#you don't get to flip the table and win the game

[princesssarcastia]

I WOULD LOVE TO CHANGE THE WORLD WE LIVE IN BUT YOU CAN'T DO THAT BY DENYING THE REALITY OF THE WORLD WE LIVE IN

[servicpop]

loosing a bet delinquent oc x president bttm male reader

It was a bet amongst your friends against some silly game. They all supported one team but you supported the other — whether you actually had a big interest in the game or not, it didn't matter, you still preferred one over the other to win. If your team won, they would have to embarass themselves by wearing a cheerleader outfit, if their team won, vice versa.

What could go wrong? Both teams were good and predicting the win would be difficult.

The flashes of your friend's cameras caused you to hold a hand up to your face, desperately trying to hide the bright pink blush spreading across your cheeks. How did he mess up that last shot? The game was so close and right at the breaking point, the player missed and costed the whole game and your dignity.

It was a skimpy outfit with thigh high tights, no sleeves, and a skirt that probably met your mid-thigh. You could not let Adrien see you in this. Like a group of laughing hyenas, you and your friends finally walked out of the changing rooms, your head glued to the floor as you walked through the hallways. Everyone's eyes were on you and you swore someone wolf-whistled in your direction as a half-assed joke.

"You gotta wear it the whole day, you lost the bet," you felt a harsh clasp on your shoulder and your friend was met with a cold glare. You honestly wish you just bet money at this point. You were about to round the corner when you heard a familiar voice — Adrien's sickly smooth tone. Your heel grounded into the floors and you dashed the other way, ignoring the confused shouts of your friends.

Adrien's head tilted when he watched someone dressed in a pink cheerleader outfit practically run for their life in the other direction. At first, he genuinely thought it was some cheerleader girl who probably missed her practice or something, but the more he stared at the running figure, the more he realised. "Shit, is that prez...?" Earning a nod from the group, a smile curled onto his face. He's totally forgotten how different your friend groups were seeing as they furrowed their eyebrows being so close to a delinquent.

"I'm gonna... get a drink from the vending machine, go on without me," Adrien flashed a toothy grin at the boys and walked in the direction you ran, picking up his speed but not breaking into a sprint. You two still weren't an official or public thing. You hadn't run very far, opting to retreat back to the student council room — people wouldn't come in here willingly anyways. But one person would.

A whistle caught your attention and as you whipped around, Adrien was already in the room, closing and flicking the lock on the door. "What a sight," He chuckled, slinking a hand around your waist to get a better look at you. "It's not what it looks like," you try to defend yourself, pushing at his shoulders as he leans closer. Your back is pressed against the table and he's gripping your hips like you're about to fall.

"How'd you even get this?" Adrien drags his tongue along his teeth flipping up your pink skirt, "Wearin' anything underneath?" He muses, and to his disappointment, you were, but he couldn't complain since it was a pair of lacy white panties. "It just came with the outfit," You mutter, pushing the fabric back down as you turn your head. "And...? You still put it on," Adrien laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You couldn't deny the fact that you had the choice not to put it on, but you still did so you kept quiet.

"Are you mad at me?" His voice is nothing but a whisper now as his head leans dangerously close to your ear. The delinquent has one hand on your waist while the other descends your back, trailing down to your cute skirt, pulling it up enough so that he could push your underwear down. You don't have half the mind to swat his hand away when he's so close to you. He slips the white fabric down just enough, spitting on his fingers before he teases you lightly. Adrien's brownish hair brushes against your ear as his head is positioned right next to yours, peering over your shoulder to look at his hands and your ass.

"You're always mad at me baby, I'm sorry," He cooes a gentle tone but it's deceptive. You flinch when he slips a finger past your rim, your arms instinctively moves to grip his shoulders. "I can't help it when you're dressed so cute," You can't see his face fully, but you know damn well he's smirking.

He's doing that knee thing where its pushed forward enough that if you rutted against it just a little bit, it would send sparks flying through your veins. "Adrien..." was basically the only thing you could whine when he's slipping a second finger, and then a third past that tight ring. He's really overestimating himself. His palm is against your tail bone as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, your warm, wet walls squeezing his fingers just right.

"Fuck, why do you have to feel so good, I can't just fuck the prez here," Adrien groans and you catch a glimpse of his eyebrows furrowing, he was genuinely frustrated. "I just wanna dick you down and make you take it like a good boy, I wanna see how loud you can— sorry that's corny," he bites his lip, slightly shivering from his own words. He knew you weren't like that, especially being such a goody-two-shoes; it was like second hand embarrassment from himself. He felt a twinge of guilt, a guy up to no good corrupting an angel like you.

"It's fine," and suddenly Adrien's head clears. Your reassurance was like cupid shooting multiple arrows into his heart, was he having a heart attack or was it just you? Adrien's head moves mechanically, like it was programmed to kiss you right then and there but he stops, short-circuits even. Kissing was out of the question. His relationship with you wasn't like that but oh how bad he wanted to. Adrien let's his head plop onto your shoulder, his fingers finding motivation to speed up, causing your body to straighten up.

He even adds a cruel curl to his fingers, pressing harshly against your prostate. "You're so evil," he murmurs, "Says— you!" You couldn't help the embarrassing moan that rips from your throat, the jerk of your body made you grind against Adrien's clothed knee, the cool fabric of the skirt rubbing against your tip wasn't helping either.

So you're stuck here, humping Adrien's knee as he fingers you from behind. Adrien slips his index finger out, leaving his middle and ring nestled inside you. Somehow, this allowed him to slam his hand deeper, pressing against your prostate once again. You could feel his breath fan over your shoulder, his back rising with each breath as his knee shifts, pushing against the underside of your dick behind the skirt. Your hands claw at his clothing, moans and whimpers spilling out of your lips.

His fingers work to aimlessly stretch you out before he pushed them in deeper, stilling them and curling them at random intervals. He was just playing with you at this point. You could feel your orgasm building but you weren't at the edge yet. Adrien seemed to hear your whines and desperate grinding, he smiles, "Alright sorry, sorry, I'll let you cum." He pulls his fingers out, groping your flesh before slapping his fingers against your hole, eliciting a confused gasp out of you.

Before you could open your mouth to insult him, he plunged his fingers into your entrance once more, fingering you as roughly as he could. His other hand that was holding you in place moved to the tent in your skirt. He smiled at the dampness pooling at the fabric, cupping the head of your dick with the fabric wrapped tightly around. The cool sensation of the fabric on your sensitive tip make you squirm, your body was unfamiliar with the feeling. Adrien clenched his arms around you, holding you still as he thrusted his fingers faster, humming at the wet sloppy sound.

You felt your eyes rolling back and your hands balled into fists, leaning on his shoulder for support. "W—wait!" You groaned as your body convulsed from the pleasure, tears welling in your eyes as you came, the mess contained by your skirt. "That's it," Adrien whistled, letting you ride your high out as he rubbed the fabric over your tip for a bit before stopping.

"Keep this," he grinned, "I'd like to see this next time."

a / n ; my motivation is in the dumps right now TT

[lemonlover1110]

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

Toji Fushiguro

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: Family game night never ends well in your family, unless Toji wins (Spoiler alert: He rarely wins.)

Warnings: Fluff, Toji gets upset causing his kids to get upset.

*Little drabble from A Pearl and You, My Angel and My Saint, you don't have to read either to enjoy this cute little (yet chaotic) family!

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Family game night is a complete nightmare in your household. It’s not because of your kids but because of your husband. You’re not surprised that Toji is competitive, if anything, you’d be shocked if he wasn’t. You’ve been with Toji for so long that you know what behaviors to expect from him, which is why you’re hesitant to have a family game night.

“Look what I found!” Eight-year-old Misumi brings an old board game to the living room where the family is at. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow, looking at the old box of candy land. Immediately he shakes his head, speaking up,

“Throw that shit out!” Megumi says.

“Language!” Kenji and Kamiko call out their older brother, causing you to laugh. You wonder why Megumi has such a strong reaction to the game, but then he glances at his father and you have a single scenario in your head: Toji yelling at Megumi because he lost in candy land. You glance at Toji who looks away in shame, knowing that what you’re thinking is exactly right.

“I wanna play!” Misumi exclaims, and the three-year-old twins are the first ones to agree. They don’t really get games, leaving them teamed up with you and Toji. You look at Toji and a sigh leaves his lips.

“I guess… You in, Gumi?” Toji looks at his eldest son, and Megumi is about to say no, but he looks at Misumi, and she gives him puppy eyes. He guesses he can be a good big brother at least once a while, right? How bad can it be?

“Yeah. Whatever.” Megumi responds, making Misumi open the box and put the game down on the coffee table. Kenji runs to his father, hoping that they’ll play together, while Kamiko runs to play with you. You all pick your respective pieces and begin to play.

The game starts off great, everything goes smoothly until your husband has to go back one spot. You notice Toji’s eyebrows furrowing, and he takes a deep breath. But the team recovers, and the game continues smoothly. Megumi surpasses Toji, which again, causes Toji to clench his jaw; in the end, he bites his tongue so nothing happens. Toji surpasses Megumi again. The game continues just fine again.

Toji and Kenji are so close to winning– Until Misumi surpasses them and wins. You immediately understand Megumi’s reaction when Toji flips over the game and raises his voice, “Damn you, Mimi! Next time I won’t be paired up with some snot-nosed brat!”

“Toji!” You yell at him, and you watch as both Kenji and Misumi’s eyes well up with tears. Misumi begins to sniffle while Kenji fully screams crying. Toji realizes how badly he’s fucked up, and he begins to comfort his son, kissing the top of his head over and over again before he begins to apologize. Misumi runs up the stairs crying, and Megumi stands up to comfort his little sister. 

“Mimi, wait! I’m sorry!” Toji stands up, holding his son as he runs up the stairs to comfort his daughter. 

You look down at your three-year-old daughter who sits on your lap. She shrugs, asking, “What was that?”

You kiss the top of her head before telling her, “Your daddy is a sore loser, baby.”

[chrissv4mp]

— I COULD CHANGE YOUR LIFE -

the prologue , it was important. — | — ...back — | — next... — |

summary: chris has an obsession with you, one of the most famous pop stars of the last few years. when he goes out to eat at a local diner with some friends, he spots you, and his obsession turns to something bigger.

pairing: stalker!chris sturniolo × singer!reader

warnings + topics: cursing, stalking, murder, weapons, blood, obsessive behavior, suggestive moments, breaking & entering, crying, arguments, chris is crazy, choking, drowning, etc. more than half of these topics are mentioned in later chapters, not the prologue.

author's note: if the person reading this is sensitive to any of the topics listed above, please do not read this. i am not responsible for your own media consumption, and will not change any aspect of the story for your own pleasure.

author's note 2: no but real talk, this is probably the most motivated i've ever been while writing/coming up with a story😭 i really hope all of you enjoy this and please remember this is just my imagination and is not real at all!!!

word count: 1.8k

"don't be afraid of me,

i'm what you need."

chris laughs at his brother's joke, hand landing on matt's shoulder as he clings onto the brunette boy. nick just chuckles, glancing over at madison only to see her laughing her ass off as well.

nate smiles at matt, taking a quick look at chris before he lets out a quiet giggle. chris was always making the group laugh, he was just unintentionally funny at times.

chris begins to tickle matt with a cheeky grin on his face, resulting in his brother pushing him away. matt steps in front of chris before opening the door for his friends, flashing a smile at madison, nate, and nick. he only sticks his tongue out at chris, and his younger brother does the same.

matt couldn't help but laugh before following close behind the group, looking back to make sure nobody else was coming through the door.

"haven't been here in years." nick says, taking in the atmosphere of the older building as he looks around the place. he can't believe it's been so long.

madison listens with intent as matt chimes in, adding on to his brothers new topic, "yeah, i can't believe it's still up."

"we always went here after our lacrosse and hockey games for a celebration, even if we didn't win. it became a tradition until we moved to la, so it's special being here again." the middle triplet explains with a smile on his face, reminiscing the vibe of the place.

nate hums at his friends memories, looking around the small diner that was mostly empty. there wasn't many people who came here as often, but it was very popular back when the triplets were in high-school.

chris grabs both of his brothers, pulling them closer to him with a huge smile on his face, "yup, gotta love the memories we made in this place." nick grimaces at his brother's cheery tone, but he still pats his back affectionately.

matt just ruffles his hair before distentangling his and his brothers limbs, settling his hands in his jean pockets as he waits for someone to speak again.

