you, but you’ve already said thanks for the dinner last night, the ride home, and her cooking, which honestly made you feel inadequate. You are now 90% sure you’ve been overthanking her for everything and it’s becoming suspicious. God, the flowers. What are you supposed to do with these? You don’t even own a proper vase.

She’s always surprising you, though. It’s her thing. Like when she made pancakes at 3 a.m. because you mentioned offhand you were craving something sweet, and there she was in your kitchen, half-asleep but determined, whisking batter like her life depended on it. You tried to help, but she gave you that look—half-amused, half-“don’t you dare”—so you just sat and watched. How does someone like her, so capable and graceful on the field, manage to make something as simple as cooking pancakes seem like a scene from a romantic comedy?

And then there’s you, a certified mess, who can barely manage to keep the houseplants alive. You once killed a succulent, a plant specifically designed to withstand neglect, and you still don’t know how it happened. But she didn’t care about that. She just laughed when you told her, like she found it charming. Like that was somehow endearing instead of a flashing neon sign that you have no business being trusted with anything living.

The first time she came over to your place, she brought dinner—because, of course, she did—and you remember her standing in your tiny kitchen, eyeing the pile of dishes in the sink. You were mortified, but she just rolled up her sleeves and started washing them. “I can’t concentrate with these staring at me,” she said, and that was that. It took you five whole minutes to figure out how to process that. What kind of person does that? And why does she keep looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room, when you’re 99% sure you’re the human equivalent of a cat that’s just fallen off the sofa?

You get the feeling she knows what she’s doing, though. She’s patient. Calculated. Like on the field, but now the game’s you, and she’s just waiting for you to realize you’re already cornered. She’s not wrong. You’re screwed.

So, you text her, finally, trying to play it cool. “Thanks for the flowers, very thoughtful. You didn’t have to.”

Her reply is almost immediate. “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to”

You stare at the message. Of course she did.

[lucy---lou]

Part 4 Lucys-hdg-story

Continuing my last blog.

"No we haven't cuddled yet, let's watch a movie"

"I really don't like movies or anything like that but we could play a cardgame", I say blushing again. Why would she cuddle with me? I've known her for 2 hours top.

"Oww ok, let's play this old terran game uno, but FLORET Editon", she first pouts then beams at me.

Floret Edition oh no, either two possibilities in that. First the good one. Nobody can lose and the reward is cuddels. I'm sort of ok with that. The other option is we're getting drugged. Stars NO.

"what makes it the floret Edition?", I ask already shaking.

"I'll tell you in the Livingroom, you're going to like it", Ellie says with a smirk.

I move to jump of the high bench as I normally would and before I really leave the surface,"iiieeep", I'm caught in a lot of vines.

"Little one I won't let you possibly hurt yourself, now behave", miss Duralis says with a stern but playful voice. Her eyes flashing bright colours at me, locking me in for a few seconds.

"Y-Yes Miss Duralis"

She picks up Ellie as well and we are both deposited on a huge couch.

"Mistress can you please get the playing cards while I explain the game?", Ellie asks looking absolutely adorable.

"Sure thing my petal"

"So you have to get rid of the cards on your hand. We play in turns. You can lay a card of the same colour or the same number as the previous one, if you can't you have to draw one from the stack. -thank you Mistress- There are special cards like this one. You can always lay it in your turn and you can choose the colour. And this is the best card if I lay it you have to draw 4 cards but you can also stack them and if I have one aswell it you would have draw the cards unless you had another one. And for being so brave in drawing a card you'll get petted by Miss Duralis for every card you have to draw"

Ah thats the catch in floret edition.

"Did you get everything?"

"Yes I think so, but I don't want to be petted", trying to save myself.

"Don't be silly Lucy everyone loves being petted"

"First round no pets for Lucy, ok?", Miss Duralis says but with a smirk?

Halfway through the first round everything is alright. Ellie gets a few pets, I refuse everytime. I stare a little at them, then Miss Duralis winks at me.

"Jealous?"

I blush and look away. I feel a prick, my body flinshes. But I think nothing of it.

"Everything alright Lucy?", Miss Duralis asks me looking a bit sad.

"Yeah everything good. Just caught my skin in the zipper. Let's continue"

Everyone nods

Since when do my clothes feel so good?

"Lucy your turn", Duralis giggles.

"Oh sorry"

Wow this cough is really comfy I could live on here. I wiggle around baking in this sensation.

"Ellie to Kitten it's your turn again"

"ooops", I blush. Why can't I keep track?

I can here this really nice rhythm. I could listen to it for ever and close my eyes.

"Lucy you have to draw eight cards"

"Hmm ok", I slowly look up again giving Duralis the puppy eye look.

I see something approaching me not really processing anything, something touches my head.

"mmmmhhrrrpf", a quiet moan. I feel my cheeks burning.

"mmmmmmrreeeeeeowwwww", a not so quiet moan and I fall forward onto the playing cards between us. Whatever was touching me, isn't anymore.

"Nnnyyyyo", trying to grab where I think the thing touching me was.

"Oh you need more, sure thing kitten. You'll get as much as you want", Miss Duralis says with a smile. I can't see it but I can feel it.

"Wow Class-As really did a thing on her and I can tell why you say she's a kitten. Mistress, do you think she will mind if I cuddle with her"

"No I don't think so, she likes you alot even if she doesn't admit it."

I feel somebody brush along my body and hug me. I don't care and drift into blissful sleep.

[u6is]

"good on your knees"

summary: you knew it was wrong, that this wasn't the time or place, but the desire was undeniable.

warning/s: blowjob, public sex (locker room)

—kylian mbappé x reader: smut

Kylian was a force to be reckoned with on the pitch. His swift movements and fiery spirit had earned him a reputation as one of the best players.

But today, something was off.

The tension was palpable. His eyes darted around, searching for an opportunity to score. Each pass, each dodge, each shot, was met with a wall of defenders. The frustration grew within him like a storm approaching the shore.

Suddenly, a heated exchange between Kylian and an opposing player turned physical. The referee blew the whistle, and the stadium erupted in a mix of boos and gasps. You felt your heart sink as Kylian was shown a yellow card.

Kylian knew the stakes were high; a red card could mean disqualification. As he jogged back to his position, his face was a mask of anger, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight.

The tension didn't ease even when the game resumed. Kylian's frustration grew with each failed attempt to break through the enemy's defense. His teammates looked worried, throwing glances his way as they passed the ball around, trying to keep the peace. The crowd's chanting grew more intense, the pressure in the air thickening. You could see the sweat glistening on Kylian's brow as he took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure.

Another chance came, a beautifully curved pass landing perfectly at Kylian's feet. He saw the opening and took it, sprinting towards the goal. The opposing team's captain stepped in front of him, a challenge in his eyes. Kylian feinted left, then right, the captain biting at air. But as he made his final move, a crunching tackle sent Kylian to the ground. The crowd roared, but the referee remained silent.

No foul called.

Kylian's anger boiled over, and he shoved the captain back to his feet, sparking a shoving match between the two. Teammates rushed to separate them, but the damage was done.

