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anarchygraphics · 6 months

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L337s Top 10 | USA Social Casinos: Daily Cash Rewards Await!

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Introduction

In today's fast-paced world, online casinos have become a popular form of entertainment for players worldwide. With the rise of social casinos, players can now enjoy their favorite games from the comfort of their own homes while also earning daily cash rewards. In this article, we'll explore the top 10 USA social casinos that offer lucrative bonuses and exciting gameplay experiences. Get ready to embark on a thrilling journey filled with fun and rewards!

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Article by Marcum, Tommy 3/22/2024

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cheesestakespoker · 1 year

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POKER ONLINE AT CHEESE STAKES POKER- Online Poker

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skyairjet · 2 years

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bunnys-kisses · 2 months

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unconventional payment

charles leclerc

cw: no smut, mafia au, au-typical violence, mafia boss!charles, gambling, smoking, blood, scary!charles, forced marriage

basically charles beats the shit out of your fiance for selling you away to get rid of a gambling debt! enjoy!

this bunny runs on tags, comments & reblogs! feed the bunny! (also tell me if you want more of this, i wrote this on a weird whim)

it was very clear that your current fiance had a gambling problem, it start off quite innocent, a few dollars here and there. then it grew to jewellery and eventually the necklace your grandmother gave you went missing. any paycheck he got went down the drain within a few days and you had to stretch your budget to cover for it.

it was at that point you should've packed up your things and left. but you moved with him to monaco to live a nice life. without him, you really had nowhere else to go. so you stayed and watched the money drip away like a leaky tap.

you were furious when you lost your apartment, you snapped your jaws at him like a dog. but what else were you supposed to do. you shoved him and yelled with tears in your eyes. how dare him. how dare this selfish man play you like a fool!

until he told you he could win it all back, but the stakes were higher. not only was your engagement ring on the line, but your hand in marriage too. the highest stake of them all, you.

you dressed nicely for the event at the casino, your hands shook as you got ready. he had pawned most of your nice clothes for cash, and the thought made your blood run cold.

you ended up having to take the bus to the casino because your fiance had sold off his car to pay for his habit. it was at this moment you should've turn away and got the first flight back home. your parents would be happy to see you.

eventually you were seated at the table with your hopes held high. you kept your head high as you sat across the table with the mafia boss that your fiance was tangled up in.

he was handsome, when he spoke, it seemed like he was speaking to you. his voice laid over your shoulders like a heavy blanket. it scared you a little.

you reached for your fiance and said, your voice a little tight, "please. win this." you earned a reassuring nod and a kiss on the roundness of your cheek.

and then he went and lost it, all of it. you held your head high as you looked at this pathetic man you once called a fiance. you said with all the strength in your voice, "congratulations, dear. you have truly fucked me over." and did not break into tears as you felt the strong hand of the boss' bodyguard against your back.

it was only when you were shuffled into the car that you broke down. sobs raked your body as you hunched over in the leather seat of a car that was probably financed by all the money you fiance lost.

the boss got in soon after, his hand in yours. it was far more gentle than you expected from a man who probably killed for fun. his other hand wiped your tears. he sighed, "don't cry, mon petit oiseau."

you sniffled and pulled away from him, with venom in your voice, "how could i not be, i just got sold off like a prize winning hog! so you can what, sell me on the black market!"

the boss looked at you and reached for you, but you pulled away. you made yourself smaller. you pleaded for him to not touch you, so he didn't. he however got closer to you in the backseat on the car and took off his suit jacket and gloves.

he placed the jacket over your shoulders and placed the gloves in your lap. he said in a soft voice, "you hold onto these for a moment." then got out of the car. he softly closed the door behind him.

you heard a noise outside and moved towards the car door that the boss exited out of. you opened the door and near the casino, partially concealed by the wall of the building. it was the boss, holding your fiance to the ground while he punched the living daylights out of him. the sound of his fist hitting your lover's face was disgusting and honestly scared you.

but deep down, a sick part of you liked seeing your bastard of an ex-fiance get beaten down for everything he had done. everything he had done to you.

the boss let go of your fiance when he caught the sight of you. and got back up. he looked down at the other man and gave him a sharp kick in the side before he rolled up his shirt sleeves further. he said, "a man who is willing to sell his woman deserves worse than death. you should be lucky to be alive, but if i see you in my casino ever again."he shook his finger at the other man, "they'll never find you."

both men looked to you and your ex fiance tried to say something, but the boss' voice cut through, "oiseau, close the door. i will be with you in a moment."

you swallowed, you really didn't have options now did you? you closed the door and sat in the back quietly. you shook a little, but exhaled deeply to compose yourself.

you looked to the boss' bodyguard in the front seat. you asked, "does he do this a lot? like, take women as payment."

the bodyguard rolled down the window to exhale his cigarette smoke, "no. usually he just kills them after a while." the man's accent was dutch and he appeared like he had seen this a million times, "if you're worry about him selling you, he won't. you're a little too old for the market."

"seriously!!" you exclaimed.

the bodyguard laughed, "i'm joking. i'm joking! he doesn't work in that field. you're fine. the agreement was your hand in marriage. he can't very well marry you if you're sold off somewhere."

you rested back in the seat, you curled the jacket closer around your shoulders and sighed, "this is insane. this has to be a dream. how did he even know what i looked like? i could've been... hideous!"

the bodyguard flicked the cigarette out the window and shifted in his seat, "oh... you don't know."

you tensed, "what don't i know, mister bodyguard?" as if tonight hadn't rattled you enough.

he looked over his shoulder, those blue eyes of his looked haunting in the low light of the parking lot. he reeked of cigarettes and cologne as he replied, "your fiance a few nights ago showed my boss, me and another gentleman nude photos of you. i could see why my boss and the other man were so willing to jump at the chance to have you all to themselves. honestly, you got the better option. charles is a good man. you were a gamble worth taking in his eyes.

your heart sank, the man you had been with for close to five years had paraded around your nudes to a bunch of mafia strangers? you thought your eyes were going to bug out of your head.

"how many photos?" as if that would make a difference.

the bodyguard shrugged, "i'd say about five, six? it was hard to look away in all honesty. he was also very drunk when he said that you were a fool for letting this go on for so long."

"oh... okay."

you had enough. you opened the door and found the boss still beating the shit out of your fiance. you stepped out with the jacket on your shoulders and his gloves in your hand. you walked towards them.

after everything you gave up to be with him, everything you let be stolen from under your nose. he had the audacity to parade your naked images around like you were some kind of whore. tears stung your eyes once more.

the boss was breathing heavily and your ex-fiance's face was almost unrecognizable. you placed a hand on the boss' shoulder and your words pierced through the cloudiness of his mind.

"honey." you said, you leaned forward to the man and said, "i don't think you should mess up your hands too much. these gloves look expensive and i'd hate for you to get blood all over them." you showed the gloves to the boss.

he looked over to you and the corner of his mouth turned upwards. he pulled away from your fiance, and carefully curled your hand around the gloves, "well then, why don't you take care of them until my hands are healed."

you trembled, he was quite scary up close. you held your voice as you said, "well, then maybe you should stop punching garbage. i'm assuming you have a home to show me, now?"

the boss fully smiled as he gravitated closer to you. away from the other man. he draped an arm over your shoulders and guided you back to the car, "of course, of course." as you walked back, he looked over his shoulder as your ex-fiance and then spat on the ground away from you. your ex fiance better get out of the country fast, or else charles would stick to his word.

back in the car, he draped an arm around you and looked into your eyes. his smile for you held as he said, "you really are something. may i kiss you?"

you felt heat crawl into your face, "you punched the shit out of my fiance and now you want to kiss me?"

he replied, "he wasn't much of a fiance now was he? sold you away like he did all of your valuables. like that necklace."

"he told you about it?"

charles nodded, "all about it. how much it meant to you. how much value was in it. every little detail about the thing. it was honestly so touching that i couldn't bring myself to sell it. now, why don't we go home? i'll give it back to its rightful owner." he moved closer to you, "think of it as a wedding gift. to the future mrs. leclerc."

you licked your lips and said, "you won't take it away?"

he shook his head, "no, no. even if we get a divorce, you have my word that you'll walk away with the necklace. i believe family is important and heirlooms should be kept and not sold away."

you swallowed, "alright then, mister leclec. you may kiss me."

he chuckled and broke out into a boyish grin, "your little fiance wasted such potential." he moved hair out of your eyes, "but don't worry, oiseau, you'll spread your wings and go to new heights with me." then kissed you gently on the lips.

and then into the night, you left your old life behind. thoughts of your ex fiance were pushed into the back of your mind as charles buckled you into the seat and kissed you on the forehead with such a tenderness that it was hard to believe both of his knuckles were covered in blood and bruised. <3

tbc?