"let's go sit?" madison suggests, and the whole group collectively agrees as matt and madison lead the way to a booth in the corner of the building.

all of them immerse in conversation as they look over at the menu, chris looking over at the kids menu occasionally and getting interested in the short list of options. chicken nuggets did sound good, but he wasn't seriously gonna get them.

"kid seriously got dino nuggets," matt laughs, and chris only flips him off, "shit is crazy."

madison looks over at chris, grabbing his forearm to slowly bring it back down on the table. as chris turns his head to look at her, she sighs, eyes wide in warning. "if you bark at me again..."

nick laughs, looking over at nate and matt to catch their reactions. nate snorts and matt laughs harder at his best friends reaction. he can't help but grab nates shoulder and rest along his back comfortably, tears almost pricking in his eyes.

madison forks a piece of steak into her mouth, looking over at chris to see that he's already munching on his meal.

"slow down, chris. you're gonna get the hiccups." matt says, tone warning as he looks at his brother with a slightly concerned expression.

the brunette picks up his sandwich before biting into it, his eyes trained on his younger brother as he bites down on a fry.

the others begin to eat, chatting in between bites as they get sucked into the topic of work. chris hates the topic, but he has no choice but to listen in. some of the stuff he finds interesting, like designs for merch and new ideas for vlogs over the summer.

he can't help but let his attention wander off from the conversation in front of him, eyes roaming the old diner and looking around for any other things that catch his eye. he doesn't want to think about work the entire rest of the night, that's actually what he wants to get his mind off of.

his foot taps against the side of the booths seat, his leg hanging off but not quite touching the floor just yet. did they raise the seating in this place? maybe, but all he could focus on at the moment was a girl sitting across from his friend group.

chris could only see the side of her face, but he knew who it was. he knew very well who hid in a booth at the back of the diner. it was y/n l/n, one of singers he's been obsessing over lately. what was she doing in boston? no, what was she doing in such a low-quality diner like this? he seriously didn't understand why huge a-list celebrities went to run-down places.

maybe for the aesthetic, the scenery. he does the same thing, but he never thinks bad of the places he goes to. nothing is really considered bad unless it's falling apart or smells horrible. like chobani yogurt. he couldn't stand the smell of that... substance. he wouldn't even clarify it as food!

"what the actual fuck." chris says out in the open, louder than he intended to but not loud enough that she could hear.

nick tenses up at his brothers tone, grabbing onto matts shoulder tight as he looks over at the younger boy, "what. chris, what?!"

matt winces at the small pain, but he also becomes alert, looking around the place for any signs of danger. he sees none, and his eyes return to chris again. everybody's eyes are on him now, but the longer-haired boys eyes aren't on them.

"chris!" nate exclaims, shaking his friends shoulder and finally making him come back to reality.

the brunette has to hold himself back from pointing, gripping the seat under him as he speaks quietly, like if he spoke any louder the building would collapse, "y/n l/n. y/n l/n is in that booth right-fucking-there, look, look!!"

the entire groups heads turn in sync, looking the direction that chris' eyes were pointed at. madison, nick, and matt's jaws dropped, and nate only looked around in confusion. madison began to shake matt by his shoulders, and he let her.

he was sure the entire group, minus nate, was in shock. they all had the same questions as chris, why was she here? who was that girl she was with? would she take a picture with them if they asked?

chris didn't give them any more time to think, practically jumping out of his seat and holding himself back from running straight towards her. he was about to meet his favorite female singer ever, and possibly even take a picture with her? how could this day get any better, seriously.

"hi, excuse me. sorry to bother you, but could i get a picture?" chris smiled, eyes glistening in the dim lighting of the diner, and maybe even in admiration of the beautiful girl in front of him.

she looked up from her friend, who chris knew as olivia rodrigo, and looked at him with a sweet smile. he swore her teeth glowed, "of course,"

she stood up from the booth, the drop being insanely tall for her shorter figure. chris had a couple inches on y/n which resulted in him looking down at the h/c girl. she cocked an eyebrow as she took a better look at him, eyes basically glowing at the realization.

"hey, aren't you that famous youtuber that films with his brother? correct me if i'm wrong, but you're chris, right?" she asks with slight confusion in her voice, and chris just stares in awe at the knowledge that y/n knows who he is.

y/n stares at him awkwardly, hearing olivia giggle behind her quietly. that's what snaps chris back to reality, and he nods his head, "yeah, yes, that's me! how'd you know? do you.. do you watch us?

he watches you. interviews, live performances, listening parties. that's what he meant, he wasn't some creep that followed around people he liked. probably.

she nodded her head as she looked up at the taller boy, still shocked that one of her favorite celebrities came up to her. y/n didn't even see him walk in, and now here he was, asking for a picture. "yeah! and i would assume you listen to me, hm?"

chris nodded happily, a grin on his face as he stared into her eyes with adoration. y/n was so much prettier in real life. now, he could really see all of her facial features, he could see the features that made her special, "yes! i love your music so fucking much. it always brings me up whenever i'm down, you're really a huge part in my life."

y/n made a gesture with her hands, putting them over her heart as she looked at chris with her doe eyes, "that means so much to me, chris. you're so sweet, thank you."

she couldn't help but wrap her arms around the boy, and chris only welcomed her warmly, taking in the scent of her perfume as his head rested on the h/c-girls shoulder. she smelled as good as she looked. damn, the things he'd do just to have her perfume on his nightstand.

fuck, the things he'd do just for her love, even. he would steal for her, and he had just met the girl. no, it felt like they've been friends for an eternity, and now they were just meeting again for the first time in a while. that's the real story. it's not fake.

"i saw you on the screens

i know we're meant to be."

matt opened the door again, beckoning all of his friends and his brother out the door of the old diner. he watched as chris stood still, leaning against the wall as he stated over at y/n. she was making small talk with her waitress as she signed on the bill.

chris couldn't get enough of the girl after that interaction they had. he couldn't get her out of his mind, she was just there, clouding all of his senses with nothing but y/n.

"hey, buddy!" matt snapped, and chris turned to look over at his brother who just stared at him with suspicion in his gaze, "are you coming or not? we don't have all night, y'know."

the younger boy shrugged, turning back to look at that beautiful girl, "i'll take an uber home. you guys can take madison to her hotel and nate to his house, i just have a few things to do."

matt sighed quietly, worry and suspicion flashing across his features as he looked at his brother. he just shrugged it off before walking out the door, and chris smiled when he heard the door shut.

he had things to do tonight, important things. his brothers wouldn't care if he was out late tonight, right? i mean, after all, he had to do this. it was important.

comment to be on this taglist! @livialifesblog @zayyluvz @snowysosturn @mirioosos @1800-love-me

[after-witch]

The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Title: The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Synopsis: You're a District 2 school graduate who comes to the Capitol with her father before the 11th Hunger Games. You don't expect to meet anyone kind, especially not someone named Coriolanus Snow who offers you his arm, his smile, and treats in secret. 

Word Count: 5270

notes: yandere, abusive relationship, non-graphic descriptions of torture and death (not against reader); uses a mixture of book and movie canon

The Capitol was not as dazzling as your father described it but then, he had seen it before the war. Though perhaps it was your own bitterness that made you ignore the signs of returning prosperity that sets it above everywhere else.

The repaired elaborate buildings, the fresh pungent smell of plaster and paint. The cars pumping exhaust fumes into the air. The low rumble of garbage trucks that pick up bright green garbage cans, some of which are actually teeming with plastic trash bags. Such waste was unheard of, even in the oh-so-loyal District 2, where only the lowest of the low find themselves starving.

Although not-starving didn’t mean that everything was plentiful. 

You, though, were lucky enough to avoid the lima bean heavy diet that some of your classmates (now former--graduation was months ago) lived on. Or were you? The meat that graced your family’s dinner table, the pats of butter on toast, were all courtesy of your father’s  immense talent in building creative weapons that allowed the Capitol to stamp out every last bit of rebellion in the Districts. That allowed them to regain control. That allowed them to create the Hunger Games.

Which is why you were in the Capitol now. Oh, not to participate in them. Your father’s status in District 2 had seen to that; it would be a scandal if the name of his beloved daughter were to ever be pulled. 

You were there because your father had been given a lucrative contract, one that was sure to cement your family’s wealth for generations: a contract to build high-tech weapons for the Hunger Games themselves. 

They would still be killing. But on a much smaller scale, you supposed, than the weapons your father designed during the war. 

Still. Blood was blood. And if it had to be spilled, well, there was nothing you could do about it except hope they died quickly. Especially the ones from District 2.

Last year’s Games’ had been awful enough. Your family had watched the Games on a modest television set in the privacy of your living room, sent courtesy of the Capitol. 

You wondered if you would ever get the sight of Marcus’ battered, bloated face from your mind; if you would ever unhear the way his body thumped to the ground when that girl had killed him, out of mercy. If you would ever stop imagining what it must have felt like in those last moments.

But it wasn’t all horror. You’d liked Lucy Gray well enough, even though she was from 12. She had a wild way of dressing and the singing--it was practically theatrical, compared to what you’d heard about the previous games. 

Maybe that was why your father got this contract: theatrics. Maybe the games would be more dramatic from now on. Maybe they wanted tributes like Lucy Gray, who sang and spit and poisoned her way to Victory. It was strange, really, that there’d been hardly any talk of her since her win. 

“Father?” You asked, quietly as you could. 

Both of you were standing in the foyer of the grand university in the Capitol. The outside was still a little ravaged, but inside, it was perfectly lovely. Walls lined with books--perhaps some of them were fake--and marble floors and marble busts dotting the sight lines.

“Mm?” He replied, eyes scanning over his clipboard. He flips it, here and there.

“I was just thinking. About last year’s games. About Lucy Gray, and how the Games--”

Your father rounded on you, eyes suddenly serious and blazing.

“Quiet. Weren’t you paying attention on the way here?” Admittedly, you were not. You’d been daydreaming about what you might do now that you were done with school. There was no university in District 2, and your father hadn’t even mentioned a job. “You’re not supposed to mention--”

“Not supposed to mention whom? Ah, ah, ah. Lucy Gray Baird?” called a voice, almost in sing-song.

Your father stood up stiff, and the life seemed to drain from his face.

Both of you look towards the sound of the voice, and now it’s your turn to stiffen. The voice came from a woman standing in the doorway of the very office that your father was waiting to enter. She was wearing an elaborate jacket made of what looked like rainbow snake scales. Her hair was gray and curly. She had, you realized, two different colored eyes. 

Your father swallowed, and you could see the apple of it bob up and down. It made you think, abruptly, of suckling pigs. 

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, in a voice far too tight to be relaxed. “I apologize for my daughter’s insubordination, I assure you, she meant no--”

Dr. Gaul waved her hands at him and approached you. 

“Did you like last year’s games?” She didn’t look angry. No, she looked delighted.

“I…” It was your turn to swallow, your turn to feel that tightness. “It-it was the first time I’ve watched them, ma’am.” You want to ask this woman: do you think I liked watching someone from my District 2 so horribly? Or any District, really? Did I like it? 

Her smile grew wider. 

“I’m glad. You’ll be watching them every year from now on, I hope. We have big plans.” Her eyebrows raised high. “Big changes. Thanks to men like your father.” She glanced at him and you saw disdain flicker across her gaze. 

And then another door opened, and you heard the sound of polished shoes on the marble floor. Dr. Gaul’s attention dropped away from you like you were nothing at all. She turned to meet the sound of these footsteps, and you did too.

It was a young man. Probably your age, you thought, with light blonde hair and eyes that your mother would have described as “baby blue.” He didn’t look at you, or your father. But that was nothing new. You’d only been in the Capitol for 2 days, and you’d already gotten used to being treated as lesser than. Though, at least, you were not so far down on the food chain that you lost your tongue. 

“Ah, my protege,” said Dr. Gaul, giving the young man a grin. The smile on her face almost looked warm, which was somehow far more terrifying than her manic smile from earlier. “Ever the earnest student. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying the day off, Mr. Snow?”

The young man, this “Snow,” chuckled and lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t stay away once I heard you were discussing some of the new prototypes for this year’s games.” 