The referee, now with no choice, flashed the red card in Kylian's direction.

The crowd's collective gasp was a knife to your heart as your boyfriend stood there, disbelief etched on his face, surrounded by a sea of blue, white, and red jerseys.

The reality of the situation set in as Kylian walked off the field, his head bowed in defeat. The opposing team's supporters jeered, their voices a cacophony of victory and spite.

You watched him from the stands, willing him to look up, to find you in the sea of faces.

He didn't.

Instead, he disappeared into the tunnel.

You knew Kylian well enough to recognize the rare sight of his unbridled anger. Normally, he was the epitome of calmness and control, his focus unshakeable even under immense pressure.

But this rivalry had a history that went beyond the game.

The opposing team had always had a knack for getting under his skin, pushing his buttons in a way that no other team could. It was as if they had a vendetta against him, playing dirty and pushing the limits of the rules with every encounter.

In the locker room, Kylian sat slumped on the bench, his eyes never leaving the floor. One of the team's veteran staff members approached him with a look of both concern and firmness.

“Kylian, you know better than to let them get to you like that,” he said, his voice a mix of disappointment and understanding.

“You're the leader out there. Your teammates need you to keep your head.”

Kylian's response was a muffled growl of frustration. He knew he had let everyone down.

His team, his fans, and most of all, you.

The weight of his mistake pressed on his shoulders like a ton of bricks. He had never been one to back down from a challenge, but today, he had let his emotions take over, and it had cost them dearly.

The door to the locker room swung open, and the cacophony of the match outside rushed in. The coaching staff filed out, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the flickering light of the TV broadcasting the game.

The sounds of the game echoed in the room. The commentators' excited chatter, and the roar of the crowd, each one a painful reminder of where he should have been.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to do.

As you stepped inside, the cool air of the locker room contrasted with the heat of the situation.

You had never seen Kylian like this, so lost in anger.

Quietly, you approached him, the smell of his sweat and the faint scent of his cologne filling the space around him. He looked up as the door closed behind you. Your hand tentatively reaching for his shoulder. His muscles were taut under your touch, but he didn't flinch away.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice barely audible over the distant cheers.

Kylian looked at you, his eyes a tempest of emotions. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"I lost control out there." He replied gruffly.

"I know how much this game means to you, but it's not the end of the world." Your words were soothing, but the gravity of the situation wasn't lost on you. The potential repercussions of his actions could be severe.

"What's going on with you and their captain?"

Kylian's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he spoke through gritted teeth. "It's nothing. Just a bunch of trash talk that got out of hand."

You knew there was more to it, but now wasn't the time to push. Instead, you slid onto the bench beside him, your hand resting gently on his back.

"You can't let them do this to you," you said softly.

"You're better than that."

Kylian took a moment before finally speaking, his voice heavy with regret.

"They know how to get under my skin, especially him. Every time we play, it's like he's there just to provoke me."

"But you're the better player," you assured him, squeezing his shoulder.

"You can't let personal vendetta affect your game."

Kylian's gaze drifted back to the TV, watching the match continue without him.

"I know," he murmured.

"It's just... it's personal."

You felt the tension in his shoulders, the heat of his frustration.

"I understand," you said, stroking his head gently.

Silence filled the room, punctuated only by the sounds of the match on the TV. The players' movements on the screen were a blur as you focused on Kylian's face, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with a silent fury.

Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles like a tightly wound spring. His eyes remained glued to the television, his mind replaying the moments that led to his red card.

Back on the pitch, when Kylian was arguing with the referee's decision, the look on his face sent a shiver down your spine.

You had never seen him like this, his features twisted in such raw, unbridled anger. The fiery determination that usually made him unstoppable had morphed into something darker, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

It was strange, but as you looked at him, the tension in the locker room seemed to coil around you, wrapping you in an electrifying embrace. His eyes, usually so bright and playful, were now storm clouds threatening to break.

And against all reason, it turned you on.

The power, the passion, the pure, unfiltered emotion radiating from him was intoxicating. The intensity of his emotions was like a magnetic force pulling you closer.

You knew it was wrong, that this wasn't the time or place, but the desire was undeniable.

Without thinking, you got on your knees. The cold, hard floor bit into your skin, but you ignored it.

Kylian's reaction was not surprise. He had seen this look on the private walls of his bedroom before, how good you are for him every time he's beat.

You reached out, took his hand in yours, and brought it to your lips, kissing his knuckles gently. His hand was warm and calloused from hours of training, the scent of grass and sweat clinging to his skin. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with lust and understanding.

"You drive me crazy."

With a soft sigh, you pulled your hair to one side, the strands cascading over your shoulder, out of the way. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. You knew that Kylian needed this, a moment of tenderness to break through the wall of anger he had built around himself.

Gently, you reached up and began to pull down his jersey short, exposing the taut muscles of his thigh. The fabric peeled away revealing the stark contrast of his white underwear against his tanned skin.

Kylian's eyes never left yours.

The sound of the TV faded away as you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his skin. He sucked in a sharp breath as your mouth grazed his thigh.

Your hot breath teased the tip.

You took his cock into your hands and spit into the tip. It was already half-hard from the adrenaline of the match, and the sight of it made you wet.

You took his cock into your mouth, the taste of him mixing with the scent of the locker room a potent cocktail of sweat, musk, and desire. Your lips parted to accommodate his growing girth.

Kylian's body tensed, his eyes closing as he let out a soft groan. You knew he needed this release, to purge the anger and disappointment from his system.

Your lips moved in a slow, steady rhythm, your tongue tracing the vein along the underside of his shaft. The noises from the TV became background noise, the only sounds in the room the heavy breaths escaping his lips and the wet, rhythmic suction of your mouth.

Kylian's hands found their way into your hair, gripping it gently at first, then more firmly as the pleasure grew. He was lost in the sensation, his eyes tightly shut, his body reacting instinctively to your touch. You could feel his tension draining away, the tightness in his muscles slowly loosening as he succumbed to the sensation.

With a grunt, he grabbed the hem of his jersey, pulling it up and over his head, revealing his muscular torso glistening with sweat that heaved with excitement.

The fabric clung to him briefly before he tossed it aside, the smell of his sweat and the heat of his body filling the space around you.

You didn't care who might walk in. This was your moment to help him, to give him the release he needed.

You took him deeper into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip, feeling his pulse quicken with every stroke.

His grip on your hair tightened, guiding you slightly, but you set the pace, eager to show him how much you were there for him, how much you understood.

The taste of him grew stronger, his scent more intoxicating, and you felt your desire building. Your throat constricting around his hardness.

"Juste comme ��a..." (Just like that) He grunted. His voice was gruff and needy.

"Take it all."

Kylian's breathing grew ragged, his hips starting to rock slightly in time with your movements.

He knew time was of the essence; the match was approaching its climax, and you had to be quick.

As you looked up to him, you saw that he was watching the game, the TV screen reflecting in his eyes.

You could feel his urgency as his grip on your head grew more insistent, his hips starting to lift slightly to meet your eager mouth.