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zealousfurykryptonite · 1 year

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logansargeantsbabymom · 1 month

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Las Vegas SMAUs

Grid x Fem!Reader

A/N: I totally lied to you guys. I thought about this idea since I'm vacationing here in Vegas and I HAD to do this and post it! I also haven't posted a SMAU in a while so enjoy!

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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F1 & F2 Masterlist

Logan Sargeant:

The club was a whirlwind of flashing lights and thumping bass. Logan Sargeant and I were relishing our rare night out, the high energy of the club contrasting sharply with the intensity of race weekends. We were at a VIP table, enjoying the night when I noticed a drunken man stumbling our way. He was clearly inebriated, his movements erratic as he navigated the crowd.

He stumbled up to our table, his eyes squinting as he focused on Logan. “Hey, bro,” he slurred loudly, drawing attention from nearby tables. “What’s with the arm candy? She’s probably just here for the perks. You know, the money and stuff.”

I tried to ignore the comment, hoping it was just drunken nonsense that would pass. Logan’s face, however, flushed with visible irritation. “Hey, man, can you keep it down?” he asked, attempting to defuse the situation with a calm but firm tone.

But the man was relentless. “Seriously,” he continued, leaning in and jabbing a finger in Logan’s direction. “She’s a trophy girlfriend. You’re the fool for thinking she actually cares about you.”

Logan’s patience snapped. He stood up abruptly, his face a mask of controlled rage. “That’s enough!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the music. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The man responded with a drunken shove, which sent Logan stumbling back into the table. Logan’s anger boiled over, and he lunged forward, shoving the man back. The situation deteriorated rapidly. The drunkard, enraged, retaliated, and within moments, they were on the floor, trading blows. The club’s atmosphere shifted from lively to chaotic, with patrons crowding around and whipping out their phones to capture the scene.

The club’s security team, alerted by the uproar, rushed over. The bouncers struggled to separate the two men amidst the spilled drinks and scattered debris. I followed the commotion to a small, dimly lit back room where Logan was being held. His face was a mixture of frustration and remorse as he paced back and forth.

“I just couldn’t stand by and let him talk about you like that,” Logan said, his voice trembling with regret.

I handed over the bail money to the officer, my hands shaking slightly. “I know you were trying to defend me, but we need to be more cautious. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere more low-key.”

The officer uncuffed Logan, and we quickly exited the back room, avoiding the remaining crowd as we left the club and sought a quieter place to regroup.

Lando Norris:

The casino was abuzz with activity, the clinking of chips and murmurs of excitement filling the air. Lando Norris and I were at one of the high-stakes poker tables, deeply engrossed in the game when a rowdy guest at a nearby table began making disparaging remarks.

The man’s voice cut through the noise of the casino, slurred and obnoxious. “Hey, look at her,” he called out, his gaze locked on me. “She’s probably just here to use you. All this is just a front.”

I felt a rush of discomfort but tried to ignore him, hoping he would tire of his behavior. But he continued, his comments growing increasingly personal. “Seriously,” he said, his voice growing louder. “She’s a gold-digger. You’re just a fool if you think she’s with you for any other reason.”

Lando’s face turned a deep shade of red. His jaw clenched as he tried to control his anger. “Can you keep your mouth shut?” he snapped, but the man’s taunts only escalated. “You’re pathetic, mate,” he continued. “She’s just using you for the money.”

Unable to hold back any longer, Lando stood up abruptly. “That’s enough!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the casino’s cacophony. He shoved the man, who staggered backward before lunging at Lando. The two men clashed in the middle of the casino floor, exchanging punches and grappling fiercely.

The crowd around us quickly swelled, with many pulling out their phones to record the spectacle. Chips flew, and the poker game was abruptly abandoned as patrons turned their attention to the unfolding drama. Security arrived promptly, but it took several minutes for them to separate Lando and the man, who were both covered in scratches and bruises.

I rushed to the security office, my heart pounding as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Lando Norris,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Lando, visibly shaken and with a mixture of frustration and regret on his face, looked at me. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” he said, rubbing his sore knuckles.

The officer uncuffed him, and I led Lando out of the casino, away from the curious onlookers and the chaos, in hopes of finding a quieter place to calm down and enjoy the rest of our evening.

Charles Leclerc:

The hotel lobby was a haven of luxury and calm, a stark contrast to the scene that was about to unfold. Charles Leclerc and I were relaxing in the plush seating area, enjoying a moment of peace after a hectic day. The tranquility was shattered when a drunk guest began making loud, derogatory comments.

“Hey, look at her,” the guest said loudly, his voice carrying across the lobby. “She’s probably just here for the perks. What a joke.”

Charles’s face tightened with irritation. I could see the anger building in his eyes. I tried to stay calm, hoping the man would back off. But the guest continued, growing bolder with each comment. “Seriously, man,” he said, leaning closer, “she’s just here for your money. You’re fooling yourself if you think she’s actually interested in you.”

Charles’s patience wore thin. “You need to stop!” he shouted, standing up with a mixture of anger and determination. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The confrontation escalated quickly. The guest shoved Charles, and Charles responded by shoving him back. The lobby, once a serene escape, was now filled with chaos as the two men clashed. Guests looked on in shock, some pulling out their phones to capture the altercation.

Security arrived promptly, intervening to separate Charles and the guest. The atmosphere was electric with excitement as the crowd buzzed with whispers and recordings. I followed them to the security office, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money.

“I’m here to bail out Charles Leclerc,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Charles looked at me with a mixture of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said, his voice filled with regret.

The officer uncuffed Charles, and I guided him out of the office. “Let’s go back to our room and try to put this behind us,” I suggested, hoping to salvage what was left of the evening.

Carlos Sainz:

The high roller suite was the epitome of luxury and relaxation, but that changed abruptly when a drunken guest began making derogatory remarks. Carlos Sainz and I were enjoying the opulent surroundings when the guest’s behavior grew increasingly obnoxious.

“Hey, look at her,” the guest slurred, his voice cutting through the suite’s refined atmosphere. “She’s probably just here for the money. What a joke.”

Carlos’s expression went from relaxed to visibly angry. “Can you keep it down?” he asked, trying to avoid a confrontation. But the guest’s comments grew more personal. “Seriously, mate,” he continued, “she’s just a trophy for you. You’re a fool for thinking otherwise.”

Carlos’s patience snapped. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated. The guest shoved Carlos, who pushed back, and within moments, they were grappling on the floor of the luxurious suite. The suite, once a haven of elegance, was now a battleground. Security arrived, struggling to separate the two as the crowd of high-rollers looked on, many recording the scene with their phones.

I followed them to the security office, my heart pounding as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Carlos Sainz,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Carlos looked at me with a mix of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this far,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Carlos, and I guided him out of the office. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy the rest of our night,” I suggested, hoping to salvage what was left of our evening.

Daniel Ricciardo:

The Strip was alive with its characteristic energy and noise, but that vibrancy took a turn for the worse when a drunken tourist began making crude comments about me. Daniel Ricciardo and I were strolling along the famous street, taking in the sights and sounds, when the tourist’s behavior became intolerable.

“Hey,” the tourist called out, his voice slurring. “Are you just looking for a sugar daddy?”

Daniel’s mood shifted from relaxed to visibly tense. “Please, just stop,” he said, trying to defuse the situation. But the tourist continued, growing bolder. “Seriously, mate,” he persisted, “she’s just here for the money. You’re a fool if you think she actually likes you.”

Daniel’s anger was palpable. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the tourist. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation escalated quickly. The tourist shoved Daniel, who responded by shoving him back. The confrontation turned into a physical altercation, with the two men trading blows on the sidewalk. A crowd quickly gathered, with many pulling out their phones to record the fight.

The police arrived swiftly, intervening to separate Daniel and the tourist. The crowd buzzed with excitement as the officers dealt with the situation. I made my way to the police car, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Daniel Ricciardo,” I said.

Daniel looked at me, his face a mix of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said, rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had been.