He finally looked at your father, and then at you. But only briefly.

“Can I assume that this is…?”

Dr. Gaul nodded.

“Yes. My little designer from District 2. And his daughter.” Her voice dropped a few octaves when she referred to you. She probably didn’t want you here, you thought. You weren’t supposed to come, but your father had begged the Capitol for a pass; it would probably be your only chance to see it, he said, so you may as well take advantage of the chance.

Snow nodded to your father. It was a surprising gesture, almost respectful. But cold, too, like it was done from necessity rather than anything else. 

Your father stammered a bit and nodded back, and you felt shame begin to creep into your bones. It wasn’t fair, to be lesser-than. But weren’t others lesser-than you in your own District, where you ate better food and never worried that your name would get picked, that your blood would be spilled?

Everyone 

But when Snow turned to you, he smiled. It gave him dimples. 

It was the first kind smile anyone in the Capitol gave you. 

“My name is Coriolanus Snow. I doubt you’ve heard of me, but if Dr. Gaul’s teachings have anything to say about it, perhaps one day you’ll know me as a Gamemaker.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Congratulations, one day you’ll be coordinating Games that kill people? Instead,  you gave your name, voice squeakier than you meant it. But it was fitting, you supposed. Here, you were a mouse, hoping you would get a bite of cheese and make it home unpoisoned. 

Dr. Gaul’s face seemed to react slowly, as if she couldn’t decide what she thought about his words or your interaction, but a small smile grew on it, eventually. “I do have high hopes for you, Mr. Snow. Now, shall we?”

She gestured for your father to follow, face once again impassive with a sprinkle of disdain, as she led the two of them into her office.

Snow gave you a smile and a nod before he left.

You waved, stupidly.

Your father didn’t even look back.

--

I’m dead. I’m dead. I might as well be dead.

Your heartbeat kept time with your racing thoughts as you went up and down corridors, begging your shoes to be silent, wishing your breath would catch and stop coming out in terrible pants.

You were lost. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. If someone found you, if the wrong person found you, they would think you were running, trying to get lost in the Capitol; they’d think  you were a rebel. They’d shoot you.

Just when you thought you might collapse and die from your own nervous exhaustion, you heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

Your name.

It was only the moment after that you realized it didn’t come from your father’s mouth, but the lips of--what his name--Coriolanus Snow. The young man who was a Gamemaker-in-training, or so your father said. But that’s all he would say. He kept tight about anything that went on behind closed doors. 

But this Coriolanus Snow smiled at you, and didn’t look at you like you were some kind of insect he might want to pin on a board, and so when you whirled around to look at him you were smiling.

Ah--for a moment. For just a moment, you saw his muscles tense. You saw the expression on his face falter in worry. Like he thought he was about to miss a step on a staircase, and corrected himself; like he thought you were a wolf and you were only somebody’s dog, off their leash. 

But it wasn’t too surprising. You knew most people in the Capitol thought anyone from the Districts wanted to rip out their throats. 

Well, the worry was mutual. Except in your case, you were forced to walk around with the living proof of that worry--all those “Avoxes,” they called them. Without tongues, without freedom. 

But you swallow all that. Because he smiled at you. Because maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend. Especially right now.

“I’m--I’m lost,” you tell him, giving a shaky smile. “I was waiting for my father, but you see, I got to thinking, and I started to wander around and now I’m… well. I don’t know where I am, actually.”

His smile wasn’t very deep, was it? It was like the gloss of paint on the outside of the Capitol buildings. Pretty to look at, but there must be more underneath.

You expected him to lead you right back to where you’re supposed to be.

Instead, he asked you something.

“What were you thinking about?

You couldn’t tell him. Could you? But something about 

“About… the Games.”

You don’t tell him that you were thinking about Lucy Gray and all those snakes, and the way that Dr. Gaul’s outfit that first day made you think of them. Because your father had slapped you across the face when you got back to your lodgings that night, and told you to never, ever bring up Lucy Gray Baird or the 10th Games unless you were directly asked. And you would probably never be asked. 

Coriolanus gave a little snort through his nose. You liked it. It was nice to know that even Capitol people could seem a little dorky.

“They aren’t for another 3 months. Are you that eager to see them?”

You didn’t know what expression you made, exactly. It was so instinctive and fast that you didn’t have time to control it. 

You only knew that it made him shake his head and offer you a sympathetic look.  

“I apologize. That was rude, wasn’t it?” 

And then he did a strange thing.

He offered you his arm. 

Like you were Capitol, like you were a real person, and not some visiting District wench walking on the coattails of her arms-dealing father. 

“Let me walk you back to the waiting area.”

And the stranger thing?

You took it.

--

You and your father were quickly moved into a small apartment within the university, once it became clear that he would be staying in the Capitol through the duration of the Games. It was best, he said, because ordinary people in the Capitol didn’t really want to see new faces from the Districts mingling around unless their tongue had been cut out first. It made them nervous. The rebel bombings, and all that.

You didn’t mind, because it meant you didn’t have to be flanked by Peacekeepers on the streets. 

And, well.

You got to see Coriolanus more often. Sometimes he greeted you, sometimes he didn’t. He did it less often when Dr. Gaul was there,  unless she was talking to your father and it gave him an opportunity.

He asked you things, too, when he caught you walking back to your father’s little apartment. Like what you did back home. What you liked to do. Whether you went to school, and what you planned to do now that you have graduated. 

This morning, he caught you drawing while you waited in a chair outside Dr. Gaul’s office. Sometimes you waited there--you would admit to no one that it was to catch a glimpse of the kindest person you’d met in the Capitol--and other times you stayed in your temporary home.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. But he had a way of speaking that you’d quickly clocked into. He can make a demand sound like a polite little question. Oh, he wasn’t mean about it, but it reminded you of the way your father talked to his underlings back in District 2. On his home turf, he was far smoother than he was here, where his voice stammered and sweat beaded on his neck.

So you handed it over, even though, to your greatest embarrassment, you’d drawn… him.

“Why me?” He had a smile on his lips. His smiles were nice. Kind. The kindest you’d seen since you came here. But they always felt like that fresh coat of paint; like you didn’t know what he really meant by them, and that was how he liked it. 

“You’re… important,” is all you could come up with. You felt small, then. He would dismiss and probably never want to talk to you again. What a stupid answer from a stupid girl. 

But he just smiled. It was like paint peeling a little.  You could see underneath that he liked what you said, although you weren’t exactly sure why. And his expression tightened up so quickly, protecting what you’d seen, that you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or not. 

“I’m just a humble student at this university. Not so important. Not yet.”

--

You were really going to die, now. This wasn’t some panicked imagination gone wrong, some flight of fancy that took a wrong turn.

A pair of stony-faced Peacekeepers had walked up to where you sat in the waiting area near Dr. Gaul’s office and ordered you to come with them.

You asked to talk to your father. They said no. You asked where you were going. They yanked you up. 

And now they were leading you down hallways that you’d never seen before, where there weren’t even Avoxes roaming the halls with brooms and dustpans. 

They didn’t even answer, just spun around and walked back the way they came. You pushed the door open reluctantly--what the hell was going to be on the other side?--and it was--it was--

It was Coriolanus. Standing there in a nice suit, eyes downcast on a book. Until the door creaked and he looked up.

“What--why did you bring me here? Did I do something wrong?” The thought went through you, that perhaps this had all been a test, to see if you were loyal to the Capitol and he’d found you wanting.

“No,” he said, simply enough. He set the book down and gestured for you to step inside. You did, because what else were you going to do, in some strange room in a Capitol University where you’d been forcibly brought by Peacekeepers.

Snow studied your face. Your eyes darted around, from him, to the room, to the door. 

“I wanted to see you,” he said, a little softer. “In private.” 

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But… why?”

He smiled. “Come now, you’re a smart girl, even if you aren’t in university.” 

You really didn’t know. Not at first. But then you watched the way his expression softened, and you remembered it, or glimpses of it, that he’d given you before. When he complimented your drawing. When he said your name. When he escorted you back from the maze of hallways. And his smiles, all his smiles, although you were never sure how much they meant coming from home. 

He took a step closer. You didn’t dare step back. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back, but it didn’t matter, either way.

He pressed his lips to yours and took your first kiss, in a secluded little study in the heart of the Capitol University. 

--

Your days became routine, although the routine was strictly forbidden and could have probably gotten you executed or at best, gotten you a one-way ticket to a tasteless existence.

You wake up. You stay in your apartment.  You wait for the Peacekeepers. You get summoned here and there, always private rooms, secret rooms, rooms out of the way. You meet Snow--Coriolanus, he said, call him that--and you talk (well, mostly him) and kiss and sometimes a little bit more. He gives you gifts. Trinkets, necklaces that you can only wear under your shirt. Food, flaky pastries made with mountains of sugar, sandwiches made with cream and cucumber. 

But how much longer could it go on? The Games were going to start soon. As soon as they were over, you were going back to your District. There would be no more meetings, no more kisses. No more wondering how far he wanted to go or why he liked you or even if he even liked you as anything more than someone to keep him busy. 

You didn’t dare talk about the Games, but you did talk about this. In the kindest way you knew how for such a sensitive subject. 

“I’ll miss you,” you told Coriolanus after one meeting, when you’re both sitting on a sofa and he’s got your fingers tightly wound in his. He squeezed them tight.

“Miss me?” 

“After the Games,” you clarified. “We’re being sent home right after.”

He squeezed your fingers until it hurt a little. Then he looked up at you. To see if you would say something? Or did he not know how strong he was?

“Oh, that. I can arrange for you to stay.”

Your chest began to feel sick.

“Stay? In the Capitol?” You were torn about Coriolanus, but you didn’t want to stay here. You couldn’t. 

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “You wouldn’t be the first person from the District granted such an extreme privilege. I’m sure I could--”

“But I don’t know if I want to stay.” 

His gaze narrowed and you felt your stomach clench. He looked at the necklace you’d pulled out as soon as the door was shut, at your lips where a dollop of strawberry cream still rested. 

“I treat you so well, and you don’t know if you want to stay with me?”

His voice was calm, and that scared you. It would have been better if he flew off the handle.

Instead, he simply stood up and gently sent you out the door, and called the Peacekeepers to bring you back to your apartment.

--

Every night for the last week, you have cried yourself to sleep. Because every day for the last week, Coriolanus Snow has not sent for you. Not even once.

What if he told someone? What if you got sent back early, and your father was shamed? What if they broke his contract? Or--worse, worse, worse. There were so many worse things than merely being sent back to District 2.

And then he sent for you, and it was the longest walk of your life, though it was no farther than any of the times you’ve been escorted to your secret meetings.

This time, when you pushed open the door, Coriolanus was not alone. 

There was an Avox in the room. 

It was someone from District 2.

You didn’t know her. Not personally. But you saw her, before. She worked in one of the munitions factories and you watched her walk to work from your classroom window sometimes. Then she stopped showing up, and you thought perhaps she got married. 

That delusion was shattered the moment you saw her, eyes downcast to the floor, wearing a simple gray tunic. 

It’s not until Coriolanus tells you to hurry up and come in that you’re able to move. Even then, you weren’t sure how your body did it; how your arms managed to gain the mobility to shut the door, to twist the lock; how your legs moved, one foot in front of the other, until you were standing stiffly in front of him.

The Avox--you wish you knew her name, but she couldn’t give it to you now, even if you asked--moved seamlessly to a table set up nearby. There was tea and sweets. The sort of thing that you and Coriolanus had been enjoying together for the past few weeks. The sort of thing that you were sure would sit sour in your stomach, now. 

The cup shook in your hands when she handed it to you, and your tears dripped right into the tea.

Coriolanus glanced at the Avox and waved his hand. She left obediently. She would never tell the secret she witnessed in his room, that much was certain.

And then he looked back at you.

“Don’t cry,” he said. Soft but firm. A command, not a coo. “You shouldn’t cry here, in the Capitol. You should be grateful to be here. You should be grateful that I’ve arranged all this for you.”

“I am,” you whispered. 

“Then show me that you are.”

And you did. 

You said what he wanted and looked to him to show you how he wanted you to act, and did just that. You didn’t argue, even to lightly banter. You kissed him and nodded along when he told you about how things would be after the Games, when he had arranged for you to stay.