You took the cue, increasing the tempo of your movements, your cheeks hollowing as you took him deeper. Kylian's eyes never left the TV, his eyes flicking between the screen and you, his breathing growing more ragged with every passing second. You could feel his body tensing, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap.

"Come on, baby," he encouraged, his voice low and gruff.

"We don't want them to see you choking on my cock, right?" The challenge in his tone spurred you on, and you took him even deeper, pushing past the point of comfort to show him how much you were willing to take for his pleasure.

His growls grew louder, and his moans grew more desperate, each one sending a thrill of power through your body making you want to push him closer to the edge. You felt your arousal climbing, your clit pulsing in time with your sucks and licks.

You felt his thighs tense up around your shoulders as you took him all in, your nose pressing against the fabric of his underwear. His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts now, his eyes flicking between the TV and your head. You could sense the storm inside him, the tumult of emotions threatening to break free.

With a final, desperate groan, Kylian's body arched, and he came, his cock pulsing in your mouth as you swallowed every drop of his release.

He leaned back against the locker, his chest heaving, his full lips are slightly parted, still swollen from the way he had murmured your name, and his eyes still locked on yours, his long lashes flutter as he blinks up at you, dark eyes glazed with the remnants of pleasure.

My God, he is beautiful.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of you, the rest of the world fading away into the background noise of the match outside.

But reality came crashing back as you both heard the distant sound of cheers growing louder, his teammates' victory chants echoing down the corridor. You jumped to your feet, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and began to straighten your clothes.

Kylian's eyes widened, snapping back to the present as he realized what was happening.

"Putain," he murmured, his voice still thick with passion.

You giggled, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips despite the urgency of the situation. Quickly, you helped him tuck his cock back into his shorts. Your fingers were trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline, and you could feel the heat between your legs, the fabric of your panties sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Your arousal had soaked through, creating a warm, slick spot that you could feel spreading.

Your own desire still unfulfilled.

The cheers grew louder, and you knew his teammates were approaching the locker room. The victory was theirs, but it was a bittersweet victory, marred by Kylian's dismissal.

"I've got to go," You said, and he stood, his legs unsteady for a moment before he found his balance.

Before you could even take a step towards the door, his teammates began to filter in, their faces a mix of triumph and concern. They greeted you with forced smiles and claps on the back, trying to keep the mood light despite the shadow of Kylian's dismissal hanging over the room.

"Good game." One of them said, his eyes flicking over to Kylian, who was still trying to compose himself. You nodded, your cheeks flushing slightly from the encounter, hoping the scent of sex didn't linger in the air.

i was rooting for the other fic, but since you guys voted for this one, here you go opppss 🧎‍♀️

tnx for engaging w me 💗 im rlly enjoying the comments. appreciate it mwapp

[r0-boat]

I had very close friend who was bpd and ı kinda see him in leviathan

But just bit not too much few things are similar like crashouts and panic attacks and trying to gain control lol

Yeah... I see a little bit of myself in levi(maybe that's why I'm so attached)

---levi and Ch7 rant incoming---

Just want to let you know this is from the eyes of a Leviathan fan! So it's not going to be too harsh hehe!

Leviathan is a very emotionally complex person, and if we are dependending on PB to write him we are going to be disappointed.

Chapter 7 was really weird.

Like the whole MC flash back to all his abuse before sobbing... And the random Levi trying to kill us thing, after the last few chapters when he said that he would protect us???

Leviathan's character is not bad, in fact if done right it's really emotionally satisfying and rewarding.

For example:

Leviathan's bath card

Although not perfect, I felt that is was better at showing leviathan's character.

Let me explain: as you know the story of normal bath cards. Angel's with toxic blood explode on the devil king It immediately soaks into their skin and you have to wash them and save their life before they die.

So the reason why I love this card very much is because this plays into Levi's agoraphobia.

Even if MC is trying to help him he feels That he is in great danger. Levi is covered in an angel's blood and he is quickly losing control of himself as he is having a mental breakdown pushing away sometimes a violently MC who is trying to help them.

The reason why he's pushing them away even though they're trying to help him is that he feels helpless He doesn't have any control over the situation. This is included in his backstory since he was not only a prisoner but also a slave and sometimes even a test subject.

Levi finally explains why he's acting like this.

This is far more meaningful than whatever the fuck was in chapter 7 because it was Levi himself that trusted MC enough to explain what traumatized him. Despite not trusting them, he still seeks comfort from them, trying to play with them, trying to hold their hand while practically reliving his trauma.

After he explains himself he admits that it felt good and he trusted MC more to actually help him.

I have to point out that Leviathan cannot the toxic blood off himself nor can other devils he puts his absolute trust in because if they touch any of this blood they will also be at risk for their lives. MC has to do it, a person that he trusts very little.

But at this moment as MC reassures him that they are not a danger and that he could trust them His guard drops completely his mercy completely in their hands.

Leviathan's feelings for you are complex; he both once you and wants to be with you, But doesn't trust you and is afraid of what you're capable of, He also finds you very annoying.

Knowing in this situation that he can trust you with his life (And this is a porn game, and the MC is a vicious horny goblin) He wants more of you and the two of you don't just have sex The two of you make love. He kisses you softly he holds you like he cherishes you and he doesn't want to let you go.

It's so funny, out of all the Seven Kings that fuck you only Leviathan has made love to you. Leviathan when he's not being complete asshole to you He gets you gifts, He plays with your hand, he kisses you softly.

Anyways TLDR Levi bath >>>>>>>>whatever the fuck chapter 7 was.

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

Vox takes you on a date to a casino.

Vox: "So, Doll what do you want to do first?"

You: "Oh well, I'm not really sure... I've never really gambled before. I don't want to lose money because I don't know how..."

Vox slings his arm around your shoulder, his warm body pressed to yours.

Vox: "Nonsense, Doll I'll teach you, and it's all on my, my treat, how about we get you a nice drink, and I'll teach you how to BJ..."

At your startled look, he holds up his hands laughing, clearly he'd been teasing you.

Vox: "I just meant Blackjack."

He laughs at your reddened face and guides you over to the bar, giving you the rundown of the rules, you're sure you'll learn better as you play, but it gives you enough of an idea of what's expected in the game.

You sit in the seat and Vox hovers beside you, sending soothing static down your spine and sparking delightfully through your nerves making it hard to focus.

Not that it matters as Vox tells you every move to make anyway right now.

You celebrate your first win so excitedly and to Vox's utter pleasure you kiss him ecstatic and buzzing, he buys you another drink and you go another round really liking this game.

You found you won the next hand again under his guidance and tried yourself the next time and lost.

Every time he helped you, you seemed to win, and each time he got a kiss in gratitude, he'd clearly won more than he'd lost.

As you were about to buy in for another round, a trio of imposing guys approach the table and you end up clutching Vox's arm as you're both whisked off to a side room.

The dude sitting there is feline in nature. The guards post beside him and one at the door behind you.

Vox: "Well hello there Husker, good to see you my man, our evening is going splendidly, nice place you've got here."