The officer uncuffed Daniel, and I guided him away from the chaos. “Let’s get out of here and find somewhere quieter,” I suggested, hoping to end the night on a better note.

Lewis Hamilton:

The upscale bar was supposed to be a retreat from the hectic pace of Las Vegas, but that changed abruptly when a drunken guest began making disrespectful comments. Lewis Hamilton and I were enjoying our time at the bar, savoring the luxury and ambiance when the guest’s behavior took a turn.

“Hey,” he called out loudly, slurring his words. “What’s she doing with you? She’s probably just a gold-digger.”

Lewis' face tightened with anger. “Please, stop,” he said, trying to ignore the comments. But the guest didn’t relent. “Seriously,” he continued, “she’s just here for the money. You’re a fool if you think she actually likes you.”

Lewis' anger flared. “That’s enough!” he shouted, standing up with visible frustration. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated. The guest shoved Lewis, who responded by pushing back. The upscale bar, once a sanctuary of peace, turned chaotic. Security rushed in, attempting to separate the two as patrons pulled out their phones to capture the scene.

I followed Lewis to the security office, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Lewis Hamilton,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Lewis looked at me, frustration and regret evident in his eyes. “I didn’t want things to get this out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Lewis, and I guided him out of the office. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy the rest of our night,” I suggested.

Oscar Piastri:

The lively atmosphere of Fremont Street was a stark contrast to the chaos that unfolded when a drunken spectator began making crude remarks about me. Oscar Piastri and I were enjoying the vibrant street scene when the spectator’s comments grew increasingly obnoxious.

“Hey,” he yelled, his voice slurred and loud. “What’s with her? She’s probably just a gold-digger!”

Oscar’s face shifted from cheerful to furious. “Please stop,” he said, trying to avoid a confrontation. But the spectator was relentless. “Seriously,” he continued, “you’re just flaunting her around like a trophy. What a joke.”

Oscar’s anger flared. “That’s enough!” he shouted, pushing the spectator away. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The argument quickly escalated into a physical altercation. The spectator, caught off guard, retaliated, and soon they were engaged in a full-blown fight. The crowd on Fremont Street gathered around, many of them recording the commotion on their phones.

The police arrived quickly, separating Oscar and the spectator. I approached the officer, my voice steady but my heart racing. “I’m here to bail out Oscar Piastri,” I said, handing over the bail money.

Oscar looked at me, a mix of anger and regret in his eyes. “I didn’t want things to get this out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Oscar, and I took his arm as we left. “Let’s get out of here and find somewhere quieter,” I suggested, hoping to leave the chaos behind us.

George Russell:

The luxury pool party was supposed to be a highlight of our trip, but a drunk guest’s comments soon ruined the evening. George Russell and I were lounging by the pool when the guest began making loud, derogatory remarks.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice dripping with mockery. “Look at her. She’s probably just here for the free drinks and a rich boyfriend. What a cliché.”

George’s face darkened. “Can you keep it to yourself?” he asked, trying to remain calm. But the guest didn’t stop. “Seriously, mate,” he continued. “She’s just a trophy. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.”

Unable to stay quiet, George stood up. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!” he shouted.

The situation escalated quickly. The guest shoved George, who pushed back, and the confrontation turned physical. Security intervened, and the party-goers began recording the drama. George was soon escorted away in handcuffs, while the crowd buzzed with excitement.

I approached the security office, my heart racing. “I’m here to bail out George Russell,” I said, handing over the bail money.

George looked at me with a mixture of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said.

The officer uncuffed him, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and try to salvage what’s left of our night,” I suggested.

Lance Stroll:

The exclusive lounge was meant to be a relaxing escape, but it turned into chaos when a disrespectful guest started making lewd comments about me. Lance Stroll and I were enjoying a quiet drink when the guest’s remarks took a turn.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said loudly, “are you just here for the rich guy? What a cliché.”

Lance’s face turned red with anger. “Please stop,” he said, trying to defuse the situation. But the guest didn’t relent. “Seriously,” he continued. “She’s probably just a gold-digger. You’re pathetic for thinking otherwise.”

Lance’s patience snapped. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The argument quickly escalated into a physical confrontation. Security arrived, separating Lance and the guest while patrons began recording the scene. Lance was handcuffed and escorted away, and the lounge buzzed with excitement.

I approached the security office, handing over the bail money with a sigh. “I’m here to bail out Lance Stroll,” I said.

Lance looked at me, clearly frustrated. “I didn’t want things to get out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Lance, and I took his arm as we left. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy the rest of our night,” I suggested.

Max Verstappen:

The luxury restaurant was meant to be a serene dining experience, but a rude patron’s comments quickly shattered the calm. Max Verstappen and I were enjoying a quiet dinner when the guest’s remarks began to pierce through the ambiance.

“Hey, look at her,” the guest said loudly, “she’s probably just here for a free meal and a rich boyfriend. How cliché.”

Max’s face turned from relaxed to enraged. “Can you keep your comments to yourself?” he asked, trying to stay calm. But the guest continued. “Seriously, man,” he sneered. “She’s just a gold-digger. What a joke.”

Max’s patience snapped. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!” he shouted, confronting the guest.

The situation quickly escalated. Max shoved the guest, who retaliated, and before long, they were grappling on the floor. Security intervened swiftly, and the restaurant’s patrons began recording the altercation. Max was soon escorted away in handcuffs, while the restaurant buzzed with excitement.

I approached the security office, my heart racing. “I’m here to bail out Max Verstappen,” I said, handing over the bail money.

Max looked at me, a mix of anger and regret in his eyes. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Max, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and enjoy the rest of our evening,” I suggested.

Pierre Gasly:

The exotic car showroom was a spectacle of luxury and opulence, but it turned chaotic when a rude guest began making derogatory comments about me. Pierre Gasly and I were admiring the cars when the guest’s remarks took a turn.

“Hey,” he said loudly, “look at her. She’s probably just here to find a rich guy. What a joke.”

Pierre’s face tightened with anger. “Can you stop?” he said, trying to ignore the comments. But the guest persisted. “Seriously,” he continued, “she’s just a gold-digger. You’re a fool for thinking otherwise.”

Pierre’s anger flared. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated into a physical confrontation. Security intervened, and the showroom’s patrons began recording the drama. Pierre was soon escorted away in handcuffs, and the crowd buzzed with excitement.

I approached the security office, handing over the bail money with a sigh. “I’m here to bail out Pierre Gasly,” I said.

Pierre looked at me with frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Pierre, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy what’s left of our night,” I suggested.

Arthur Leclerc:

The rooftop bar was a high-end retreat with stunning views, but it took a turn for the worse when a drunk guest began making crude comments. Arthur Leclerc and I were enjoying the evening when the guest’s behavior became increasingly obnoxious.

“Hey,” the guest slurred loudly, “look at her. She’s probably just here for the free drinks and a rich boyfriend. What a cliché.”

Arthur’s patience wore thin. “Can you keep it down?” he asked, trying to defuse the situation. But the guest continued. “Seriously, man,” he persisted. “She’s just a trophy girlfriend. You’re a fool if you think she actually cares about you.”

Arthur’s anger flared. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated. The guest shoved Arthur, who retaliated, and before long, they were on the floor, grappling fiercely. The rooftop bar, once a serene escape, was now filled with chaos. Security arrived, attempting to separate the two as patrons recorded the altercation on their phones.

I followed Arthur to the security office, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Arthur Leclerc,” I said.

Arthur looked at me with a mix of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Arthur, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy what’s left of our night,” I suggested.

Paul Aron:

The high roller lounge in the casino was meant to be a luxurious experience, but it turned chaotic when a drunken guest began making derogatory remarks about me. Paul Aron and I were enjoying the exclusive atmosphere when the guest’s comments took a turn.

“Hey,” the guest slurred loudly, “look at her. She’s probably just here for the rich guy. What a cliché.”

Paul’s face turned red with anger. “Please, stop,” he said, trying to ignore the comments. But the guest didn’t relent. “Seriously, mate,” he continued. “She’s just a trophy girlfriend. You’re a fool for thinking otherwise.”

Paul’s patience snapped. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated. The guest shoved Paul, who retaliated, and before long, they were grappling on the floor. The high roller lounge, once a haven of luxury, was now filled with chaos. Security arrived, struggling to separate the two as patrons recorded the scene with their phones.

I followed Paul to the security office, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Paul Aron,” I said.