All you had to do was keep him happy until the Games were over, and then you could go home. 

Bitterly, all of this made you realize just how much of your father is in you; he knew how to appease the Capitol. You could do the same with Coriolanus Snow. At least until the Games were over. Just keep him happy until the Games were done and the blood was spilled, and you would go home. 

They wouldn’t let him keep you here after the games. You were sure of that. You’d overheard some of Dr. Gaul’s assistants murmuring how glad they would be to send the District profiteers like your father home once the Games were over. And you? You’re just his useless daughter, an appendage he brought like an unwelcome suitcase. Why would you be allowed to stay?

--

The Games were over. The winner was from District 1. 

You were going home any day now. Just as soon as your father finished tinkering with the designs, gave his notes on improvements that might be made for next year.

The thought gave you a delightful bounce in your step. It was like having a pat of sweet butter in your shoe on a day when you needed good luck-- District 2 superstition, although the strict rationing meant most people didn’t have even a pat to slip into their shoes anymore.

The sweetness didn’t even disappear when the Peacekeepers showed up to bring you to Snow. It was going to be a bittersweet farewell, you were sure. He might be angry. But you would kiss him and tell him that there was nothing he could do, and how sorry you were not to be able to stay, but that was how things had to be.

Except they didn’t bring you down a maze of corridors that led to a secluded room.

They brought you right into Dr. Gaul’s office.

Breakfast threatened to evacuate your stomach with every step. Not just because of nerves, but because of what you saw. Rows of experiments in glass tubes; some of them move. You walk by a room with a half-open door that showed someone strapped to a gurney, face contorted in a silent scream as they fought against restraints. You almost did lose breakfast, then.

But somehow you made it to the desk of Dr. Gaul without a dribble of vomit to show for it.

The Peacekeepers left with no fanfare and you stood there, ramrod straight. Did she know? Was she going to tell you that you were going to be strapped to one of those gurneys, now?

“I’m keenly aware,” she said, keeping her hands primly folded, “on how much you’ve enthralled my star pupil.”

Toast. That’s what will come up first, you thought . The toast.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” Your voice was so thin and tinny that you didn’t even believe yourself.

And then the prim facade cracked, and Dr. Gaul threw her head back and grinned.

“You really think I don’t know everything that goes on within these walls?  I know every time one of my lab assistants runs into the bathroom to throw up after a particularly nasty experiment. I know every time one of our university professors sneaks into a closet to down a vial of morphling with a student. And I certainly know when my newest protege is having an adorable little District girl brought to him for… canoodling.”

You weren’t even embarrassed. No.  You just felt terrified to the bone. You only hoped that you’d be killed, shot against a wall, instead of made into an Avox. Let there be some mercy in this world. 

”He’s asked to keep you, you know.” Her voice was low, almost a drawl. She tapped her fingers on her desk rhythmically.

“My Coriolanus Snow wants a bird of his own.” Her smile turned darker. “Not a songbird, though. Oh, no. I think he’s had enough of those.”

Her gaze bored into yours, each color magnified by her intense expression. “I think if I let him have his pretty caged bird, he’ll be happy. He’s more productive if he’s happy.” She smiled. “I like productivity. It keeps the Games more interesting.”

She looked you over one more time, and then waved you away.

“I’ve granted his request. You’ll be staying here indefinitely, courtesy of one Mr. Snow. Your father has already been told.” 

You were wrong.

It was not the toast that came up first, but the sweet butter you’d patted on top.

--

You still had your tongue, but you felt as though it was useless, stuck to the roof of your mouth, as Coriolanus fussed over your outfit. Or rather, as he directed an Avox to fuss over it for you. He could afford his own personal servant, now, he told you. He’d almost flinched after he said now, and you didn’t dare press him on it. Had he not been able to afford one before?

“We can’t walk arm-in-arm in public,” he said, walking around you, making sure the outfit was just-right. “But you can stand by me if I stop and direct you forward.” He reached over and fixed one of your buttons. “Don’t speak to anyone unless I’ve told you to, or they speak to you first. Always address someone older as ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am.” He pointed at your hair, and the Avox began to fuss with it, eventually covering it in a colorful wrap that Coriolanus said was popular right now. “Address someone our age by the last name and Mr. or Ms.”

When he was satisfied with your appearance, he sent the Avox away. You liked it better that way, it was one last reminder of the horrors in the Capitol, even for someone “privileged” like you.  You’d only been without your father for 3 days, but you felt like your nerves were continually on fire. You wanted to go home. You wanted your family. You wanted out of this place.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

For now, you were still living in the small university apartment the Capitol had given your father. Coriolanus insisted on it, until he could figure out how to move you into his own sprawling apartment that he shared with his cousin, Tigris (who, at least, genuinely sounded lovely) and his grandmother, Grandma’am. She was the sticking point, or so you were told, with a thin smile. She hated Districts, and she ought to, he said. They killed her son. His father. 

She would hate you, too. Even if Coriolanus wanted you enough to make you stay with him; wanted you enough to keep you. But for how long? And would he change his mind, if you couldn’t fit in? 

He said your name, and you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. He held you by your shoulders. Gently. Like one would an unruly child that hadn’t yet learned that there were such things as salad forks and dinner forks, as polite conversation and etiquette. 

You got the feeling you wouldn’t have long to learn all of those things and more, to make him happy.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re District. You’re here because the Capitol has recognized that your loyalty can benefit us in some way. Be grateful.”

“I am,” you said, reflectively.

“Be happy..”

“I am,” you said again, your chest hitching.

He smiled at you. Was it real or not real? 

You smiled back, regardless. And he liked that, evidently, because he leaned forward and kissed you. Then he scrutinized your face and wiped at your lips with his thumb--the kiss had smeared your lipstick. 

“Good.” 

He gestured towards the open doorway. This time, he didn’t take your arm. There would be too many people lingering in the university hallways, all making their way to the soiree held to celebrate the end of this year’s Games and discuss what improvements might be made for the next year. 

You dutifully walked behind him, just like he said. And you would do exactly what he said in all respects. You would stay quiet unless you were spoken to, you would certainly never bring up anything confrontational or controversial, and you would make a good impression. You would be a loyal, grateful District citizen who was given the opportunity of a lifetime thanks to the graciousness of Coriolanus Snow. 

Of course you would. 

Your life depended on it. 

[celaenaeiln]

One of Dick's greatest strengths is his ability to manipulate every single person in existence.

Genuinely I think this makes him the smartest person in the room. Not only is he a brilliant detective, but the fact that he's able to outmaneuver and control virtually everyone including other geniuses and masterminds makes him the most terrifying. There's a reason why his enemies have give up using intelligence against him and simply resorting to brute force.

Now hold your horses before you bring your crowbars and let me explain.

Dick once said, "On an even playing field, I always win."

And it's true. But how do you even the field if your enemies are geniuses, detectives, or metas?

"Well, if you don't like how the table is it, turn over the table."

And that's exactly what Dick does.

Let's begin from his younger years. Dick is 19, newly out of Batman's wing and in no position to take on a skilled mercenary on by himself. But the mercenary isn't going to stop just because he says please. So.

DEATHSTROKE WAS CLEARLY NOT EXPECTING TO GET OUTPLAYED BY A 19 YEAR OLD.

"You're right Slade, he's not a fool so choose a dumber kidnapping victim next time."

Ofcourse this is the least of his abilities.

This cover is perfect because it shows how two of them are literally in a constant game of chess. And evidence of Dick's tactical expertise was never more obvious than the bombing of Bludhaven.

By all means Dick had won.

And he's right. Dick is incredibly intelligent, and he has to be given how he maneuvered the entirety of the world to save him city. Not just the heroes and villains, but everyone - the heroes, the villains, the government, the civilians, the organized crime - everyone. He ruled the freaking world at that moment.

@haroldhighballjordan actually made a post about this that explains this scene so well

But yeah Slade knew he lost so in his petty vengeance what he basically did was set the whole fucking chessboard on fire.

The perfection to which Dick had calculated and moved millions of people to force Slade into abandoning their game and leave him shrieking and seething in rage over his loss. Another reminder that this game only happened because Dick manipulated Rose away from her father, away from his control to a better life.

Spyral is one of my favorite comics because it shows just how good of a manipulator Dick Grayson is.

One of Dick's coldest traits is his ability to manipulate a situation to fit his needs.

In the beginning Dick wanted to calm the meta down and take him in but the second his opponent let out the slightest hint of weakness, look how fast he flips his words. This man is brilliant.

And his planning came to fruition as the meta wore himself out, allowing Dick to take control of the situation and the opponent with no harm to himself-a quick, two second exit. He can manipulate emotions, thoughts, and people to get what he wants like he's playing chess with a child.

But it's not just other people- he can completely change himself to become a whole new person. In the earlier chapters, Dick is learning how to shoot a gun for the agency.

Dick's a terrible shot. Not a single bullet lands in the center of the target-there's no way he's ever going to shoot well....or atleast that's what he wants you to think-

"Yeah, well, that's what spies do."

"We lie."

He's a puppet master and the final boss.

part 2

[wheels-of-despair]

Gonna Need A Bigger Bathtub Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman, Eddie, and the rest of the Hellfire nerds have been sentenced to helping out at the school carnival. There will be casualties. (EW kinda hijacked this fic, but it's still a wild night for all!) Contains: Everyone's own personal hell, violations of child labor laws, carnival games, heroic rescues, new pets, a happy ending... for most. Words: 2.8k

"This is such bullshit," Eddie growls, slamming the front door of his van.

"It's one day," you remind him as you slide out of the passenger's seat. "Half a day, really. It's the price of a diploma."

You meet at the back doors, where the rest of Hellfire is piling out into the sweltering parking lot of Hawkins High. On a damn Saturday.

"Eddie?" He turns to you, misery on his face. It's still decorated with traces of fading yellow bruises from the rumble with the jocks. So is everyone else's. "I tell you this with all the love in my heart, but: Suck it up, buttercup."

"Easy for you to say," he sighs, stripping himself of his battle vest and emptying his pockets into an old coffee can. "You're not in the dunking booth."

He slams the back door, locks it, and looks at his keys with hesitation. "I'll hold 'em," you offer. You pocket Eddie's keys, and he throws an arm across your shoulders as you walk toward the field behind the high school where the carnival is being held. The rest of the boys reluctantly follow along behind you.

Your official assignments were distributed last night, after you helped set this shit-show up. Now you're here, at the damn Hawkins High Carnival Fun-Raiser, ready to raise money (and fun!) for the stupid school you're leaving behind in just a few weeks. Eddie's graduating, you remind yourself. This is a small price to pay for that diploma he's been working so hard for.

"Where have you been?" Miss Click screeches when she spots you, waving her clipboard in frustration. "It's almost time to open! Go get set up! Now!"

You answer with mumbles and half-assed salutes as you pass. Today is going to majorly suck.

"This is me," you sigh mournfully, stopping at your assigned booth. The rest of the boys keep trudging toward their own personal hells, but Eddie stays with you to say goodbye. "Close your eyes, hold your nose, think of Ozzy."

"Who told you the secret to giving great ora—" You cut him off with a shove in the direction of the dunking booth, and he turns around and walks backward to grin at you. And then he stumbles, catching himself just in time to avoid a fall. You cover your mouth to hide a laugh, and he flips you the bird before he turns around.

You have been awarded the honor of running the fish bowl game. It's a table full of fish bowls that people try to throw ping pong balls into. If they win, they get a live fish in a plastic bag. You're hoping for a quiet night, banking on the fact that most people probably don't come to the carnival for a new pet.

You're in a good location; you can see most of the boys from your booth. Jeff is in charge of the balloon game across the way, where people throw darts at balloons and pop them for prizes. Grant's manning the Lucky Duck Pond nearby, where toddlers will pick up a duck and feel like a little winner every time. Gareth is glowering at his popcorn cart a little to your left. And when you stand in the corner and lean out a little, you can see Eddie eyeing the dunking booth warily.

Assorted jocks are set up with easy-to-assemble sports games. Uniformed cheerleaders sell raffle tickets. You have Patrick McKinney with some kind of basketball game to your right, and Chrissy Cunningham in the Kissing Booth to your left. That seems sanitary.

"How are we doing over here?" Overlord Click asks.

"Ready and waiting," you deadpan.