'Husker' however is stoney faced, to Vox's charismatic friendliness.

Husk: "As a fellow Overlord who don't want no war, I'm gonna just tell you this once and give you one chance, you leave and there'll be no trouble."

Vox shifts, subtly blocking you further from view, you cling to his jacket trembling.

Vox: "And why would I do that, my good fellow?"

His voice, friendly as ever but you can hear the shift in the undertone, a dangerous one, feeling the static shocks run down his spine you still do not let go despite your fingers going numb.

It was Vox's one rule, if there's trouble you don't let go as he can zap you both out of anywhere with electricity in less than a moment as long as you're connected.

Husk: "You been countin' cards, and I want you out."

You gasp in slight surprise and you feel Vox shaking with laughter, like he'd expected this all along.

Vox: "Why would you say that, Husk? Be careful what you say next, you might not like the outcome."

Husk was either very brave or very foolish, or perhaps a bit of both, maybe it's because Vox wasn't really a fighter... That was ever talked about.

Husk: "You win every round you play, and you might not have the counting cards tells like most normal folk but I know you're doing it in that tecky head of yours and I want you out for cheating on my turf."

Vox: "I'm going to give you just one chance to take that accusation and rude statement back my man, and let bygone be bygones, otherwise... You'll be the one regretting your actions tonight. I might have a 'techy' head, but I can assure you I have integrity for games that my mentor taught me..."

The room flickers around you all, your knuckles going pale as your grip shakes and the power flashes in the whole casino.

Vox: "I do not cheat, and you insult me as an Overlord and a paying patron, and if you don't submit an apology, of course good chum, I will be forced to ruin you."

Husk: "I've heard enough, take him out boys."

Guns were pulled and in a moment you were back in VTower in the penthouse, dizzy from the unusual travel, blood still buzzing in your veins as Vox catches you and settles you on the couch cradling your face.

Vox: "You okay? Babydoll?"

You breathe deep for a moment getting grounded, your face splits into a wide grin.

You: "Fuck you're hot when you're swinging your dick around with authority."

Vox laughs kissing you deeply. Thoroughly amused at your choice of words and feeling the real thing twitch with more interest.

Vox: "Oh yeah? Want me to order you around a little tonight, Doll? Maybe you can show your Master just how much you like being his little pet."

You can't help the loan that escapes you, his shark-like grin tells you how well received your involuntary response went however.

Vox: "Good, my Babydoll. So good aren't you? Held onto me the whole time we were there, trusted me, such a good little Pet."

You whimper and bite your lip, flushing and nodding eagerly, dragging a finger down the ball of his antenna making him shiver slightly, his claws prick your hips where they tighten.

You: "Did you cheat?"

Vox: "Oh absolutely, Alastor always taught me as long as you hold all the cards and are the most powerful in the room however, no one can stop you. I have seniority, I have more power and I'm afraid I'm going to have to end that two bit Overlords little buisness in less than a weeks time."

Vox kisses you all across the face and angling your head funny, kisses down your neck with every word, to your giggles.

Vox: "I'll give him two days to lure him into a false sense of security, then I'll strike, and while he's trying to save himself I'll offer him a deal... But first, my Doll, I'm going to have a pre-celebration, right here with you."

His voice almost purrs at you and you whimper as he covers your body with his, kissing you soundly and really living up to his words as he doesn't disappoint tending to all your needs for the next two days, making you scream his name more times than you can keep track of.

Only, after two days Vox's plans didn't quite work out the way he'd intended...

It seems the cat was smarter than he appeared... And had already taken the threat seriously, seems the old cat was now under Alastor's protection, and his business untouchable, Husk had his soul chained but still kept his power and business and Vox raged for a whole week after that.

Only you could calm him for short periods of times, but you were bruised from how roughly he'd handled you.

On the last night, Vox curled around you muttering apologies into your skin as he caressed every mark, and kissed every bite.

You didn't mind so much, but with an extra threat just that week from some mafia guys, he moved you out of the tower and into your own flat.

You couldn't help but feel isolated and alone, wondering if Vox would ever come back for you...

[esamastation]

Gamer girl gets transmigrated into a farm boy Chapter 3 [<<Prologue | <Chapter 2 || Chapter 4>>] Ao3 link

-

Katie had spent literal hours just playing Echo in the tutorial of the Age of Tales, grinding gold out of silver. She'd gotten pretty good at Memory because of it, but, because she's a nerd and maximising her grinding profits was the name of the game, she hadn't just left it up to skill and chance or even game mechanics.

She'd actually researched strategies and how to beat memory games. Because, as it turned out, there's a strategy to Memory.

Queen with four swords kills the king with two of them and spills three cups over the king's sword in mockery…

Echo is a different game in real life, though. Instead of the easy and quick operation of Katie clicking cards on a screen, Van has to physically turn the cards over and do it faster than his opponent. Echo doesn't have turns, being a game of speed as much as memory, and the only rule is that you can only turn two cards at a time. And with his big, clumsy hands, it's a bit of trial and error before he gets the hang of it. 

"Sorry," Van grimaces, after almost sending another card flying by accidentally flicking at it.

"It's no issue," Accomo says and smiles. It's not a nice smile. "Just go at your own pace."

Thankfully, it's a beginner game and there's only thirteen pairs in play rather than the full deck, just the cups and swords. Accomo is also playing with beginner settings, it feels like, slowly and methodically turning cards over, seemingly with no care in the world. The first game is pretty much designed to be impossible to lose. It is still the tutorial section, after all.

Which is probably a good thing, because aside from Van being just physically slow, his secret trump card is nowhere to be seen! Speed buff whomst?! The very reason Katie maxed Van's Wisdom in character creation is suddenly inoperable! Time doesn't slow down, doesn't stretch, he doesn't even seem to be thinking any faster than normal. 

Those 10 points of Wisdom just do nothing now, it seems.

Van turns over a queen and quickly pairs it with the first card he touched. Then he flips the two of cups, and pairs that one too. It quickly cascades into him knocking down pair after pair until seven out of the thirteen possible pairs sit in a messy stack before him and Accomo leans back. 

"Good game, good game," Accomo says and conjures two silver coins from somewhere, placing them over Van's two. "Double your bet?" the gambler then offers.

"Yeah, let's go again," Van agrees, frowning at the cards, barely even warmed up yet.

Like this, doubling the bet every time, it takes 14 games in total to get enough money for a gold bullion bar… in theory, anyway. The first five or so games are easy - after that the opponents start getting progressively faster with each game, until around game 12 they get physically impossible to beat without speed buff accessories - or hacks. Or that is how it was in Age of Tales.

Things are a bit different here. 

Accomo speeds up suddenly in game 4, thin-fingered hand snatching cards before Van can, matching pairs at speed. Van is startled, almost enough to falter, but instinct takes over and his moves speed up too, snatching cards and making pairs - and a bigger mess of the game board in general. The game comes to an abrupt finish, with Van holding seven pairs and Accomo six.