Paul looked at me with a mix of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Paul, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and try to salvage the rest of our evening,” I suggested.

----------------

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lustlovehart · 3 months

Text

Bet It All

Paring: Aventurine x Reader

Summary: [Angst] Being with you is possibly the biggest gamble he’ll ever take. It may also be the only gamble he’ll come to forever mull over as well.

It’s hard to get past Aventurine's barrier, he’s difficult to properly discern. But, the moment you finally do, Aeons does he hate it. Letting you into such a scared part of his heart, he knows just how big of a gamble doing such a thing is.

Even as you assure him of your love for him, in the back of his trembling hand, the one he always keeps securely tucked behind his back, he will always know of the risk he is taking having you so close to him.

“Aventurine, is something wrong? You’ve just been looking at me this whole time…” The sun from the planets hit you in all the right spots, highlighting the way you hug onto the pillow nicely.

Sometimes, he forgets you’re not a pretty chip he gambled, you, in fact, did not come from the casino, but from somewhere far worse.

Reality.

He doesn’t answer your question, only falling back into the mattress and looking at you. Looking at you through brown contacts.

Yet another gamble he took on you. He wonders sometimes, just how long it’ll take till that poker face of his decides to break.

“How long do you plan on keeping that partner of yours in the dark, gambler? It won’t be long before they catch onto your ruse and look at you with hurt instead of reverence.”

The doctor’s right, he knew that before he had even told him. But, a little lie is always found in words, so, let him have this.

“What, are you just gonna keep staring…? Fine… if you’re not gonna talk I'm going back to sleep.” it doesn’t take long before you’ve dozed back into slumber. His finger leans in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s all or nothing.”

He’s a gambler. They take risks like these to get the jackpot. They bet what they must to get their fortune.

So why is it, that even though he’s wagered everything he can give, he’s scared to give you more of him. He doesn’t want such a high-stakes trade going wrong, and you run away with the bits of his humanity left.

Love is a gamble. So, as he lays there with your body in his, he hopes he’s won something, if not all, just a little.

Risking his life, is so much more bearable than losing his heart. And there’s not much more of that left, so don’t be a loss he must suffer.

The finger that strokes your face is caught between your hand, the color of your pupils peeking through the lids of your eyes.

“I hope you’re willing to tell me what’s wrong now Aventurine.”

A/n: Call me crazy, but Aventurine didn’t strike my fancy until I read this one fic that made my perspective of him change, so this is just a little experiment on how I decide to characterize him in the future

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #vesconcepts #vesperwrites #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #hsr angst #honkai star rail angst

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whxtedreams · 21 days

Text

Familiar yet Foreign

A Din Djarin x f!reader oneshot

Summary: In the depths of Canto Bight, you find something you thought you lost; his trust.

Written for @burntheedges roll-a-trope challenge - my trope was fake dating/marriage.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags: fake marriage, untrustworthy reader, mentions of past injury, one bed hehe, protective!din, unwanted male attention, fear of loss, handcuffs, thief!reader.

Main masterlist - series masterlist

Canto Bight, the infamous, glitzy gambling hub, was a paradox.

On one hand, it was no place for a thief like you. With security cameras, guards and wealthy patrons on high alert.

On the other hand, the place was ripe for a skilled crook like yourself. With the promise of hefty winnings on the casino floors and in private games, temptation was everywhere. The dimly lit alleys and extravagant parties provided perfect cover for those with the expertise and daring to take advantage of the high-stakes environment.

In a way, Canto Bight was both forbidden territory and an opportunity waiting to be seized.

The only problem was you had made a promise to the Mandalorian you were traveling with.

The Mandalorian, or rather, Mando, had stood in front of you where he had sat you on a crate on his ship earlier that day. His arms crossed over his chest. The glare you knew he gave you, hidden behind the helmet.

"Listen," he said, "you're going to sit here and you're going to stay out of my way. You're not going to cause any trouble, not going to bring any attention to yourself. You're going to stay right here. Got it?" His voice was cold and unwavering and his stance made it clear that the matter was non-negotiable.

You had waited ten minutes after he left before you left.

There was too much to see and steal after all.

The city was a sprawling, pulsating beast by night. The dimly lit alleyways and shadowy rooftops were your playground as you navigated discreetly through the city. You moved like a ghost, flitting from one venue to another. From the lavish cantinas to the high-rolling casinos. Your fingers were nimble and sure, plucking riches from the hands of the wealthy as easily as if they were picking ripe fruit.

You had missed this, the thrill and adrenaline of a thief's life.

Mando was like a jailer recently, keeping you caged on his ship. He had refused to let you leave for months. The reason was clear - your error. It wasn't just a simple slip-up; it had led to an injury that had stained both Mando’s and your hands with your own blood. It had caused the bounty hunter's protective instincts to kick in. He was determined to keep you under his watchful eye, his actions both a punishment and a precaution. The atmosphere on the ship had turned heavy with tension, the silence broken only by the hum of the engines and the occasional sigh or muttered curse from the stoic warrior.

He used to talk to you, used to seek out your company.

It had been months since a conversation lasted more than five seconds.

You felt so lonely.

The air of Canto Bight was like a drug, a potent mix of excitement, opulence, and thrill. It was just what you had been craving. The atmosphere was electric, the glitz and glamor everywhere you looked. The streets were filled with people eager to gamble, party, and seek out adventure. The promise of a good time and the chance to escape your mind was intoxicating and you found yourself drawn in like an Alderaan furry moth to a flame.

You were navigating the cramped, labyrinthine ventilation shafts as you tried to avoid detection of the guards. They had thrown you into the trash filled back alley as you tried to enter the high states casino. It was a risky move, but you had done it many times before.

You were skilled at getting into places you shouldn’t be in after all.

However, this time, your luck ran out the moment you crawled out of the vent and made a turn into a narrow corridor. Unknown to you, the hallway was not empty. You turned the corner and head butted into a solid, metallic surface. As you looked up, blinking in surprise, you realized with a pang of dread that you had head butted Beskar.

Mando.

Shit.

"I can explain," you said. The words tumbled from your mouth in a rush as Mando’s gloved hand grabbed hold of your wrist.

“We can talk about that later. I need you.” He said.

You trailed behind Mando, your footsteps echoed softly in the dimly lit corridors. The music from the cantina below was a distant, booming pulse. Its sound muffled by the thick walls but still strong enough to fill the air. The occasional glimpses of flashing lights spilled out through the doors you passed and it painted the floors in a deep purple hue, providing the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark and ominous hallway. You could feel the tension in the air and the Mandalorian's steps ahead of you seemed purposeful.

Mando came to a sudden halt in front of a guard that stood in front of large golden double doors. His hand that had been grasping your wrist just moments before moved to rest on your spine. You felt a slight pressure, a silent command to stay put. You looked up at Mando, confusion and curiosity in your eyes as you tried to puzzle out his actions.

“Mywife,” Mando said.

His what?

Before you could open your mouth to voice your confusion, Mando’s hand gave a sharp tug at your shirt and pulled you against his chest. The sudden movement caught you off guard and you stumbled into him, your back now pressed firmly against the cool Beskar. The question that had been forming on your lips died on your tongue as you felt the solid presence of the warrior behind you.

The guard looked you over, his expression skeptical as he took in your bewildered face. He raised an eyebrow and directed his attention back to Mando, his tone unimpressed. "You sure about that?" he said.

“It’s new,” Mando replied.

“Very new,” you said.

Your gaze shifted from the guard's face, which was locked in an intense, one-sided staring contest with the Beskar helmet behind you. To your left, a framed sign on the wall caught your eye. It was a gaudy, overblown declaration advertising a casino room beyond was open to married couples only.

Oh.

“My wife and I would like to play Sabacc. Now.”

The guard sighed.

“Fine, but one wrong move and I will throw you out. Mandalorian or not.” The guard grumbled as he opened the door for you to step through.

Mando steered you through the threshold of the doors and into the crowded, lively room beyond. Round tables were strategically placed throughout the space, each occupied by couples absorbed in either their game or live Fathier Racing holograms. Groups of people roamed the floor as they moved from table to table, eagerly watching the games and races unfold. Along the walls, secluded booths provided intimate spaces for groups of people, their conversations hidden behind the low, padded barriers. The air was thick with tension and excitement. The hum of chatter and the clink of credits filled your ears.

Credits to steal.

“I can feel your fingers twitching.” Mando said.