"Why haven't you put the fish in yet?"

"What?" you ask.

"You're supposed put the fish in the fishbowls, silly."

You look from the massive bucket of goldfish in plastic bags to the fishbowls.

"You want people to throw balls at the fish?"

"Why do you think it's called the fish bowl game?" she asks.

"Because you toss a ball into a bowl and win a fish?"

"Put the fish in the bowls," she orders.

"And if I don't?"

"Then perhaps Principal Higgins will have second thoughts about letting you and your little friends off so easy," she says through pursed lips. "Now put the fish in the bowls, or I will put someone who can follow simple instructions in charge of this booth."

You'd like to put her in a fish bowl and let kids throw balls at her. Maybe let someone dunk their balls in her bowl, too. But the thought of Hellfire having suffered a week of detention for nothing gets to you. You reach for a fish bag, untie it, and carefully dump the poor little guy into a bowl.

"Every two or three bowls will do," she says. "We don't want to run out of prizes."

She walks away, and you want to chuck a fucking fish bowl at her.

You stare at the bucket of bagged fish and settle for staggering three of them across the front row of bowls so they're visible to people walking by. You apologize to the little guys as you pour them in.

You're surprised by how many people are willing to haul a goldfish around the carnival all day. But they get their dumb balls in and take their bagged fish and carry on. You take money and distribute fish until dusk, when your relief shows up to grant you fifteen minutes to eat and use the bathroom. How generous.

Since you have no appetite, you decide to check on the boys.

"Hey," you grin at Grant, yawning with boredom by his little duck pond. "Gettin' lucky yet?"

"Kill me," he mouths as a new herd of toddlers approaches. You back away from them with a horrified expression, and he laughs as he takes their mom's money.

"How's it going?" you ask Jeff, leaning against the plywood outside of his balloon-filled booth.

"Oh, just great," he rolls his eyes. "Love watching these degenerates throw darts in my direction. If I get hit, I will sue."

"As you should," you affirm.

"I'd rather be here than in the dunking booth, though," he says. "Poor Eddie, man."

You turn and look in Eddie's direction. He looks like a drowned rat.

Because the person trading money for balls is Jason Carver.

"Oh, no," you groan. "See ya," you say quickly. Jeff waves, then presses himself against the plywood wall as another wave of darts are launched toward the balloons.

There's a long line of jocks waiting for a shot to dunk the freak. It looks like he's barely catching his breath between drops, and exerting all his energy into crawling back on the stool.

"Look here, boys," Jason Carver says loudly when he spots you. "Does the little freak girl wanna play?"

"Maybe she does," you respond. "But her break's almost over, so she won't have time unless these gentlemen want to let a lady cut in line."

Jason gives his flunkies a look, and they part for you like a sea of dickheads. Eddie's breathing heavily on his little stool above the tank and still trying to brush his wet hair out of his face from the last dunk.

"Three tries for $3, miss," Jason says sweetly. Eddie's spotted you, and is shaking his head, but you hand over your cash. Jason gives you three balls.

You throw them quickly, before the pricks can figure out what you're doing. You launch them high and far, way over the target and into the woods. You almost wish the gym teacher could've seen it.

"You bitch," Jason seethes.

"And yet, you're the one who has to fetch," you smile, walking around him to the tank. You reach in and hand Eddie a hair tie. "It's almost over," you remind him. Eddie's in the process of tying his hair back when he's sent into the water again. You both yelp in surprise; Eddie at being dropped again without warning, and you from getting drenched by the splash. You turn to see Carver leaning against the target with a smirk on his face. He set it off manually.

"Thanks for that," you smile sarcastically. "It's really hot out here. I don't envy the person who has to suck Higgins' sweaty balls tonight. Maybe you should suggest he take a dip in the tank before the carnival closes."

You leave before he can work out what you've said, checking your watch to see that you need to get back to your fishy booth.

More fish have been put into open containers. Damn you, temp!

Business carries on as usual, until you notice that two elementary-aged kids are standing off to the side and watching you.

"Can I help you?" you finally ask, sick of being stared at like… a goldfish in a bowl.

"My fish died," Brace-Face pouts. His pal Glasses looks on nervously.

"What'd you do to it?"

"I didn't do anything to it!" he argues with a stamp of his little foot. "You gave me a bad one!"

"No refunds or exchanges." Is this an official policy? Probably not. Are you going to indulge this brat? Definitely not.

"Told you you shouldn't have taken it in the bounce house," Glasses mutters. Your eyes narrow.

"You took a live fish into the bounce house?" you ask.

Brace-Face freezes.

"Give it," you command, holding out your hand for the dead fish. He drops the bag into your hand. The poor little fishy is indeed dead; floating upside down in a plastic prison filled with too-warm water. You turn your gaze from the fish to the kids. "Scram."

They do.

"What was that about?" Miss Click asks, appearing out of nowhere.

"His fish died and he didn't want it anymore," you shrug.

"Did you give him a new one?"

"No."

"Good," she sighs. "We can return the live ones and get a refund when the carnival is over."

"The live ones?" you ask.

"There are bound to be casualties," she shrugs. "Anyway, I'm here for a cash pickup."

You take a fistful of bills out of your apron and hand them to her, concocting a plan as she counts the money and writes on her clipboard.

When she leaves, you dart over to Gareth.

"Give me some popcorn bags."

"Why?"

You huff in annoyance. He puts on his customer service voice.

"Small, medium, or large, ma'am?"

"Large."

He hands you a stack.

"Come see me when you get a break," you instruct, tucking them under your arm and returning to your booth.

Fun fact: You can fit four fish bags into one large popcorn bag.

The first batch of refugees (and Eddie's keys) are smuggled away by Jeff after a whispered explanation. He walks away with a grin and a popcorn bag held to his chest, looking like everyone else walking around the carnival with a snack.

Grant and Gareth's breaks come next, and eight more fish are rescued. They seem pleased to be sticking it to The Man and saving lives. Eddie is the last person to get a break, only an hour before the carnival is scheduled to close. This event is violating so many labor laws.

"This is the worst day of my life," he groans, stepping over the side of your booth and collapsing in the grass beside you. He's still dripping from his last dunk.

"Then I really hate to ask, but…" you bite your lip. "I need a favor."

Your sweet Eddie, soggy and wet and miserable, is the hero of the day. He transports twelve fish to the safety of the van. After his last run, he comes back with flushed cheeks and a twinkle in his eye.

"What about these little guys?" he asks, pointing to the fish in the bowls.

"I think their fates have been decided by a crueler god," you sigh.

"Munson! Your break is over! Stop loitering and get back to your booth!" the aforementioned crueler god barks, chasing him off with a threatening wave of her clipboard.

That's alright. Less than an hour to go, twenty-four fish saved, and a diploma with Eddie Munson's name on it being printed very soon. It's worth it.

When the time comes to pack up, Miss Click comes to collect the rest of your cash.

"How much do you get for taking the fish back?"

"How many are left?" she asks, eyes darting from her fistful of cash to the bucket that the boys of Corroded Coffin helped you empty.

"Just the ones in the bowls," you answer.

She performs a quick fish count and cringes. There are ten left.

"I don't even think it's worth trying to take those back," she sighs.

"Can I have them?" you ask. She eyes you suspiciously. "I've grown attached to the little fellas," you shrug, looking to the ground shyly.

"Fine," she laughs. "It's barely a dollar's worth of fish, and saves me an hour. You did a good job, moving so many! I bet there's a lot of happy kids out there, and a lot of dough in here!" She waves the leather zipper pouch containing the funds.

You smile, grateful that she didn't notice how few people were actually walking around with fish.

"We have to return the bowls though, so you'll have to put them in bags when you take them."

"That's alright," you grin. "I can handle bags."

You bag your remaining fish and present them to the boys with a grin when the post-carnival clean-up is complete.

"Look, guys! I get to bring a few fishies home!"

Your joy is met with eye-rolls and groans.

"What the hell are you gonna do with all those?" Eddie asks once you're safely in the fish-filled van.

"Eat them?" Gareth suggests.

"I bet if I put them into the tub with you, they'd eventually nibble you to death," you threaten.

"Nah, don't do that," Jeff says. "His funk will kill the poor little fishies." Gareth smacks him, and a playful slap fight breaks out in the back of the van.

You're all laughing as you pull out of the parking lot… but your smile soon fades. What are you going to do with all of these fish?

"Anybody want to take a fish or two home?" you ask hopefully.

"Nope," the boys in the back say in unison.

"Eddie?"

He puts his hand up, blocking his face from your view so you can't work your puppy-eyed magic. You roll your eyes.

"I'm gonna need a bigger bathtub," you sigh.

Thirty minutes later, after Jeff and Grant are dropped off, Eddie pulls into your driveway.

"How are you going to break it to Mom that you brought home a hundred fish?" Gareth grins.

"I had accomplices," you remind him. "And there are only… thirty-four?!"

Two Days Later

"Okay, babies, are we ready?" you ask, smiling down into one of two buckets full of goldfish.

Much to your surprise, your mother did not murder you for bringing home 34 mostly stolen goldfish. She found the situation hilarious, and declared that she'd always wanted a backyard fish pond anyway.

Your babies were freed from their bags and put into buckets for the night. The next morning, there was a group expedition to the home improvement store.

It took all weekend to get the hole dug and the liner laid and the filters installed, but you all had so much fun doing it.

(Except maybe Gareth, who hissed "I'll get you for this" every time he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.)

There's still work to be done with the overall landscaping, but flowers are your mother's department, so those can wait. Now, it's time to introduce your fishies to their new home.

You look to Eddie, standing on the other side of the little pond with a fish-filled bucket of his own.

"Release the fishes!" your mom calls, camera at the ready.

You both start to pour, slowly, and watch the little gold creatures plop into the pond and start swimming. When the buckets are empty, you set them aside and meet in the middle, kneeling beside the pond to peer down into it.

"They look so happy," you whisper.

"Well, yeah," Gareth grunts, dropping to his knees beside you. "They have a memory span of like three seconds."

"So do you," you and Eddie say together, looking away from your fish long enough to smirk at each other.

"That's good, though," Eddie says quietly, wrapping an arm around you. "Because they don't remember the carnival. They've already forgotten all the bad stuff. This is their life now."

"And it's gonna be a good one," you smile, leaning into him.

"How do we forget that fucking carnival?" Gareth mumbles.

Eddie glances back to see how far away your mom is. She's staring at a butterfly on one of her flowers through the camera's viewfinder.

"The good shit's in the van," he whispers. "Our memory loss comes later."

[icyowl]

Bluelock Cuddling headcanons

ft. Isagi, Chigiri, and Kunigami

Request: none

A/N: one of my racehorses won a race today so here’s a little gift to celebrate my good mood!

—————

Yoichi Isagi

the respectful kind

his favorite is half-cuddle — him on his back, you curled up into his side, head on his chest. Does his arm fall asleep? Absolutely. Will he stop? Never.

make his heart wobble any time you look up and about how much you like this — spending time with him, being close like this, knowing he cares about your opinion enough to ask so frequently for it.

Isagi is the kind that likes to cuddle the nights before a stressful thing. He gets to talk out his troubles and generally feel better about whatever anxieties he's got. Also, he genuinely seeks your life advice. He talks through his problems, that's who he is, and with you like this it feels like such a private time of vulnerability.

You habitually play with one another's fingers and hands. Usually it's sweet, but sometimes it devolves into thumb wars, arm wrestling, and even all out tickle battles. Sometimes he even lets you win

If he's lucky he can get you to fall asleep before he does. Reason? He likes watching you doze on him. Something about you falling asleep to the dip and rise of his chest makes him all giddy and humble at the same time.

Inevitably someone walks in on you two only to be greeted with the terror-inducing glare he pins them down with. Wake you up and they are not long for this world.

Hyoma Chigiri

the timid kind

go-to is the traditional spoon. It means you don't have to look at him and whatever embarrassment he's gotta be showing while being this close to you.

As time goes on, he starts to get almost too comfortable with it. On the phone? Playing a game? Fuckin' doing laundry? Doesn't matter. When he's lying on any bed or couch, there is a distinct bubble of space, and if you invade the bubble, you're within striking distance. His arms are nearly as fast as his legs. Chigiri will latch onto you, will pull you in, and will interrupt whatever it is you wanted to do so he can spoon you.