The gambler smiles, flashing teeth. "Good game - double your bet?" comes the offer as coin pouch jingles invitingly.

Van narrows his eyes. Not stuck in game settings there, then. Accomo is already going for the win now, and the pile of coins in the table is only sixteen high. Damn. "Yes, please."

The cards are once more shuffled and laid out in rows. They exchange a look, a stiff smile etched on Accomo's thin lips, eyes glinting hard in the shadows of gambler's hood. 

Then, at some unheard signal, they begin turning cards over, each on a different side of the board. 

King drinks eight cups with the double wielding Jack, with three swords hanging over his head, Van thinks, eyes flashing to the cards Accomo is turning, while across the kingdom two cups were drank for the queen with seven swords with the king -

Accomo's hand moves in a flash and pairs up the kings before Van can. 

Van turns over a Jack and matches the pairs.

Accomo gets sevens - Van the twos.

The rest of the game is a scramble to match the last pairs as quickly as possible, hands slapping on cards hard, slamming pairs down forcefully. 

Somewhere to the left of him, some regular inn patron chuckles knowingly, watching them.

The loudness and suddenness of it is on purpose. Somehow Van knows - Accomo is trying to shake and rile him up.

Which apparently works because Van loses the game. On game four.

Accomo smiles, eight pairs on his side to Van's five. "That's a game for me," the gambler says smugly and collects the coins from the table with a satisfied air. "Would you like to play again?"

Van narrows his eyes, leaning his elbows on the table between them. His chair creaks ominously. "Yes," he says and puts a single silver coin on the table, pushing it over. "Let's go again."

Accomo is going for the kill now - but that's not all. The gambler is playing to annoy too, it feels like, snatching up cards before Van can, slapping them down loudly. Accomo is also no longer flipping cards in order, either, instead the gambler is taking cards here and there, messing up Van's system of memorisation. Accomo is fast, too, but…

Not as fast as Katie. Van knows she can do better than this - it's just Van's reaction speed holding him back. He just needs to concentrate and ignore Accomo's bullshit. He can do this, Katie has done this a hundred times. Just concentrate.

Jack and queen spar with four blades while the king drinks seven cups…

Accomo suddenly slaps his hand over the card Van was going for next and makes him jump, nearly breaking his concentration - and suddenly Van knows the game the gambler is playing.

Accomo is trying to annoy him and throw him off. Is the gambler trying to start a fight? No - trying to make Van give up and quit quickly.

Because Van is better at Echo.

"Oh-ho," Van hums and then, smiling, pulls his hand back. Two can play this game too, he decides and readies himself, watching the cards.

Accomo throws him a confused look and then, with eyes narrowed in suspicion, continues to turn cards over. The gambler does it quickly, clearly expecting a trick, but taking the bait anyway.

And so, the moment his opponent hits on a card Van has seen before, four of cups, Van lashes out as fast and nimble as he can, and matches the card with the four of swords. It's probably not as impressive as it feels - but it gets him the pair before Accomo can get it. One point to him, hooray.

And then Van pulls back again, not even bothering to turn any cards over anymore, just watching the cards, waiting for Accomo to do it for him.

"Oh, you son of a bitch," Accomo mutters, hesitating.

"What's the matter? You seemed so eager to be the first to flip a card," Van says, grinning. "Go on, at your own pace."

The gambler's eyes narrow. "And what if I don't flip any cards?"

"I guess we'll just sit here and enjoy each other's company," Van answers and offers his hand over the card game. "Hi, I'm Van."

"... Kerly," the gambler answers and shakes his hand before, with a sigh, pulling the hood down. "I don't suppose you'd like to play some Vist instead?"

"I don't, no," Van smiles, taking his opponent in with interest. 

The gambler is a woman in her early twenties - which Van had rather expected. Most mysterious hooded people in Age of Tales turn out to be women - or elves. Accomo - or rather, Kerly - is fully human, and a rather pretty one at that, of course, as most women tended to be in the game. She has dark hair cut short, square jaw that makes her look rather fierce, and big dark eyes. With heavy gold loops in her ears and scar on the side of her forehead, she looks a bit like a sexy pirate.

What's most interesting about her is the fact that she's definitely the same NPC as the Westbrook inn gambler in the game - only in the game she never revealed her face… or possessed any semblance of character or personality. 

"Are you going to play for real, or are you going to play around some more?" Van asks, curious.

Kerly hesitates and then gives him a calculating look. "Unless you have another game in mind," she says and leans in. "What do you say, big boy, how does a round of Dice sound?"

"Like playing around some more," Van says and leans back, folding his arms - which is an operation and a half because, wow, he can feel his biceps strain his tunic, holy shit. It makes him feel like a badass to give a little smirk as he nods at the table. "How about we finish our game instead?"

"We could play something more interesting, though…" Kerly tries, and Van could swear she actually bats her lashes, maybe even tries to flash a bosom at him. "Maybe in private…?"

Well, she definitely acts like a female character from Age of Tales. If she was a guy, hell, it might've even worked. Alas. "I want to play Echo," Van says and motions to the game sitting unfinished between them. "Or do you only play people you know you're better than? Targeting people you can swindle money from?" He tsks disapprovingly and grins at the reaction it gets.

Kerly leans back with disgust and gives him an annoyed look. "What point is there in playing with someone you know you can't win against?"

"Experience? You could think of it as a learning opportunity," Van offers and arches his brows. "Playing against stronger opponents is how everyone improves, isn't it?"

"Bah," Kerly mutters but looks at the game. She seems to be doing some mental calculations in her head. "Fine, fine - you'll get five games, but no more."

Van clicks his tongue. It's not enough to get him what he wants - with only two coins left to bet, it wouldn't get him even a single gold piece. Van presses his lips together. He wants that gold bar, but failing that he wants as much money as possible, as early as possible. It's kind of doubtful that Kerly even has that much gold on her, but she should have some…

And as a career gambler, she might like the opportunity to get more in the future - and there's clearly a bit of a gap in her education as Lady Luck's Acolyte.

"I have another idea. Say, Kerly," Van says and leans forward. "Would you like to learn the trick of playing Echo?"

"What?" she asks dubiously. "You think you can teach me?"

"I think I can beat you at Echo," Van points out, arching his brows. "There's a trick to it, you know. Wouldn't you like to know what that trick is?"

The gambler thinks about it for a moment. "Your trick might be a fluke," she then says and starts clearing the table, handing him his single silver coin back. "But fine. Let's play a few rounds. I want to see it in action."

"Alright," Van says and places the coin back on the table, with two fellows, betting all he had. Kerly gives him an unimpressed look and Van huffs at her. "I'm not playing for free. Money on the table, sister, or there's no show and tell."

"Show and -? You know that, I don't care," Kerly mutters and matches his bet. "Happy?"

Van smiles and leans forward. "Ecstatic. Now, watch closely."

They begin flipping cards and Van is glad to see that this time Kerly plays normally without any dramatics or sleight of hand, she doesn't even try to outpace him. Van can tell Kerly tries to beat him, but Van still wins that round, and the next one, and the next one, and with an increasing margin as his opponent grows more and more frustrated with her own inability to keep up.