You stole a glance at Mando. His helmet faced away from you as he scanned the room. His gaze moved from table to table, taking in every detail just as you had but for an entirely different reason. His hand was still pressed firmly against your back, its weight a constant reminder of his presence. It was familiar yet foreign. You could feel the slight tension in his touch, the subtle way his fingers pressed through the fabric of your shirt. A silent signal for you to stay close.

You clenched your fists tightly, the action a meager attempt to control the tension that coursed through your body. Your fingers dug into your palms as Mando turned his helmet to look down at you. You could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, even through the visor of his helmet. You took a deep, steadying breath, maintaining the neutral expression on your face despite the hammering of your heart against your ribcage.

"Are you going to behave?" The low hum of his voice behind the modulator sent a shiver down your spine as he spoke. You swallowed hard, struggling to find your voice as you nodded stiffly in response.

“Always.”

He scoffed; the sound muffled through the modulator in his helmet. His hand tightened in your shirt as he gripped the fabric firmly.

“I don’t need a repeat of last time.”

Despite the gruff and frustrated tone in his voice, there was a hint of gentleness in the way this hand smoothed the fabric of your shirt, his touch surprisingly careful. With his guidance, he led you to an empty booth at the back of the room. The dim lighting provided a secluded area away from the main gambling tables. You could sense the tension in his stance, the controlled strength and power coiled beneath his armor. As he motioned for you to sit, his presence loomed over you like a shadow.

As you settled yourself on the cold metal bench of the booth, Mando’s voice cut through the hum of the casino. "If I tell you to stay, will you?" His visor was trained on you, the purple dim lights above the booth casted shadows across his already intimidating visage.

You nodded.

He shifted his weight and rested his hands on his hips. He then cocked his head to the side, his gaze locked onto you. He exhaled, the sound a deep, mechanical huff, as if he were gathering his thoughts or summoning some inner strength.

With a swift, practiced movement, Mando unclipped a pair of cuffs and secured one around your wrist. You felt the cold metal pinch against your skin, the sound of the click as the cuff locked into place. Without a second thought, he attached the other cuff to the heavy table leg, effectively tethering you to the booth.

“You understand why I don’t trust you?”

You nodded again.

Because you do. You really do.

Once you were secured to the booth, Mando leaned in close. The cold, hard surface of his helmet mere inches from your face. In a low, firm voice, he informed you that he would return once he had acquired the information he needed or captured the bounty he was hunting. The weight of his words and the situation's gravity settled over you like a leaden blanket as he took a step back, his figure disappearing into the crowd of gamblers.

So, there you sat, bound to the booth. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. You could have easily slipped free the cuffs and you knew Mando was aware of this fact as well. This waiting game was a test, a trial to see if you could be trusted again. If you had the discipline and restraint to stay put despite the temptation to flee.

You waited for him.

Around the two hour mark a burly Weequay pushed his way into the booth beside you. The weight of his body caused the metal bench to creak and groan under his weight. He settled into the space with a smirk, his eyes scanned you up and down with a leery gaze.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you said.

"You here all alone?” The Weequay leaned back, his arm slid over the back of the booth and came to rest behind you with a casual familiarity that immediately set your nerves on edge. He chuckled softly as his eyes lingered on your bound wrist. “And handcuffed?” His other hand reached for your bound wrist.

Just as you were about to snap a retort at the Weequay, a deep shadow fell over the booth. Your eyes instinctively lifted to find the source. In front of you stood the imposing figure of the Mandalorian, every inch of his body radiated tension and anger. His hands were clenched tightly by his sides, his stance wide and aggressive, as if he was barely holding himself back.

The Weequay's face twisted into a frown as he turned around, his gaze locked onto the imposing figure behind him. The cocky expression fell from his face and he visibly tensed, his body jolted in surprise at the sight of the armored warrior. He swallowed hard; his confidence vanished like smoke in the wind.

"If you want to leave with your hand attached," he stated, each word punctuated clearly, "I suggest you take your hand off my wife." Mando's voice was as cold and hard as the Beskar he wore, the threat in his words clear and unequivocal.

The Weequay's eyes widened in surprise at the term "my wife," and his head whipped over to look at you. He stuttered over his words, his eyes darted between you and the Mandalorian. He hastily slid out of the booth; his apologies spilled out of his mouth in a rush as he took in the sight of the furious Mandalorian towered over him. In a heartbeat, he turned on his heel and scurried away, disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he left; you could see the tension in Mando’s shoulders relax. In his hand was a drink, the condensation on the outside of the glass glinted in the casino lights. With a nod, he placed the drink on the table beside you. The liquid within beckoned to you, the cool, cold condensation a tantalizing promise of relief. You practically lunged for the drink, your parched throat relishing the cool liquid as you downed it all in one gulp.

“Your wife, huh?” You smiled as you put the empty cup on the table.

After watching you practically inhale the drink as if dying of thirst, Mando bent down as he ignored you. With a swift motion, he unlocked the cuff around your wrist and freed you from the booth. He then stood straight again; his gaze fixed on you.

“Got the information I needed. We can head back to the Crest.” He said as you rose from the booth.

Mando’s reaction was instant as you reached out and grabbed his wrist, his body jolted at the unexpected touch. He turned back to face you.

“What?”

You looked up at him, your hand still wrapped around his wrist and suggested, "What if we get a room? With an actual bed, maybe?"

He stared at you.

“I may have stolen enough credits, so I can pay for it myself?”

His visor betrayed no reaction, but his body seemed to tense beneath your hold. Then, he nodded.

Mando seemed to consider your suggestion for a moment before he spoke, his voice gruff beneath the modulator. "Fine," he said, the word coming out as a reluctant agreement. He then adjusted his grip, his fingers wrapping around your wrist instead. "But only because you didn't run off," he added as he pointed his finger at you, a note of subtle approval in his tone.

As he pivoted on his heel and began to lead you through the casino, you couldn't help but smile to yourself. There was a sense of triumph in the way he tugged you along, your hand encircled by his sturdy grip. The sound of the casino faded into the background as you followed him through the corridors and to the lobby.

The moment Mando reached the counter, he reached out and rang the bell. After a moment, the guard from earlier emerged from the back room, his expression a mix of tiredness and irritation. The guard let out a long sigh, leaning heavily on the counter as he recognized the armored figure before him.

"Two rooms," Mando said. With a flick of his hand, he tossed a small stack of credits you stole onto the counter and it clattered against the hard surface.

The guard darted from the credits to Mando’s helmet and raised his eyebrows. “Two rooms?” He asked.

Mando remained still as he stared at the guard.

"Now, why would a husband and wife need two rooms?" he sneered, a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. The guard crossed his arms across his chest, as if challenging the Mandalorian's response. The tension in the air thickened as he stared at the guard, his grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly.

“One. Room.” Mando said and you felt the anger radiate off him.

The guard raised an eyebrow at Mando's tone, seemingly surprised by the man's demeanor, but he quickly snatched the credits from the counter and handed Mando one room key.

With a swift, almost violent motion, Mando snatched the key and remaining credits from the counter. The guard's fingers barely moved out of the way in time.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind you with a soft click and a sense of isolation enveloped you that you noticed Mando's shoulders relax again. His rigid stance loosened as if shedding the tension that had been weighing heavily upon him. The dim lighting of the room cast dramatic shadows across his armor, but for a moment, in the quiet of the room, he looked less like an intimidating warrior and more like a man struggling to hold onto his composure.

He walked past you, his movements purposeful and measured and made his way to the chair in the corner of the room. He spoke as he sat down, the sound of the chair creaked slightly under his weight as he folded his arms. "I'll take the chair," he stated, his voice flat and matter of fact. He leaned back in the chair, the metal of his armor clinked against the wood.

You sat down on the edge of the bed closest to him, the springs of the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. You looked over at Mando seated in the chair he had claimed as his own. "I'm sorry," you said.

His helmet flicked up to glance at you, but other than that he didn't move.

You sighed.

“I’m sorry you can’t trust me like I want you to.”

“I did trust you.”

You looked up at him and nodded slowly.

“I trusted you to trust me and you-” he stopped himself with a deep sigh and shook his head, “Do you know I still find your blood in the Crest?”