Rub his hand or intertwine fingers while he's got an arm draped over you and he is GONE

There have been times when he's pushed you away, and though it makes sense — he's always been the kind to close himself off, turn vile and harsh when he's hurting — it breaks you. When you're both ready to reconcile, somehow it ends with your back to his chest, his legs mixed with yours, and his warm hand holding you snug to his body.

Also likes this position because it lets him nuzzle in right on the wispy hairs at the bottom of your neck or the big vein on the side.

Turn the tables on him by flipping over in his grip and facing him head-on. It's also a nice way to get even closer to him when you've had a bad day. A kind of haven can be found in nestling under his chin. He's alright with this — it means you can't see his face and the obvious love-sick tint to his eyes.

Rensuke Kunigami

the kind that doesn't know his own strength

best likes the space-saver, aka, one person laying on top of the other. Boy doesn't care which of you is on top. He likes supporting your body or you supporting his — something about being the other person's strength makes the back of his head tingle.

first time he lays on you, he doesn't check his weight at all, just flops down. Immediately thinks he's broken you when you squeak. After that he's almost too wary about hurting you. Am I too heavy? Can you breathe okay? Do I need to get up? You can get on top if you want. Relax Kunigami, just don't fall from orbit and you'll be fine.

Icing on the cake is when you play with his hair. Dude could be angry as an ox, ready to rip someone in half, and two minutes of your fingers in his hair has him fighting to stay awake and spend time with you. What was he angry about again?

One time you fell asleep on his chest, all blissed out and comfy, only to wake up in a shiny puddle of your own drool. You were, understandably, mortified, but the embarrassment turns to affection when he casually disregards the whole thing: it's just a shirt, it'll dry.

You figured you repaid the favor when several weeks later he was one on top of you, head burrowed unceremoniously into your stomach, arms underneath your back, refusing to look up or speak. The reason revealed itself when he finally met your eyes.

Tears. Tiny sniffs too. Four words: I failed my team. That was all he said before digging his face back into your skin. It took time, and a lot of encouragement, but he did eventually snap out of the funk and even apologized for messing up your clothes. It'll dry, you said, and you shared a little snicker.

[rottenpumpkin13]

ASGZC (is there an order it’s supposed to go in??) playing monopoly.

who wins?

who flips the table??

Things That Happen During Monopoly

• Angeal is elected the banker at the start of the game because he's the most responsible. Angeal then proceeds to miscount the money and acquiring an incomprehensible wealth that he refuses to part with.

Angeal: I never miscount money. I'm excellent at math. This distribution is as fair as it could be.

Cloud: I literally only have $1.

Angeal: Your poverty isn't my problem.

• Genesis has rolled "Go to jail" every turn so far and the board is looking very flippable. Sephiroth finds his misery hilarious.

• Sephiroth doesn't believe in paying rent.

Zack: Sephiroth, this isn't fair! You're using my property, you have to pay the fee!

Sephiroth: By charging me money for a place to live, you're perpetuating the cycle of wealth inequality and profiting off of my misfortune. It's a wretched world we live in, where those with wealth continue to accumulate more while the poor struggle to get by on their honest salaries.

Zack: IT'S MONOPOLY MONEY.

• Someone lost the dog token so Angeal spends 10 minutes ranting about how they're all irresponsible, failing to notice that Sephiroth has it on top of his little house.

• Angeal bankrupts Genesis, who spends the next 8 minutes cursing Angeal's bloodline and threatening to sue him IRL.

• Genesis lands in jail again. He is unfortunately broke, so he has to stay in jail.

Genesis: I don't understand! Where are all the get out of jail free cards??

Sephiroth: I wouldn't know.

• Sephiroth is hoarding them all in the pockets of his coat.

• Zack is hoarding houses so no one else can buy them.

• Cloud is watching Angeal actively steal money from the bank, but no one is doing anything because Genesis is looking for the get out of jail cards and Zack and Sephiroth are having a bidding war that's starting to sound more like an argument.

• Genesis sees a get out of jail card fall from Sephiroth's pocket.

• Genesis flips the board.

• Game over.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Carpenter Sisters Headcanons

Sam Carpenter & Tara Carpenter

Notes: Just some headcanons of my favorite sisters (aka my beloveds). Wanted to give you something since I've been pretty inactive this month partly due to the Christmas special I'm planning (which is coming soon) I also just love Sam & Tara sm, they will forever live on no matter what

Sam Carpenter

We should all already know this but, Sam is all the above when it comes to Tara. Big sister? Check. Dad? Check. Mom? Check, check, check

Makes Tara carry around a bunch of self-defense weapons like a taser, pepper spray etc

Texts like an old man. She doesn't know a whole bunch of "text lingo" so Tara uses that to her advantage. She'd text you "Kys" thinking it meant "keep yourself safe" because that's what Tara told her. She definitely uses these emojis: 😂 🙂

Is completely lost when it comes to "slang terms" and abbreviations. Tara: "You ate that Sam." Sam: "Ate what? I'm not even eating." Tara's laughed/made fun of her for it while Sam remains confused

Hates being called Samantha. It reminds her of how her mother would scold and ridicule her. When Tara started calling her Sammy, she couldn't be any happier with the given nickname

Never got Tara's love for Horror growing up, but tried to understand for her. In her opinion, it's illogical how most of the characters act, but Tara likes it so she doesn't mind giving it another try

Definitely introverted. She's more outgoing with people she's comfortable with; Tara, Mindy, Chad. Growing up, she never socialized a lot

Will always set everybody else's plate before her own

The Core Four have game nights and it can get... intense. Let's just say on multiple occasions (whether that was Tara buying her out during monopoly or Chad and Mindy giving her yet another +4 in Uno) she has been extremely close to flipping the table

Could laugh to the point where she's gasping for air, I can imagine her and the Core Four just wheezing over the dumbest things

Definitely had "the world doesn't understand me so I cope by blasting music very loudly in my room, not gaf who I piss off" phase. One of the songs she would blast was Creep by Radiohead (canon event. I can't interfere.)

Tara Carpenter

Could sleep anywhere, and always sleeping any chance she gets. I'd say she's a night person, and hates being woken up so early in the morning. And I can imagine she's a sleep talker too

Growing up she had a favorite stuffed animal she carried around everywhere with her and refused to sleep without it

She was a thumbsucker growing up, which she was teased for

Never learned how to ride a bike

She's always hated needles. Whenever she was forced to get a shot when she was younger, she refused to take it without Sam being in the room with her. Sam would let Tara squeeze her hand as tightly as she needed to

Cannot drive for shit. I just know this woman is a bad driver, Sam and the others just hold on to dear life and cross their fingers when Tara gets into the driver's seat

Her car is a complete mess, like you'll just find the randomist stuff in there. There's probably no limit to what you could find if you just try hard enough

She wakes up in the weirdest positions and thinks, "How tf did this even happen-"

Bullies kids on roblox (I don't make the rules)

If someone messes with Sam, they better count their days

She can get soo competitive. If she's winning, you'll know. Can get cocky when celebrating, chanting and everything

Her, Chad, and Mindy would put together one of those "performances" when they were little in order to convince Sam to let them stay up late or have a sleep over. Sam said yes every time

Tara's a shark defender. She believes they're extremely misunderstood creatures

-----------

A/N: I need a Sam & Tara for Christmas

[yanderes-galore]

Thought of another one, a five finger fillet scenario with javier? A bet of letting darling free if they win. You can choose wether darling wins or looses, or if he even keeps to his word

Ah, yes, one last gamble to see where you get to go. Made you not part of the gang/the same gang as it would be strange to kidnap a fellow gang member... right? Sorry it's short, I just sort of focused on the idea more than background and aftermath :(

Risk and Reward

Yandere! Javier Escuella Scenario

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Sadism, Blood, Five Finger Fillet/Knife game, Post kidnapping plot, Possessive behavior, Isolation, Forced relationship.

"Just a little game, my love... you wanted freedom, yeah? Wanted to be away from the big scary outlaw?"

Javier's voice is taunting as he taps his knife on the table. You look at him warily, watching as he practices with his knife. You... dread what he plans to do.

"C'mon, baby... you don't have much of a choice either way, right?" Javier grins, stabbing the knife into the table with a shrug. "Just a little game of risk and reward... you ain't got much to lose."

You really didn't have much to lose. You had no horse and Javier kept you in a cabin way out in the middle of nowhere. He had taken you from your home... you only had him.

If you played this game... maybe... just maybe... you can go home?

"Five Finger Fillet... You know how to play, hm?" Javier muses, picking up the knife to start the usual pattern of the game. "How about, since you seem so... reclusive lately, I give you an ultimatum?"

Your eyes watch as he continues the pattern, your heart thumping at each jab of the knife. Javier merely chuckles at the twinkle of hope in your eyes.

"If you win this game, I'll get you a horse and let you go home," Javier begins, flipping the knife a bit as he continues. "If I win... you give up trying to run and stay with me, deal?"

The proposal itself feels like a deal with the devil. You know there's no guarantee he'll keep to his word... or if you'll even win. There's always a chance he's messing with you... but...

You're willing to risk anything to go home and away from the Mexican maniac.

"Deal." You get yourself to say, leaving Javier pleased and with a chuckle.

"Good choice, dear. Been wanting an adrenaline rush recently." Javier chuckles, gripping his knife with his other hand on the table. "Best you give it your all... It's all you've got."

Javier is the one who sets the pace for your game. A game of how many rounds you can do in 30 seconds. You're prepared to risk it all...

Only to see how fast Javier goes.

Your confidence dwindles as you see Javier perform a trick with his knife, keeping a steady pace. You feel yourself shake a little when he finishes his time, jabbing the knife into the table next to you. He grins, nodding over to the blade with laughter.

"Three rounds, dear. Unless you lose this one... think you can beat my time?" Javier coos as he watches you pick up the blade.

You take a deep breath, steadying your hand before starting. You curse yourself when you notice your slow pace. You want to speed up... but you worry. You aren't going to beat his time...

You need to win twice....

"Nice try...." Javier teases once your time is up. You weren't as fast as him, clearly inexperienced. You still tried to keep your hope...

But nothing seemed to get better.

Another round begins and Javier is still faster. The air is tense and blood, from the both of you, begins to show on the blade. You hiss to yourself, feeling incredibly nervous and pained. You try to go faster the next round... yet Javier only seemed to be more amused.

"I pity your poor fingers when you miss..." Javier coos, clicking his tongue when he sees you nick yourself again. "But... I suppose you should go faster, right? Last chance, baby...."

Javier's words don't help as you desperately try to complete your rounds. You're so focused on the game you barely register Javier's voice. Not until he places his hand over the handle and pulls it away.

"Aw, a shame, love." Javier clicks his tongue, watching you with amusement. "Maybe we can try again another time? Perhaps you'll get better...."

"N-No... please? Please, we can try again! I... I just needed practice! Javier, come on...!" You plead, standing up. Your hand stings from cuts but you could care less. You don't wanna stay here....

"Sorry, sweetheart... deal’s a deal." Javier coos, standing in front of you with a predatory grin. "You promise you'd be mine if I win. You wouldn't go back on your word, would you?"

You look like you're on the verge of tears, you want to protest but Javier just cups your face. He holds your wounded hand with one hand as he looks you over with a sigh. It's oddly loving... yet he's still your captor.

"It's alright, my love... I wouldn't keep my word either." Javier whispers, leaning closer as your breath hitches. "You know... You look so beautiful when you cry...."

It's then Javier kisses you and you feel defeat settle in your gut heavily. It's... not like you lost anything, you guess. It's already been months now...

You weren't ever going home...

It was foolish to even have hope.

[hotshotsxyz]

they don't call it texas hold'em for nothing

(buddie) (1.6k) (6b spec) of course i wrote poker date spec, would you expect anything less of me?

The thing that Buck forgot to consider when he agreed to Bobby’s undercover scheme is that he really, really sucks at poker. 

As in, down to three chips after as many hands sucks at poker. 

“Guess I’m all in,” Buck jokes, placing his chips in the center of the table as the blind bet. 

The woman opposite him fixes Buck with an unimpressed look. 

Eddie, sitting next to him, snorts. Buck kicks him under the table. 

The dealer slings out two cards to each of them. Buck lifts the corners of his for a peek and–

Fuck. 