"You play like a damn wizard," Kerly mutters accusingly after another game. "It's a spell - or a memory artefact. Isn't it?"

"Nope, just a memorisation trick. Anyone can learn it." Van promises her and, figuring that demonstration is over, leans back. The backrest of his chair lets out a shrill little creak and Van clears his throat. "So, how about it? How much would that ability be worth to you?"

Kerly considers it, eyeing him suspiciously. "Ten silver," she offers.

"Don't be ridiculous," Van says promptly. "It's worth way more than that."

"Well I'm not paying more than that," the gambler says, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair. "Ten silver, take it or leave it."

Van can just wade through the tutorial side missions and earn that in an afternoon. "Guess I'll leave it, then," he says and begins collecting his winnings. He's turned five silver into only twelve. It's… kind of sad, really. Katie weeps for her sweet sweet exploits. "It was great to meet you, Kerly. Better luck next time, I suppose -"

"Wait, wait -" Kerly sighs before Van can stand up. "Damn it, okay - how much do you want?"

Well. Asking for a gold bar won't get him anywhere and asking for a hundred gold he'll probably just be laughed at. What would be a good price for a money-making lesson? A gambler like Kerly can probably capitalise on it, turning it into hundreds of gold over her career, wherever that would be like…

In hindsight, it's kind of ridiculous that people here bet serious money on what amounts to a children's card game. There's even casinos and game tournaments where Echo is played in this world. Age of Tales is so stupid.

God, Katie loves it.

"Twenty gold pieces," Van decides.

Kerly bursts in derisive laughter. "Now who's being ridiculous?" she asks incredulously. "Twenty gold, in this place? Find me one person in this town with a single gold coin, I dare you."

Van leans in, ready to haggle. "How much do you have, then?"

Going by how long the haggling takes… not much. Kerly refuses to go above fifty silver pieces, only half of a single gold piece, and getting even that much is like pulling teeth. It gets a bit loud and contentious towards the end, and, going by the looks the people in the inn are giving them, like they think Van might be crazy, or just plain dumb…

Yeah, Katie might have a bit of a skewed sense of what money is worth here. Van's final armour cost something like thousand gold bars, which wasn't even a lot of money for endgame Van. That's, what, a couple million times higher than the advance he got for his farm hand salary? That's ah… yeah, a bit of a different scale.

Might be time to readjust his expectations. 

"Alright, alright, fine, there," Kelly says viciously and hands him most of her purse. "Now teach me your damn memory trick before I shove these where the light of Gods don't reach." She almost throws the deck at him.

Van grins, quickly puts the money away, then shuffles the deck. "It's quite simple, actually," he says and quickly deals the cards for a game of Echo. "You make a story out of it. Here," he turns the first two cards over. "Okay, the queen and ten of cups. Clearly the queen got herself ten cups of wine. Sounds like a party. But then," he flips the cards back over and flips the next two. "Three swords fell from the ceiling and spilled two of her cups," flip, flip, "and the King saw and lost his shit and grabbed his sword -"

"What the devil are you talking about, man?" Kerly says incredulously. "Queen, king? The high priestess and the emperor, you mean."

"Doesn't flow as easily off the tongue," Van shrugs and looks at her, brows arched. "What was the first card?"

"... The high priestess," Kerly says, eyeing him suspiciously like she, too, thinks he might be dumb. "But anyone would remember that."

"What about the other cards, do you remember those?" Van asks and continues flipping cards. "Now, on the king's rampage five more cups are spilled all over the floor. Then suddenly, more swords appear! Must be the guards - eight guardsmen coming to defend the queen from the king's rage -"

"I want my money back," Kerly says flatly.

Van grins. "No can do, deal;s a deal," he says and flips a card - three cups. "I think we saw a three of swords here somewhere. Do you remember where?" Oops, that might be a bit of Katie's experience as a kindergarten attendant coming through…

Kerly seems to sense it too and with a look of absolute disgust aimed at him, she points at the right card.

"And there you have it," Van says, just barely keeping himself from clapping in congratulation and matches the swords with the cups. "Easy-peasy."

"That's your secret trick - making up stupid fairy tales in your head?" Kerly asks, eyeballing him dubiously like she doesn't just doubt his intellect, but sanity as well.

"Hey, it works," Van shrugs. "Humans are storytellers - we remember narrative better than we remember abstract numbers and symbols. Tell me you don't remember the story of a queen with ten cups of wine and a king going on a rampage - I bet you do."

Kerly is quiet for a moment, her big, beautiful eyes narrowing. Then she considers the cards. "Huh," he then says, irritated. "I'm not sure if that was worth fifty silver coins…"

"Don't knock it till you try it," Van says and quickly gets up to leave before she decides to do something about her disappointment. There's a dagger at her side, and he's still in peasant gear with just a little whittling knife. He is not going to tempt his luck any further.  "It works on other things too, you know, not just card games. And a good system of memorisation is always useful."

"Hmm," Kerly says and gives him a more thoughtful look. "Van, was it?" she asks and nods to herself. "I'll remember your name."

Well, that's ominous. 

"Right, well. Be seeing you around, Kerly," Van says, sloughing awkwardly to keep hitting the ceiling beams again. "It was nice playing with you."

"Uh-huh. Hey, Van - here," Kerly says and suddenly flicks something at him. "For luck. Thanks for playing. Now, get out of here before I take my money back."

It's a playing card, specifically a joker - which the System helpfully informs him is also an accessory, with a rather useful looking bonus, at that. And, on top of that…

[Quest Game of Wit, Lvl. 1 complete! You gain 20 exp and 1 Lucky Playing Card.]

[Congratulations! You have Levelled up!] Nice. It's not a gold bar… but he'll take it.

-

[<Chapter 2 || Chapter 4>>]

Proofread by @nimadge, many thanks

- Alas, no infinite money making glitch 😔

[kittykat-25]

One Of The Guys: Part 2

Pairings: Hongjoong x f! Reader , ??? X f!Reader

Genre: Idol Au, Friends to lovers, Angst

Warnings!: anxious habits mentioned, pet names: Doll, Bubs

Summary: You tried really hard not to be a cliché, falling love with your best friend. How unoriginal. But when your best friend is Kim Hongjoong what are you supposed to do?

Now Playing: One Of The Guys -Jessia

Part 1 Part 3

You were walking along the streets with Wooyoung and Changbin, listening to them bicker about whose choreography was harder for their next comebacks. “Minho is killing me, I sweat more there than at the gym.” Wooyoung laughed, “you just want a chance to mention how much you go to the gym in front of Y/n.” You laughed,”no need to mention it Bin, it’s pretty obvious you work out.” You motioned to his shirt that was straining over his biceps. “Yah stop flirting. You’re going to make me lose my lunch.” Wooyoung said while fake gagging.