Your eyes closed involuntarily as shameful memories flooded your mind. Flashes of his shaking hands on your bloody body in the dimly lit corner of the Crest. The memories played out in quick, vivid snapshots, like photos being shuffled in a deck of cards. The sound of his angry, raised voice echoed in your head. Its volume and intensity were a stark contrast to his usual collected and calm demeanor. His hands tearing at your clothes to get to your injuries. His hands holding you down as you cried. Your cold body drenched in your own blood. His cries as he held you. You could almost feel the fear that oozed from him, a fear you had never seen in him before, and it terrified you more than your injury had.

“I can’t see you like that again,” he said.

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes again, the memories still lingered like ghosts in the back of your mind. Without uttering a word, you nodded in acknowledgment.

You turned away from him, your focus shifted to the bed that seemed too large and too empty for just you. The words "Sleep with me?" left your lips before you could second-guess yourself, your voice almost a whisper in the quiet room.

“What?”

“I miss you Mando. I won’t touch you, I just - miss you.”

Without a word, he stood from the chair.

Mando did not take his armor off like he used to. He did not slip under the covers, instead laid on top of the sheets. He did not hold you close to his chest like he had for countless months.

The distance was palpable; not just the space between your bodies, but also the distance between the connection you once shared.

Instead, you found yourself clutching the soft fabric of his cloak in your hands as you laid beside him. The scent of him that had once seemed soothing and comforting was muted by the metallic smell of his armor. Fatigue tugged at your eyelids, your mind teetering on the edge of sleep as you held onto his cloak. The bed seemed too large, too desolate without his embrace.

He was so close yet so far.

Familiar yet foreign.

As you were on the verge of that sweet surrender of sleep, his arm moved around your waist and pulled you gently closer to him. His touch was unexpected, his movements cautious yet deliberate. Your body slotted against his armored form, the cold touch of his armor against your skin a sharp contrast to the unexpected warmth that spread through you at the contact.

“Can I trust you? Will you trust me to keep you safe? Because I can’t see you like that again and I need to know if I can trust you to listen to me when it matters most,” he said. You could hear the strain in his usually calm and collected voice. The underlying hint of fear in his tone.

You nodded into his side, the strength of his grip on your waist a comfort. You had no intention of leaving his side again, the memories of his angry voice and shaky hands was still fresh in your mind. You wanted to stay close to him, for him to trust you in the way he once had.

He nodded as he sat up in the bed, his movements methodical and practiced. You silently watched as he began to remove his armor, each piece came off with a series of clicks and scrapes as he unclasped and untethered the Beskar from his body.

He left his armor stacked neatly on the chair; each piece placed with a level of care. Then, he returned to the bed, the mattress dipped slightly as he slid under the sheets. His body warm against yours.

You could have cried.

You did cry.

The warmth of his bare hand against your stomach as he pulled your back against his chest emanated more than just physical comfort. The solidity of his body against yours was a reminder that he was there with you. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers splayed over your stomach in a way that suggested he was afraid of letting go. You sank back into his embrace, the steady beat of his heart against your back a soothing lullaby you had not been able to sleep without.

You weren't alone anymore.

Notes

Did I stay on track of fake marriage? Maybe? – listen I tried. I sat down to try and write this three times and scrapped it three times before I finally stuck with this. But regardless, I had a lot of fun doing this! I haven’t necessarily written in the Star Wars universe before, only AU’s with Din so this was very intimidating. I did, however, like writing it. It was just scary because I didn’t want to describe something incorrectly or not write it correctly?

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando x you #mando x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian

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cheesestakespoker · 1 year

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POKER ONLINE AT CHEESE STAKES POKER- Online Poker

#online poker #poker #poker face #poker game #high stakes pokereality #pokeronline #casino #gambling #blackjack #the poker house #cheesestakespoker #texas holdem

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spencerreidswhore187 · 8 months

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Statistically Speaking

Summary: One drunken night, whilst undercover in Vegas, you and your least favourite colleague, Spencer Reid, accidentally get married.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x g!n Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

T/W: Mentions of alcohol and guns

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The neon lights of Las Vegas blurred as the night unfolded. Undercover on a high-stakes case, you and Spencer Reid—your arch-nemesis—found yourselves thrown into the midst of the city's wild energy. For some unknown reason, the two of you had never got on. You were always fighting, arguing and trying to sabotage the other. Well, unknown to Spencer. You only hated him because he made it clear how much he didn't like you from day one - not that you’d ever admit it.

The team had sent you to a casino, undercover as a couple, trying to get a lead on an arms dealer. Instead, you ended up drowning your frustrations and differences in drinks. The night was a whirlwind of laughter, shared secrets, and surprisingly genuine moments. The alcohol flowed freely, clouding your judgment. Before you knew it, you were stumbling back to your hotel room in the early hours of the morning.

Waking up with a pounding headache and a hazy memory, you groggily opened your eyes to find Spencer lying beside you.

“What-”

A flicker of panic surged through you as you noticed a glint on your finger. You held up your hand, squinting at the unexpected sight of a ring.

The band was adorned with small, twinkling crystals that encircled a modest yet sparkling diamond like a constellation.

"What the hell happened last night?" you muttered to yourself. The memories were fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be put together.

Spencer stirred beside you, rubbing his temples and blinking against the harsh light. His eyes widened as he slowly processed where the is and the ring on your finger. A moment of stunned silence passed between both of you before he spoke, his voice a mix of confusion and realisation.

"Did we... get married?”

As the weight of Spencer's words hung in the air, you exchanged bewildered glances, both attempting to unravel the mystery of the events that transpired the night before.

"I can't believe this," Spencer mumbled, his voice a mix of disbelief and mild panic. "We were undercover, trying to gather intel on that arms dealer. How did we end up married?”

Pieces of the previous night's escapade start to slowly come together in your mind. Flashes of laughter, clinking glasses, and a hasty decision made in the heat of the moment flood your memory. The realisation hit you both simultaneously, and a burst of nervous laughter escaped your lips.

"We might have, uh, taken the whole 'cover' thing a bit too far," you admit, a sheepish smile forming on your face.

Spencer runs a hand through his tousled hair. "This is... unexpected.”

The sound of urgent footsteps outside the hotel room door interrupted your awkward exchange. Both of you tensed.

"We need to figure out how to handle this," Spencer whispered to you. "But for now, let's focus on the mission. We can deal with the aftermath later.”

As Spencer finished his sentence, a knock echoed through the room. You exchanged a quick, determined glance before Spencer moved to answer the door.

It's the team - Hotch, Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia and JJ - ready to discuss the next steps in your undercover operation. Your mind races as you Spencer opens the door.

The team filed into the hotel room. Hotch surveyed the room with his usual intensity, immediately honing in on you and Spencer sitting side by side at the table near the bed. There's a momentary pause, a subtle shift in the atmosphere that doesn't go unnoticed. They know, you realised.

"Reid, Y/N, any new developments?" Hotch asked, his gaze lingering just a fraction longer than usual.

You and Spencer exchange a quick, almost imperceptible glance. Spencer, ever the master of composure, began discussing your latest findings and the potential leads in the case. The team, however, seemed more interested in the unusual dynamic in the room, enjoying the peace and quiet from your constant bickering. Morgan shot a knowing smirk at Rossi, and Prentiss raised an eyebrow, her perceptive gaze fixed on the two of you.

Garcia couldn’t help but interject with her trademark enthusiasm. "Lovebirds, got any post-mission plans? Maybe a little honeymoon action in the city of sin?”

Your cheeks flushed, and Spencer raised an eyebrow at Garcia's comment. The team's reactions ranged from amusement to curiosity. They exchanged glances, clearly aware something had happened between the two of you.

"Let's stay on track,” Hotch commanded. “Y/N, Reid, ensure you're maintaining cover without any compromises. We can address any personal matters once the case is closed.”

The case at hand revolved around an elusive arms dealer known for supplying weapons to various criminal organisations. The BAU had been tracking a series of illegal arms transactions across the country, all leading back to a shadowy figure with connections to international criminal networks.

The latest lead pointed to Las Vegas as the epicentre of the dealer's operations. The city's bustling nightlife, intricate web of contacts, and numerous potential buyers made it the perfect hub for illicit activities. The team suspected that the arms dealer was planning a significant deal that could have far-reaching consequences, possibly involving a dangerous new weapon on the market.

Your role, alongside Spencer, was to gather intel, getting as close to the operation as possible by posing as a couple interested in the arms trade.

“We have reason to believe the unsub will be dining at the Aurelia Elegante tonight,” said Prentiss.