A two of hearts and a six of spades. 

The bet goes around the table until it reaches Eddie, who glances at his cards, gives Buck an unreadable look, and doubles the bet. 

The betting continues, the face up community cards are dealt, and sure enough, Buck’s fucked. His best hand is a pair of sixes, and with all but one player still in the game, he doubts that’ll win him shit. 

“Call,” Eddie says, tapping the table, and the round is over. 

Buck turns his cards over and the woman across from him snorts derisively, then flips her cards to reveal three queens. No one else at the table has her beat. No one except–

Eddie smiles innocently and drops his hand on the table, revealing a flush. “Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but. 

Buck wants to rib him, maybe lean a little dramatically into his loss, but tonight he and Eddie are strangers, and Buck no longer has a reason to be at the table. He pushes his chair back and stands. “It’s been fun,” he begins, “but–”

“You can’t leave now,” Eddie interrupts. He tilts his chin up to look directly at Buck and smirks. 

Buck tries not to let the confusion show on his face. “My, uh– my last three chips just joined your pile,” he says with a meaningful glance. 

“Of course they did. Sweetheart, you’re my good luck charm.”

It takes Buck a full fifteen seconds to pick his jaw up off the ground and try to respond. “Uh– well I–”

“C’mon,” Eddie says– no, practically purrs, “I’ll buy you a drink if you agree to stay.”

The back of Buck’s neck flushes warm and pink, but he sits back down and drags his chair a little closer to Eddie’s. “I’d be an idiot to say no to that,” he murmurs, and it feels just a little bit too true. 

Eddie slings an arm around Buck and turns his attention back to the dealer who’s been watching them with a bemused expression. ���So,” he asks, “are we playing or not?”

…

Eddie’s an idiot. 

An absolute fucking idiot, for more reasons than one, but the biggest reason is currently leaning into his personal space drinking a tonic water that’s been dressed to appear alcoholic. 

Every time Eddie looks over, Buck’s watching him. And every time Eddie looks away, he can’t keep himself from looking right back. 

He’s going to start losing soon, which is going to defeat the entire point of their ruse. 

He needs a second to breathe. 

Eddie pulls a black card from his jacket and presses it into Buck’s hand, careful to conceal that it’s actually a gift card they’d purchased a few hours ago specifically for the purpose of pantomiming wealth. 

“Go get us a couple of drinks, will you?” he says with a wink. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Buck shoots him a playful glare, an expression so small that no one else could possibly have caught it. He gets up from his chair and trails his fingers across Eddie’s shoulders and leans down to whisper in his ear. 

“You got it, asshole,” Buck says.

Eddie swears he can hear Buck’s smirk. 

The thing that Eddie forgot to consider when he agreed to Bobby’s undercover scheme is that he’s recently come to the conclusion that he’s been looking for love in all the wrong places, and that the right place has maybe been right in front of him the entire time. And the thing about that is, Eddie’s not ready to deal with it yet. 

He’s not ready to deal with it, but apparently he is just about ready to pull Buck into his lap and press his lips against the skin of his neck, because he has to forcibly restrain himself from doing just that when Buck returns with their drinks. 

“I’ll raise,” Eddie says distractedly, pushing a number of chips that he doesn’t bother to count into the center of the table. 

“Call,” the woman across from Buck says. 

Buck sets their drinks on the table, then leans into Eddie’s space until his lips brush against Eddie’s ear. 

“Our new friend is sitting at the bar,” he whispers. 

Eddie fails to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine. He’s so fucked. 

…

Whatever game it is they’re playing, Buck’s pretty sure he doesn’t want it to end. 

Which is a little concerning, because Eddie’s one of the most important people in his life, maybe the most important, and he really doesn’t need to go fucking that up because he’s feeling horny. 

Still, he can’t help the thrill that runs through him when he feels Eddie shiver. 

Buck leans back in his seat and tries to watch the game, but quickly becomes distracted watching Eddie instead. 

When he has a particularly good hand, his lips press together and his fingers slide ever so slightly up and down Buck’s bicep. When he’s trying to bluff his way out of losing, Eddie’s knee knocks against Buck’s, but his face doesn’t move a millimeter. When he’s trying to read another player, the corner of his lips twitches up in a way that’s starting to drive Buck just a little bit crazy. 

They’re gathering intel, not on a date. Buck has to remember that. 

Eddie glances at him and for a split second; his expression goes soft.

Buck swallows hard.

…

Eddie finishes the hand then stands, pulling Buck up with him.

“I think it’s about time we go celebrate, don’t you think?” he says as suggestively as he can manage without sending himself into a tailspin. 

Buck ducks his head and smiles. “Buy me another drink and we’ll see where it goes,” he says. 

“That can be arranged,” Eddie replies, doing his best not to choke on his own tongue. 

They’ve got a job to do. The only reason Buck’s flirting with him is to keep their cover. It’s not real. Eddie just has to remember it’s not real. 

…

It’s not a date, but if Eddie keeps looking at him like that, it’s sure as hell going to end like one. 

The worst part is, it’s not the heated looks or the whisper soft touches that are getting him anymore. No, Buck knows those are for show. It’s the warm smile Eddie keeps turning in his direction when no one seems to be looking. It’s the hand at his elbow that seems to be asking if he’s still okay with everything that’s happening. 

It’s the Eddie of it all, and Buck’s starting to realize that he doesn’t just want to sleep with his best friend. 

And that’s a problem, because he knows that for Eddie, this is all just an act. 

It’s all just an act until they reach the bar and Eddie’s eyes go wide. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says, and before Buck knows it, Eddie’s lips are on his and the entire world has frozen on its axis. 

…

The fucking bartender. It had to be this fucking bartender, the asshole he went out on a date with two weeks ago, then promptly ghosted because he was pretentious as fuck and Eddie had neither the time nor the energy to let him down gently. 

He wouldn’t shut up about Eddie’s job during the date, and Eddie just knows he’ll blow their cover if he realizes who he’s about to serve. 

So Eddie does the only thing he can think of, which, incidentally, is also the stupidest thing he’s ever thought of. 

He kisses Buck. 

Eddie kisses Buck and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to be able to kiss anyone else again. 

…

Eddie kisses him, and when Buck’s brain finally catches up, he kisses back like his life depends on it. 

Hell, maybe it does. The people they’re here to spy on are dangerous, and it’s not like Eddie’s kissing him for no reason. 

Buck wishes it was for no reason. 

He fists his hands in Eddie’s jacket and deepens the kiss. If this is the only time he’s ever going to get this, he’s not letting it go to waste. 

…

After what feels like forever and not nearly long enough, Eddie breaks the kiss, panting. He glances towards the bar and sees that the bartender is now focused on several patrons at the other end, giving them plenty of time to make themselves scarce. 

“What was that for?” Buck whispers, just as out of breath as Eddie. 

“The uh– I know the bartender,” Eddie replies. “Sorry about that.”

He’s not sorry at all, actually. 

“Oh,” Buck says, in a tone Eddie can’t read at all. “Okay, so–”

“Back to the mission,” Eddie says. 

Buck swallows and nods. “Right, yeah.”

Eddie has to turn away, because if he spends another second looking at Buck he’s going to do something supremely idiotic, something like kiss him a second time, except this time there won’t be a convenient bartender to excuse his actions. 

Eddie’s in love with his best friend. He’s so fucked. 

…

Eddie turns away and Buck closes his eyes. That kiss… whatever Buck thought he knew about their relationship has gone out the window. 

Buck’s in love with his best friend. He’s so fucked. 

[charlesslut16]

-board games-

summary : you and pierre play board games but it ends a bit different...

PAIRING : pierre gasly x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

masterlist

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

You and your boyfriend, of 4 years, pierre, were playing board games in your shared apartment. You were both siting at your dining table. Pierre was siting opposite to you.

You were playing ludo and pierre was about to win. Almost at the finish end. Only needing a one for the win, but you abruptly stood up. Pierre looked at you with a confused look. 

You glared at him as you saw the look on his face. "Please don't. Please, ma cherie." he tried to protect the board, so you couldn't flip it and throw it on the floor.

But you beat him to it. Taking the edge of the board, you flipped it. Making all the pieces fly all over the room and on the floor. He looked at you with a sad smile, but with a little smirk behind it.

"I should have never agreed to play with you." He said as he stood up. Approaching him, he pulled you into his chest for a hug.

"I’m sorry, I always let my emotions get the best of me," You mumbled into his chest. "I won't forgive you, baby."  He answered before kissing the top of your head.

Pulling your head away from his head, you glared at him. Groaning as you heard his answer. Your arms still around his torso, while you lean on his right shoulder.

You then sighed again before pulling out of the side hug, while he had a playful smirk on his lips. You glare at him again, meanwhile stepping away from your boyfriend.

He then turned away to clean up the pieces and the board on the floor. Cleaning up the mess you have made. Taking the chance, you gave his butt a smack.

His head instantly snapped towards you. You look at him for a second, but then decide to make a run for it, going into your shared bedroom, locking the door behind you.

You heard him coming near because you heard the footsteps near the bedroom door before they distanced. A sigh of relieved left your lips before you heard him coming back.

Then the door handle started to rattle. Shit. You were so screed. He had your bedroom key.

As I heard him insert the key, my heard stopped. 'Nah. Not dying today.', you thought as you saw the doorknob turn.

So you did what made the most sense to you. You went to hide under your shared bed. Right as the door opened, your whole body was hidden under the bed.

You then heard his footsteps as he stepped into the room. Shit. He kneeled down, tilted his head as he looked at you under the bed. As he saw you, he smiled.

"Come out, amore" he ordered. You refused, so he pulled you out under the bed, so that you were now under him. You looked at him confused until you felt his hands around your waist.

As you realized what was about to happen, you tried to stop him, but he was too fast. He now tickled you. Laughing as he sees as you roll around, screaming, begging him to stop.

He stopped after a while, picking you up into his arms, holding you close. You both were now facing each other. Only centimeters separating you both.

"Don't touch my ass,"  he said sternly, but having a playful smirk on his face. "But I Like it. It's nice and round. Like a ball." You answer but laughing in between your words. 

A soft laugh left his perfect lips before he rested his forehead on yours. A little later, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead and a soft kiss on the top of your head.

"Je t’aime, ma princesse." He said after giving you a kiss on your lips. I love you, my princess 

"Je t’aime plus, mon prince." You said, leaning on his chest. The place you felt at peace.  I love you more, my prince.

"But really, don't touch my ass!"

[short-honey-badger]

Phantom Pain 10

Hey loves. I'm back with part 10! I hope you enjoy a bit of gambling and possessive Shanks. ❤️

Masterlist

The bar is full of patrons, sweet smelling smoke curls in the air, and you have to fight the sneer that wants to play on your lips. This definitely isn't your scene, but Shanks had wanted to play cards and had given you big puppy dog eyes when he'd asked if you would come with him. You could feel how excited he was to play his little card game, but you couldn't help but feel a bit of trepidation. This place was full of men and women who looked like they would rather eat you than greet you.

You are stuck between Shanks and Benn, the older man acting as a buffer and keeping you away from the other gamblers inside the shoddy casino bar. You are grateful for it.

“I won't let anything happen to you, baby. Don't ya trust me?” Shanks crooned. Your side of the bond is lashing like an angry eel, full of anxiety that Shanks tries to soothe with his own confidence. You take the feeling and wrap yourself in it, shoulders slumping and a bit more relaxed now.

“Course I trust you. I just don't trust anyone else here. Aside from you. Benn.”

The older man huffs, and mutters dryly, “Thanks.”

Shanks snickers and presses a kiss to the top of your head. The three of you look for an empty table and find one close to the back. There are only two seats left, so Benn takes one, and Shanks plops in the other, looking up at you with a grin and patting his lap.

“You don't mind if I keep my good luck charm, do you?” Shanks says, his smile open and friendly, but tone firm and the dealer shrugs, dealing the redhead and Benn in. You ignore the looks you get for that remark, though the man that sits across from you doesn't take his greedy eyes off of you, instead blatantly ogling your bust and any other bit of skin that you have showing.

You pick up the cards, looking down at them and angle your hands to where Shanks could see them. You had no idea what you were doing, having never played this before.