As they walked into the gaming café you trailed behind taking in all the things happening. “Y/n are you going to play?” Changbin asked, looking for places to sit. Wooyoung looked at you with pleading eyes, “Not today I’ll just watch. Harass Wooyoung.” You said sticking your tongue out at your friend. Changbin found two chairs and rolled a third over for you. The boys start playing and you are content watching, learning about the game until boredom strikes. You wander over to the food counter with Wooyoung’s card and get a snack and coffees for the three of you. As you make your way back to your friends you feel your phone in your pocket buzzing. Looking down at your watch you see Hongjoongs name flashing.

Warmth fills your chest and you hurry to set things down to grab the phone. “Hey Joongie, what’s up?” You say gather the coffees back up. “Trying to figure out this tempo. Hwa said to call you, I was getting worked up apparently.” He says dryly into the phone. You set the snacks and coffees down with the guys, “well Joong you need to take breaks. Just relax and go on a walk. See some nature. It’ll be good for you.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes, “fat chance of that happening. He only sees the sky when he goes from the car into the front door.” You smack the back of his head and Hongjoong scoffs “tell Wooyoung he can sleep outside tonight. And to stop stealing you when I’m in crisis.” You feel your face heat up, “you aren’t in crisis Joong. Just take a break and eat.” “Yah you neglected her and my bank account suffers for it.” Wooyoung called into the phone. “Woah you offered lunch in return for not letting Bin bully you.” You say back at the boy in front of you. Changbin hearing this broke out in laughter. “Alright this was unhelpful.” Hongjoong says into the phone. “Awh Joongie, I’m sorry.” You half whine into the phone. “It’s alright Doll, Woo take care of our girl.” He adds softly before hanging up.

“Your face is so red right now bubs- owh! What was that for?” Wooyoung screech’s as Changbin smack the back of his head. “Leave her alone Woo.” You smile at Changbin and sit back down, “I hate when he calls me doll, the one name should not give me as much hope as it does. It’s ridiculous.” You bury your face in your hands. “It’s fine. We’re moving on, Woo are you winning?” You said quickly to change the subject. Hoping the iced coffee cools your heated face down, and your heart returns to a normal pace soon.

You spend the rest of the time pressing random buttons on Woos keyboard until his character dies, watching his patience grown thinner and thinner. He had just pushed your chair away, sending you flying down the walkway when Changbins phone lit up. “Hyung!” He called happily into the phone, Bang Chans face filled up the screen, “having fun Bin?” He asked, his eyes light up seeing his friend so relaxed. “Yah if these two would let me focus.” He picked up his phone and angled it towards Wooyoung. “Hi Chan Hyung!” Wooyoung called while laughing at you.

You hadn’t realized Changbin was on the phone yet “Jung Wooyoung you menace. I almost took out a kid!” You said as you playfully shoved him. “You made me die!” He retaliated, “it’s not my fault you naturally suck at this game.” You said. You heard Binnie laughing and turned toward him, not expecting to find Chan watching this unfold as well. “Hyung this is Y/n!” You gave a little wave and sat back down in your chair, “nice to meet you!” You called over to him. Changbin propped his phone up between the two computers which put you dead center. “You’re Hongjoong’s friend right?” You went to answer when Woo beat you to it. “Supposedly his “best friend” but I’m pretty sure that’s me.” You rolled your eyes, “you’re more of this annoying little brother I was handed one day and can’t return.” Wooyoung gasped at you, opening his mouth to respond when Chan cut him off, “I understand that completely, you’re bold for spending time with the two of them together.” Changbin lost in the game never heard the loving dig his leader made at him.

You stayed on FaceTime with Chan until Changbin lost his game and declared Chan was bad luck. As you gathered your things to leave, you texted Hongjoong asking to go for a walk, hoping to get him out of the studio for a few hours. His reply came shortly after, “Joong wants to grab dinner with us all. Yunho is requesting Bbq.” You tell Wooyoung as you make your way to his dorm. “As long as Joong is paying I’m down.” You walked back to the dorm and found the rest of Ateez waiting for you. “I feel like this meal is a trick.” Jongho said as you drove to the restaurant. “Why would you think that bear?” You asked, he glared at you, hating the nickname you gave him years ago. “Hongjoong Hyung just came out and asked all of us to dinner. Seems suspicious.” He said cutting his eyes to Joong who was sitting next to him, typing away on his phone.

You’re seated at dinner chatting with Mingi when Wooyoung kicks you under the table. You turn to glare at him but he hands you in his phone before you can start to yell. His text threads with Changbin are pulled up. “Look.” Woo says pointing to the last text received. “Channie Hyung asked for y/n number. Is she alright with me giving it?” You looked up at Wooyoung then your eyes automatically go to your friend at the end of the table engrossed with Yeosang about the comeback. “He can have it.” You said tearing your eyes away from Hongjoong. “Oooo look at y/n go!!” Mingi says quietly. Not alerting the whole table of your newly acquired friend.

Everyone is talking and relaxing when Hongjoong and Seonghwa stand up, you eyes travel up your friends body taking in his power stance and find him already staring at you, a smug smirk on his face. He raises an eyebrow but controls it into the neutral face of the captain as everyone focuses on him. “Jongho might have been right about this dinner. Not a trick per se just a treat on me.” Everyone glanced around, “in exchange for what?” Yunho asked. Seonghwa looked at the leader then back at the rest of the group, “we got the comeback schedule, we start in two weeks with teasers.” Wooyoung glared at Joong, “and?” Hongjoong locked eyes with you then mumbled something under his breath. Seonghwa elbowed him and Hongjoong looked at his group, “we promoted for 5 weeks, daily variety shows, music bank, fan meets. All the usual stuff.” He took a breath, “then we leave for Japan for 2 weeks. Doing fan meets there and some different variety shows.” Everyone was silent, Mingi the first to speak up “so basically we have two weeks to prepare for 2 months of non-stop?” Hongjoong nodded, “ I tried to get a break for us between Japan but CEO wasn’t having it.” He sat down, hands in his hair. “I’m sorry.” “Hyung, you did what you could. But honestly this isn’t any different than any other comeback, we all know how hectic it can be.” San commented.

You sat there with your hands in your lap, picking at the skin of your thumb. “Y/n, you’re unusually quiet.” Seonghwa said. You knew he needed you to breathe some hope into them. Lighten the mood in a way. Mingi’s hands came down on yours, pulled your nails away from your bleeding thumb. You swallowed, trying to get the lump in your throat down. “You guys have done world tours, and came home to do a comeback then back on tour. I understand Joong and Hwa maybe getting too old for this but the rest of you need to buck up.” You said, smirking at the two oldest boys. “I know I’ll enjoy the peace and quiet while you’re gone.” You added. Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “please you’ll be calling everyday bored out of your mind.” You all laughed and the tension lifted as they started talking about teasers and new dance challenges to try. You could feel eyes on you, looking towards the end of the table you met Hongjoong’s eyes and smiled. “Thank you” he mouthed, you dipped your head in response and turned your attention back to Mingi and Yunho. Not noticing the way the captains eyes stayed trained on you.