“Garcia, can you get a booking there for tonight?” Asked Hotch.

Penelope tapped away on her laptop, giving the team a thumbs up after a few seconds.

“Y/N and Reid, you will both have earpieces and we’ll be waiting in the van around back. Do your best to blend it, do your best to interact with him without raising suspicion. Does everyone understand?”

The team nodded. As the door closed, leaving you and Spencer alone again, the weight of the situation settled in.

——————————

"You know," Spencer started adjusting his tie as you walked towards the entrance of the restaurant, "I never thought I'd have the pleasure of going on a fake date with my sworn enemy.”

"Enemy? Really, Reid? Isn't that a bit dramatic?" you retorted, rolling your eyes.

Spencer smirked, his eyes gleaming. "Just trying to keep things interesting. But don't worry, I'll make sure our marriage is the talk of the town.”

"Let's focus on the mission, shall we?" you replied, masking a smile. "And for the record, we’re arch-nemeses.”

He chuckled, a hint of amusement softening his usual seriousness. "We'll see about that.”

"You know, for someone who claims to have an IQ of 187, you're surprisingly lacking in social skills," you quipped, your eyes narrowing at Spencer.

He shot back with a sardonic grin. "Well, I'd rather be lacking in social skills than tact, Y/N.”

“Wow. You’re hilarious,” you deadpanned.

As you entered the restaurant, the conversation subsided. The team's instructions echoed in your earpieces, guiding you toward the unsub’s location.

Once seated, Spencer leaned in, his eyes glinting mischievously. "So, how do you think our fake dating story should go? High school sweethearts reunited by fate? A spontaneous, drunken wedding in Vegas?”

You scoffed, playing along. "More like sworn enemies forced into a twisted partnership."

His lips curled into a wry smile. “Ah, the classic love story.”

The waiter handed you both menus, and you shifted your focus to the task at hand. As you scanned the room, you caught sight of a figure entering the restaurant—a man whose demeanour exuded confidence and authority. You had spent endless nights awake researching the arms dealer and there was no mistaking that this was him.

Spencer discreetly nudged you, his eyes flicking toward the approaching figure. "Looks like our guest of honour just arrived.”

The arms dealer, known by the alias "Black Serpent," made his way through the restaurant, exchanging nods with select individuals. His presence commanded attention.

Maintaining your cover, you and Spencer continued your conversation, occasionally glancing in the unsubs direction. The challenge now was to find an opportune moment to engage him in a way that wouldn't raise suspicion.

As the evening unfolded, the tension in the air grew. The arms dealer seemed engrossed in discussions with his date, making it difficult to approach him discreetly. The team, monitoring the situation from a distance, communicated updates through your earpieces.

Finally, as dessert arrived, the unsub stood from his table.

There was a shared moment of silent understanding between you and Spencer. The team's voices hummed discreetly in your earpieces.

Hotch’s urgency pierced through the calm facade.

"Stay calm. We need to keep him here," Hotch advised.

Spencer, despite his usual composed demeanour, couldn’t hide the flicker of concern in his eyes.

The menus in your hands suddenly felt heavier, the challenge of keeping him engaged without raising suspicion became more critical with each passing second.

Hotch's voice broke through the static.

"You need to distract him. Find a way to keep him here," Hotch instructed, urgency lacing his words.

In a moment of panic, you discreetly slipped the ring off your finger and passed it to Spencer. He caught on instantly and, with a deft move, took the ring into his hand.

As the arms dealer starts to leave, Spencer seizes the opportunity, his face lighting up with a mix of charm and faux sincerity.

“Y/N, I have been waiting months to do this," Spencer said, dropping to one knee and holding out the engagement ring.

You play along, feigning shock and delight, covering your mouth with shaking hands.

A ripple of surprise moved through the surrounding tables as patrons shifted their attention to you and Spencer. Even the unsub paused, watching curiously to see how this turned out.

"Remember that time in Chicago when we stumbled upon that bookstore trying to get out of the rain? It didn’t matter that you were drenched, you were entranced by the old books. I watched you drag your finger across their old spines as you hummed to yourself. There was a small, beautiful smile on your face as if someone had told a joke only you were privy to. At that moment, I knew there was something truly special about you," Spencer continues, his eyes locked onto yours.

You had been on a case a year or two ago when that happened; you didn’t think that Spencer had remembered.

The surrounding tables become hushed as Spencer continued.

"I've witnessed you at your best and your worst, Y/N. Through it all, I have been nothing but enamoured by you. I-I love you, I always have. Even during our occasional bickering," he added, a playful smile playing on his lips. “Will you do me the honour of being my wife?”

"Yes," you responded, the word escaping your lips with a hint of genuine emotion. Momentarily, you forgot this was all fake, an act, a performance. Momentarily, you forgot that you and Spencer were not the only people in the room.

The boundaries between reality and the undercover performance started to blur, and a haze of uncertainty clouded your thoughts. In that split second, you had to keep reminding yourself that this was a charade. The charm in Spencer's eyes feels genuine, and for a heartbeat, you entertain the notion that he truly, truly loved you.

But then, reality came crashing down.

The earpiece buzzed with updates from the team, snapping you out of the fleeting illusion. You remembered the undercover mission, the arms dealer, and the necessity of the proposal diversion.

Amidst the applause and cheers from the surrounding tables, you play your part, feigning surprise and joy as Spencer slips the ring onto your finger.

Distracted, you watch the unsub start moving towards the exit. Spencer dropped several notes on the table and grabbed your hand as you two rushed off to follow him.

You and Spencer navigated the alleyway. There, at the end, the unsub had started a deal in a shadowy corner, several metres away from you.

Spencer pulled you close against him so you could discretely observe, waiting for the right moment to take him down.

You were still rattled by Spencer's words, his unexpected description of that rainy day in Chicago. There was this weird feeling in your stomach. You were shocked annoyed and irritated that you had been lost in the act. But the most confusing thing was that Spencer had not yet let go of your hand.

"That was quite the performance, boy genius. Didn't know you had it in you," you whispered, a teasing glint in your eyes.

Spencer smirked, "Well, necessity and whatnot, Y/N. And you played your part quite convincingly too.”

But the arms dealer must have heard you as he cocked his gun, aiming it towards you as he shouted “Who’s there?”

Spencer didn’t miss a beat; he grabbed your face, pressing his lips to yours. You didn’t hesitate, the kiss was unexpected but you knew what he was doing - keeping up appearances.

The kiss started tentatively but soon your movements became frantic and desperate. As the seconds pass, you couldn’t help but feel a strange connection, a hint of something beyond the act.

Real or not, if you knew he was this good a kisser, you would have married him much earlier.

Spencer's hand, warm and steady, found its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer. The dampness of the alley beneath your feet and the impending chaos seemed inconsequential at this moment.

As you pulled away, you dropped Spencer’s hand. Putting on a sweet, fake smile you walked towards the unsub.

“Ohmygosh I’m so sorry,” you gushed. “This is so so embarrassing! I thought we were alone out here, oh gosh.” You walked towards the unsub who seemed momentarily taken aback.

“We just got engaged, you see!” You explained, gesturing at Spencer who hesitantly hovered behind you.

“Congratulations,” said the man hesitantly. As he spoke, you widened your eyes, discretely trying to indicate what you were planning to Spencer. He seemed to understand.

“Show him the ring, babe,” Spencer said.

Excitedly, you raised your hand to show the unsub the ring. You had to admit, although it pained you, Spencer had good taste.

As the unsub leaned in for a closer look, you seized the opportunity. In a swift motion, you grabbed his wrists, pinning his arms behind his back as you spun him around and handcuffed him.

You read the dealer his rights as Spencer chased after the figure he was selling to.

——————————

After the successful arrest of the arms dealer, the team dispersed. You offered a quick "goodnight" to your colleagues. You hoped Spencer, ever observant, didn’t notice the subtle tension in your demeanour. As you made your way to your room, a flood of conflicting emotions overwhelmed you.

Entering the quiet solitude of your room, you couldn’t shake the residual confusion from the case. The success of the operation was overshadowed by the unexpected array of emotions you had started to feel. Especially the lingering disappointment that none of it was real.