Shanks can feel your rising confusion and tug you close to his chest, arm securely wrapped around your waist. He glares at the miscreant across the table, and you shiver when you feel his lips graze your ear.

“This is BlackJack. We're trying to beat the dealer, and if our cards go over 21, then we bust. The closest to 21 wins the round, and we play until the entire deck is run through.”

You nod. It seemed simple enough. You look at your two cards, finding 8 of hearts and 6 of diamonds staring up at you, and set them back on the table, replicating the way Benn has laid his hand out.

The dealer flips one of his cards, keeping the other laid face down, and you squint to see the 10 of Spades. You jump when Shanks speaks up again.

“Now we think. Do we stay or do hit for another card? An ace can be 1 or 11, but kings, queens, and jacks are labeled at 10. The other cards we take at face value.”

You lick your lips, watching the other people at the table. Benn hits and is dealt another card. He keeps it face down beside his other cards. You look at your cards again. 14. Anything higher than a 7, and it'd be a bust.

Shanks feels you come to your conclusion and speaks up for his soul mate when it's their turn.

“Hit.”

The dealer slides them a card, keeping it face down. Once the rest of the table has made their decision, the dealer flips his face down card, revealing an 8 of diamonds. You follow everyone else's lead and flip your card, frowning when it's an ace of clubs. They'd lost.

“Damn. Deal us back in,” Shanks demands, and soon, the five men and you have been given two face-up cards. You shift in your seat, content to let your soulmate be the one to choose this round.

The hours pass, and the bar begins to become a bit more lively with the falling sun and the flowing drinks. You are pleasantly buzzed, slumped back into Shanks, brow pressed into collarbone. The game has slowly lost your interest after the two of you had continued to lose. A wiry smirk twists your lips. Some lucky charm you were.

The sudden silence of your table and the way Shanks’ end of the bond flashes with a sudden rage, has you blinking the blurriness from your vision and sitting up. You glance at your soulmate and shiver at seeing such a nasty grin on his handsome face. He is staring at the man who couldn't keep his eyes off you, and you have a very bad feeling that the next couple seconds were pivotal for his survival.

“Say that again, I don't think my seastar heard you,” Shanks demands, and his grip on you becomes borderline painful, the hand he has on your thigh tight enough to leave marks behind.

The man sneers at the Emperor, drunk and feeling too confident on his winning streak and bleeding the redhead’s pockets dry. He wanted to win something else. You.

“I said you ain't got anything left in the pot, so maybe you should bet your lucky charm.”

You jerk back, taken aback at the way the man leers at you, and turn your nose up at the bastard when he boldly licks his lips and sends you a wink. You aren't expecting Shanks to grab your chin and angle your face to his, his expression mischievous but tinted with that same anger you can still feel shocking your side of the connection.

“What do you think, baby? You want in?”

You lick your lips. A year ago, you would never have agreed to anything like this, but Shanks and his playfulness must have rubbed off on you.

You turn and glare at the man across the table, your smirk matching your soulmate's, “We're all in.”

Benn snickers and rolls his eyes, already knowing that win or lose, Shanks wouldn't be leaving the island without taking this simpleton's life for his slight against you.

The game begins, and the tension in the air rackets up as the cards are dealt out to each patron. You sit up straight and focus back on the cards that lay in front of you, a king of spades and ten of diamonds. 20. A grin curls your lips, and your eyes flick up to meet the man who looks less than enthused about his hand. He hits, and the dealer slides him his last card.

“Fuck.”

From here, you can see that his cards talley up to 23, and panic floods his eyes when he looks up and catches you and Shanks staring him down. He scrambles from his seat, eager to flee before the redhead could even stand. However, he isn't accounting for the first mate to be right there and slams into Benn.

“You've no idea who we are, do you?” Shanks says from where he still lounges in the chair. You relax and sit back against his chest, wanting to see how this plays out.

The man shakes his head, terrified. There is a thick presence in the air, making it hard for him to breathe, let alone think.

“Well. Let me introduce myself. I'm Shanks, and that's Benn Beckmann, my first mate,” he pulls you close and leans around to kiss your cheek, “And this is my soulmate.”

You can feel how much Shanks is enjoying this, and the wicked satisfaction that flows between the two of you makes you grin.

“You tried to take her away from me, and I can't have some nobody think that they can do that.”

You ignore the way that the man begins to beg, pleading and promising to never be seen again. But none of that matters to Shanks. This vermin had disrespected you, and the Emperor wouldn't stand for it. His hand strokes your thigh, smoothing indecency up your leg to grip your inner thigh, thumb pressed against your clothed heat. He kisses the back of your head, voice idle and playful when he speaks up.

“What should we do with him, Seastar?”

You only have to think for half a second, “Feed him to the Seakings.”

Shanks throws his head back and laughs, then tucks his arm under your ass and stands with you. You toss your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life as Shanks stalks through the bar, the other patrons making way for him all the way to the door. Everyone else knew better to make such a scene and almost felt bad for the sleaze ball that Benn shoved forward, his hand wrapped in the guy's shirt to prevent him from running away.

“You heard the lady. Let's go.”

The rest of the crew meets Shanks and his soulmate back in the Red Force. He has you back in his lap, sitting cross-legged on his deck as the two of you watch Lucky Roux tie the man's hands together. They’ve already sailed out of the cove and sit in deep, seaking infested waters. The man is shaking like a leaf, still spilling pleads and begging for mercy.

They go unheard, and you stand to better watch the man stumble to the edge of the ship to the gangplank. You feel Shanks follow after you, joining you in leaning against the railing.

“Give the order, Baby,” He whispers behind you and you shiver at the tone he uses. He sounds like he is enjoying this, and you know he is.

You look at the bastard who had tried to win you in a game of cards, and gesture at the sea.

“Walk the plank.”

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27

[arlerts-angel]

Telling playboy/cocky! Armin that nobody had ever made you squirt before so u must not be able to.

“Armin, you’re not gonna make me squirt. I’ve never done it before so I must not be able to.”

“Mm.. you sure about that pretty girl?”

a/n: it's giving frat boy at a college party so CHEERS 🍻 sorry i'm just now getting to this, i'm trying to finish the requests sitting in my drafts/inbox 🩷 side note: i might get rid of the taglist idk ANYWAYS ENJOYYY SMOOCHES

cw: modern/college au, alcohol, cocky!armin x fem!reader, dubcon? (not sure but since alcohol is involved i'll tag just in case) oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering, squirting, pet names (pretty girl, angel, princess, baby, good girl)

taglist: @callm3senpaii @dilfkentolover @arlertwitch @la-undercover-latina @nigthmar3moon @darkstarlight82 @daddydynamight @bakubunny @ringsofsaturnnnn @softlilpeachxx @i-literally-cant-with-this @arlertdarling @tomuraslut @hannas16

"you. me. beer pong. whaddya say?" armin glances over at you as he takes a drink from his solo cup.

"i'm down." you bounce happily, walking with him to the game table.

"uh—can i ask you something?" he smacks his lips.

"sure, anything." you nod.

"...were you being serious when we were playing truth or dare?" he asks curiously.

"that's kind of the point of the game." you take a drink from the cup in your hand.

"so no one's ever made you squirt before?" he asks softly, bouncing the small white ball on the table.

"never. i must not be able to." you shrug. a shit-eating grin spreads across his face.

"if i win... i get to make you squirt."

"alright, but you're not gonna make me squirt, armin."

he hums. "you sure about that, pretty girl?" he winks and bounces the ping-pong ball straight into one of your cups. "bottoms up, sweetheart." he winks. you flip him off playfully and drink from the cup.

...

"seven to three. final score, angel." he coos, stroking your hair softly. he leans down and whispers into your ear.

"i can't wait to make you cum. you'll come crawling back to me, princess. wait and see." he takes your hand and leads you through the sorority house to his bedroom. he locks the door behind him and grabs your waist. "what do you say? still think i can't do it, angel?" he whispers, kissing your neck up and down.

"s not that i think you can't— i don't think i can." you giggle, gasping softly as he feels you up, squeezing your boobs and roaming his hands across your body. "so perfect. can't believe no one's treated this body of yours right." he scoffs, throwing his clothes and yours to the floor piece by piece.

"lay back and relax for me, yeah?" he insists, making himself comfortable between your legs. he starts kissing your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your honeypot of sweet, sticky, slick. he licks a stripe up your slit teasingly then blows a puff of air just to watch you squirm. "armin–!" you whine. "yes, princess?" he taunts, circling your throbbing clit with his middle finger. he doesn't give you time to react before diving tongue-first into your pussy—indulging in the intoxicatingly sweet nectar of your sex.

"mmmm fuck, you taste so good." he says between hungry laps at your cunt. he brings his hand up to your mouth and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, asking for you to part your lips without having to speak. once his fingers are prepped he slides one in at a time; pumping in and out slowly and methodically against the spongy g-spot deep within your walls all the while toying at your swollen and throbbing clit with his tongue.

you're a blubbering mess, babbling about how much better this is than any toy you own, and so, so much better than your fingers. it doesn't take long for you to realize just how close you are to cumming. "armin–! 'm getting close. so close. gonna cum soon–!" you cry, arching your back. he looks up at you. "you ready, princess? want you to soak my bedsheets." he returns to your clit and presses down on your lower belly, sending you quickly to your orgasm.

"gah—fuck!" you shut your eyes, tears falling down your cheeks from all the stimulation. streams of your cum gushing out onto his sheets and his face. "fuck yeah baby just like that, such a good fucking girl." he groans, watching the cum spill out of you and rubbing your clit furiously. "that's it baby, you okay? does that feel good princess?" he talks you through your very intense orgasm. "y-yeah," you hiccup. "so good."

"think you can do it again, angel?" he smiles, moving a piece of your sweat-dampened hair off your face.

support banner by benkeibear

[shitpostingkats]

(for the record. i love the aj trilogy. i'm not trying to dunk on anyone here. just calling it as i see it) one very funny thing about aa4 and aa5 and their active conversation with one another is aa4 is a game about defending criminals. all of whom are at least a little sympathetic but still. committed crimes (but it's still your job to defend them because they still deserve a fair trial and a shot at a better life). and its also a game that's like "hey evidence is cool and all. but like sometimes :) its not enough :) sometimes the law is wrong and sometimes you lie and you win and no one finds out you lied that's just for you to think about at night" (it wasn't even your choice. you didn't even know what you were doing). with that in mind. it's then really funny to play aa5 a game which is begging you PLEASE DO NOT DO BAD THINGS FOR THE SAKE OF A GREATER GOOD. PLEASE FOLLOW THE LAW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. YOU CAN FLIP COPS BUT THAT IS IT. and with that in mind it's absolutely hilarious to me that one of these games was sponsored by the japanese government and it WASN'T aa5.

Oh definitely. I personally wasn't very grabbed by aa4 as much as I would have expected, partly because I was spoiled by playing the great ace attorney games first, and apollo justice brings a lot of things to the table that get further refined in that duology. (Everyone should go play tgaa if they haven't already- *I am dragged forcibly off the soapbox*)

But I find it interesting that in aa4, you are defending criminals, and that's a very good thing. You are Apollo Justice. All your clients are criminals, yes, and through investigation get found out and are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. (Aside from Phoenix, cough cough). The Kitaki's leave the mafia and become honest buisnessfolk. Vera's forgeries are discovered, preventing further pieces from being sold on the black market. Machi actually hands himself over to the Japanifornia courts because it is viewed as more benevolent and trustworthy than returning to his home country. They're all sympathetic criminals, and the court is sympathetic to them in turn. The judicial system is painted as something that reforms people and finds answers.

Meanwhile in aa5, the courts are a mess. There's a whole case dedicated to blatantly showing how legal professionals are being trained to disregard actual facts and the one person trying to root out corruption is murdered. Your client goes behind your back to indict themselves because they don't trust the system to not blame an unrelated innocent party. Multiple times. Aura kidnaps and threatens half a dozen people as a direct response to knowing her brother is going to be executed for a murder he didn't commit. There's multiple discussions of not just copaganda, but actual propaganda for the courts as well. It makes everything about the judical system come of as shady, dishonorable, and in desperate need of reform.

Aa4, the game sponsored by the japanese government, is the story of how guilty people come into contact with the court system and stop doing crime, while aa5 is the story of innocent people coming into contact with the court system and immediately doing so much more crime.