You had just thrown your keys into the bowl by your door when your phone went off. You looked down to find a text from an unsaved number. “Hey Y/n, it’s Chan. I enjoyed meeting you today.” You smiled as you read it, texting back. You continued to text Chan through the night, talking about music and mutual friends you had. Laughing more texting him than you had In a while. As you climbed into bed. You sent one last text before putting your phone down, “this has been fun, continue this conversation tomorrow?” His response was immediate, “over dinner?” You felt your face burn up. Thinking of a response you received another text. “Sorry if I misread this…”

You didn’t even finish reading the text before hitting the call button. “Hello!” Chan greeted, “I would love to get dinner with you!” You said quickly. You took a breath, “sorry I basically just yelled that at you.” You said nervously trying to hold in your laughter. Chan was quiet for a moment, he clicked back on and you realized he had muted himself. “Were you laughing at me Bang Chan!” You half yelled into the phone. “I’m sorry you just sounded so nervous. It was cute really.” He responded hearing the joy in his voice. You ran a hand down your face, “my gosh I’m not going to be able to face you tomorrow!” You sighed. Chan laughed more, “dinner tomorrow, want me to pick you up?” You smiled, “yeah I’ll text you my address.” Chan yawned into the phone, “alright it’s a date.” You smiled, “it’s a date then.” You hung up and settled in bed, a smile on your face and thoughts about tomorrow on your mind.

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[punkasspricefield]

OH the shit show

Hi Hello! It's been a while since I posted anything on here, but I said hey let me go back to my roots.

You might have guessed it, I played Double Exposure and news flash I hated it.

OKay Herę they come, the spoilers

WTH did I just play, who am I and what the fuckery is that.

I went in two days ago pretty optimistic that I was going to get a mid game, I tried my best to stay away from spoilers and asked my friends and partner not to share too much with me. My initial reaction- when is Chloe going to appear. IS this decision I am making going to impact any sort of relationship with her etc..

It in fact did not matter what I did, who I talked to and the bridges I burned. The plot, the sub plot, the arc - none of that made sense.

Let's start off with how Chloe and Max's relationship crumbled into dust. You want an explanation? Well there is none.. I think. Now let me explain. We start off knowing that Chloe and Max are no longer together, the why is unknown at the beginning. We later know that they broke up thanks to the conversation with Safi. We then get a shitty post card from Chloe making some shit ass excuse ( I do not blame Chloe) I blame the writer for it being so shitty. The whole excuse of the break up never did make sense to even the amount of times I tried to justify it. lets move past- you have this decent build up to a story that has potential. Your friend is dead and you're able to jump universes, sounds normal. Midway though episode 3 is when I got lost, the writing just plummeted, the focus was on the powers and not the reasoning. Nothing mattered, not why Safi is dead, not why she was causing havoc on campus. Nothing about her was justified to fuck up so many lives. That's not even a good antagonist. The story took a hit and it was all because this was a filler game to make money, to get you invested and pull you for another vision that they have for the franchise. This hurt, I have been here since 2015 and it feels worse than when we had bae vs bay. How can you be so cruel with the characters that we love. They passed the torch to someone who doesn't know Chloe or Max. They tarnished their story as a business decision.

[dullgecko]

(Anon because I have anxiety yippee /s)

The Bad Kids are the only people allowed to go anywhere near any of the bedrooms at Seacaster manor so whenever one of them is done with the party they just flop down in Fabian’s room (after bribing Moggy of course)

By like hour 6 of most parties you will find Riz holed up in Fabian’s room curled up in the nest he keeps on Fabian’s bed because he got overstimulated/socially drained and snuck away (the first time he did it the rest of the Bad Kids freaked out because they couldn’t find him anywhere in the party so now he just texts the gc whenever he does it)

Fabian keeps multiple “panic attack kits” he made for Adaine around his room (they include bandages, a little stuffed animal version of Boggy that Cathilda made, and extra meds that he got in a totally legal way) so whenever she has a panic attack at a party she just teleports there

Kristen likes to summon Cass (and Ankarna after Junior year) in Fabian’s room and convincing her to play board games when she gets bored of the party (she tried cheating at monopoly once and Ankarna glared at her until she put the money back)

If she’s in the room alone Fig will just start playing their guitar really loudly because “Fabian’s room has the best acoustics” (it doesn’t but it’s her legal job as his sibling to annoy the fuck out of him) but if anyone else is in the room she just starts clinging to them whether they’re asleep or awake (Fig is absolutely a clingy drunk)(Adaine has about a million pictures of a passed out Fig and Riz cuddling in Riz’s nest)

Gorgug doesn’t really drink at most of the parties since he’s the designated driver in case someone wants to go fully home instead of just passing out at Fabian’s place so he usually just alternates between hanging out at the party and chilling in Fabian’s room, if Kristen is also in the room he’ll join in on her board game, if Adaine is in there he’ll sit with her until she’s okay to leave (occasionally she’ll just fall asleep on his lap and he’ll just chill there the rest of the night), if Riz is in there he’ll sacrifice his hoodie to give Riz an extra blanket, if Fig is in there he gives notes on her obnoxious guitar playing until she gets tired and starts clinging to him (at which point he will probably also give her his hoodie)

At one party Fabian went to his room to grab something and found the entire party curled up on his bed passed out and he took a couple of pictures immediately forgot what he was doing and flopped onto the bed to pass out with them

They're not even sure if Riz is sleeping or not most of the time because he's so socially drained he won't answer questions verbally. He'll sometime answer in the group chat though if he feels like it. If you've seen him drink at any point during the night it's a good bet he is asleep, Fig has risked peeking into the nest many times to get photos (she forgot to turn the flash on her camera off once and the look she got from the goblin after waking him was chilling).

He used to steal spare blankets from the linen closet and about half of Fabians pillows but now he usually has supplies left out for him. In winter he is thoroughly cocooned inside a well constructed blanket mountain/cave to keep warm.

Adaine and Fig are both allowed inside his nest if they need to decompress a bit. He purposefully makes it bigger so they can fit. It helps Adaine calm down because it's cosy and enclosed and it muffles the other party sounds really well (and she can sneak coveted sleepy Riz cuddles, its very hard to steal him from Fabian and Fig at normal sleepovers if he actually tries to sleep).

Kristen tried to play fantasy Mario party with Cas and Ankarna once and nearly got smited. Luckily Ankarna got enough extra stars at the end to win and a crisis was averted. Riz will sometimes clamber out of his nest if they're playing card games, but you have to watch him carefully. His sleight of hand is HIGH and he will destroy you at games like old maid.

Gorgug is for sure the responsible sober friend, whenever Riz isnt being the responsible sober friend (he can also be the designated driver its just terrifying to be in the car when he is because he literally has to stand in the wheel well).

Fabian has, on SO many occasions joined in on the group nap only to wake up an hour later and realise OH SHIT there are still guests in his house and go to shoo them off.

Gorgug usually ends up taking the girls home since they all live together before going home himself. They don't wake Riz if he's actually asleep though, so Fabian has to try and sleep himself without jostling him too much. There has been more than one occasion of him going to sleep and waking up with a blanket fort rebuilt around him by their rogue who's passed out asleep again.