As you prepared for a restless night, a knock interrupted your thoughts. You opened the door to find Spencer standing there, an uncharacteristic nervousness in his demeanour. "Can I come in?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You open the door wider, letting him enter. The atmosphere in the room was charged with an unusual tension. "Um-" you begin, but Spencer speaks at the same time, “So-“

The simultaneous interruption elicited a brief, nervous chuckle from both of you, breaking the ice just a fraction. Spencer took a step forward, his eyes searching yours for a clue about what's on your mind.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before speaking, "I noticed something was bothering you back there. Are you okay?”

You glanced at him, conflicted emotions swirling beneath the surface. "It's just been a long day, Spencer. Successful mission, but there were some…unexpected moments.”

He nods, seemingly understanding, but the tension between you remained palpable. An awkward silence descended, unusual for two individuals whose interactions usually consisted of insults and jibes.

"You know," he started, his voice softer than usual, "we make a good team when we put our differences aside.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected sincerity in his words. "Are you saying you enjoyed our date tonight?”

Spencer smirked, a hint of humour playing on his lips. "It was surprisingly effective, and you played your part convincingly.”

The tension eased a bit. ”Well, don't get used to it. This doesn't mean I like you," you retort, but there's a subtle twinkle in your eye.

Spencer chuckled, the atmosphere shifted from awkward to slightly more relaxed. "Fair enough. But seriously, if something's bothering you, you can talk to me. We're a team, after all.”

You hesitate for a moment, the conflicting emotions from the undercover mission and the unusual connection with Spencer weighing on you. "It's just... tonight felt so real. And... um, we were drunk and got married in Vegas? I’ve not really processed that yet.”

Spencer's expression shifted, a flicker of realisation in his eyes. “We’ve been so busy with the case we haven’t discussed it yet. Do you remember much?”

It all started coming back to you then: the laughter that echoed as you and Spencer stumbled into a chapel, impulsively deciding to partake in a makeshift wedding ceremony.

The Elvis impersonator, a short figure in a bedazzled jumpsuit, was the officiator. Grinning as you and Spencer, caught in the whirlwind of a drunken escapade, prepared to exchange vows.

Spencer's usually reserved demeanour seemed to dissolve in the face of the unexpected festivities. His eyes, usually focused, held a glint of unbridled amusement. The corners of his lips curled into a rare and somewhat goofy smile as he faced you.

The Elvis impersonator, with a theatrical flourish, prompted Spencer to begin his improvised vows. Spencer, swaying slightly on his feet, cleared his throat, a nervous playing on his lips.

“Uh, Y/N, where do I begin?” Spencer began, his words punctuated by the occasional glance towards the glittering jumpsuit-clad officiator. “I, um, I suppose I've never been good at expressing, you know, feelings. But, well, here we are, in this... unique situation.”

The crowd of tipsy onlookers erupted in laughter. Spencer’s gaze locked onto yours with a strange sincerity in his eyes.

“I've spent pretty much my entire life analysing statistics, probabilities, and patterns," he continued. “But, Y/N, you're the most unexpected, unpredictable variable I've ever encountered. And, um, that's strangely…fascinating.”

A ripple of laughter and cheers echoed through the chapel.

As the officiator prompted you to exchange rings, Spencer fumbled with the small band, his usually nimble fingers betraying his drunkenness.

It was your turn for vows. You took a deep breath, locking eyes with Spencer, and slurred, “Spencer, Spence, we might be, like, a weird match, and usually, you're my, uh, adversary - especially when we're both sober. But, in this super strange moment... what's the word? There’s nowhere I’d rather be. Yeah, here, with you.”

Laughter erupted again, and Spencer's eyes met yours with a mix of surprise and genuine delight

“You're the anomaly in my carefully calculated world, Spencer," you continued, a playful and gentle smile gracing your lips. "So, here's to embracing the unexpected, facing the unknown, and, well, defying the odds.”

With a theatrical flair, the officiator declared you “partners in crime” and, to the cheers of the onlookers, pronounced you “sort of, kind of, legally bound by the power vested in a tipsy Elvis impersonator.”

As the laughter echoed through the chapel, you and Spencer, gently swaying together in an attempt to stay upright, sealed the moment with a brief peck on the lips.

Spencer’s nervous chuckle brings you back to the present.

"Well, at least our drunken alter egos know how to keep things interesting," he remarked, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Who would've thought.”

Both of you settled onto the end of the bed, the reality of the situation sinking in.

"So, technically, we're married," you said, a wry smile on your face.

Spencer nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "In the eyes of an Elvis impersonator, at least. I don't think that holds up in court, though.”

The laughter continued, a strange sense of camaraderie emerging. The usual jabs and insults were replaced by a more genuine exchange as if the bizarre circumstances of the last 24 hours had lifted a veil.

“It's just surreal, you know? One moment we're at each other's throats, and the next, “ you paused to do air quotes, “we're legally bound by the whims of a very tipsy Elvis.”

Spencer leant back, mirroring your contemplative expression. "Life has a way of throwing curveballs, especially in our line of work. I never would've predicted this turn of events, but here we are.”

The room was filled with a sense of shared understanding and, for a moment, the complexities of your lives seemed distant. It was just Spencer and you.

The laughter and banter gradually faded, leaving a moment of quiet introspection as you and Spencer sat side by side on the edge of the bed.

As the silence stretched, Spencer took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the room. The air was thick with anticipation as he finally spoke.

"Hey, so, um, I know our dynamic is... unconventional and I've been terrible at expressing it. But you know, statistically speaking, couples that bicker a lot actually tend to have a longer-lasting relationship. It's this paradox of communication and—"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, and you turned to face him, cutting off his rambling. "Spence, are you trying to tell me something here?"

He stumbled over his words for a moment before taking another deep breath. "Yes, exactly. I mean, not about the statistics. Well, yes, about the statistics, but also about us. I've liked you, like, romantically liked you, and statistically—"

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face at the endearing awkwardness of Spencer's attempt to express his feelings. "Spencer, you don't need statistics to tell me that. I get it."

His eyes widened, a mix of relief and surprise. "Oh, good. I was worried I might have overwhelmed you with the statistical details. You know, statistically, most love confessions—"

You decided to cut off his statistical analysis in the most effective way possible. With a sly grin, you grabbed Spencer's tie and pulled him towards you, closing the gap between you. His eyes widened in surprise, but there was a hint of curiosity in them.

The kiss starts tentatively, Spencer, initially stunned by your bold move, quickly caught on. His lips were softer than you remembered, different to when you had kissed in the alley - real.

There was a moment of hesitation, a silent question hanging in the air—do you want this as much as he does? Your response was an enthusiastic one; the kiss deepened.

Spencer’s hand finds its way to the small of your back, a gentle yet firm grip that pulls you closer. Your own hands navigate the planes of his shoulders, the fabric of his tie feeling smooth against your fingertips.

As you pull away, there's a shared moment of breathlessness between you two.

“We have one more night in Vegas, maybe I could show you around.”

The simplicity of his suggestion caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help but smile. The idea of Spencer Reid nervously asking you out is endearing in its own right.

"Are you asking me on a date, Spencer?" you teased.

He nodded, a hint of a smile breaking through his usually serious demeanour. "Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, technically, we're already married," he adds, a chuckle escaping him.

You laughed at the irony of the situation. “True…we did have that spontaneous Vegas wedding. But yes, I'd love to go on a date with you.”

"Great. I'll, uh, figure something out. Something... not statistically likely to go wrong.” Spencer said.

Mustering the confidence to ask, you turned to him. "Did you mean what you said in the restaurant...about Chicago?"

"I meant every word." Spencer's eyes never leave yours.

"I thought we were rivals, arch-nemeses, sworn enemies? I thought you hated me"

"I hated the way you made me feel, I've not been able to stop thinking about you since you first walked through the doors of the BAU."

You smiled.

“So Reid, what’s the statistical probability that Hollywood will turn our story into a full-blown romantic comedy?” you quipped, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Well, if we factor in our unpredictability and the inherent chaos of our lives, it's safe to say we're defying statistical norms.”

You laughed, "So, what's our romantic comedy title then? 'Undercover Hearts' or 'Marriage by Probability'?"

Spencer paused, considering the options. "I'd go with 'Mathematical Mismatch.' It has a certain statistical ring to it."

You playfully nudged him, "Well, as long as it's not 'Statistically Ever After,' we should be fine."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, "Are you implying our story won't have a fairy-tale ending?"

You smirked, "Oh, I'm sure it will be a uniquely chaotic and statistically improbable ending, just the way we like it."

——————————

A/N: Thank you for reading ◡̈

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