#that's what the mercenaries are referring to him as

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS AND NICKNAMES

scout: scout doesn’t go by much outside of his name and scout. and even then, the team isn’t particularly offering him a team wide nickname to use. sometimes snipes calls him roo, but normally if he’s hearing “little fucker” he knows people are talking about him. and frankly, at this point, when people call him jeremy, that’s more the nickname now. or he thinks he owes you money. scout is his job title, sure, but he responds to it. responds more often than to his own name.

soldier: soldier doesn’t respond to anything past his name, soldier, and an insult. despite this, soldier is the one who throws the most nicknames out to the team. very few nicknames actually stick for the team, but it doesn’t stop him from using them! they are normally crass, and marginally hurtful in nature. his teammates are usually able to shrug off the latter (if not give a groan in annoyance if he’s addressing them), and gripe on him for the former. he tells them to suck it the fuck up, and reiterates the nickname. with force, this time.

pyro: pyro prefers to call their teammates by their job titles. it’s easier, it’s simple, and they fall off the tongue. pyro doesn’t think they’re really smart enough to come up with nicknames. they are, however, the best at descriptor terms, if you can understand them. pyro can give a description that would get some of america’s most wanted found in thirty minutes… if you could understand them. the only exceptions to the “job title only” rule is engineer and demo. engineer because they’re comfortable enough to do that and demo because they just love his name. sits well in their mouth.

demo: tavish is on a first name basis with everyone in the base. and a couple of members of the blu team! he only uses job titles in battle, where it is quick and efficient, if he doesn’t just say “you” and “spy”. it works for the team, they normally get his gist. when he’s shitfaced, depending on the way the alcohol hits him, he might used more general nicknames, but he’ll normally just call their name and slur the rest of the sentence. at least they know he was addressing them!

heavy: heavy normally addresses his team by their job titles, aside from the medic, whom he affectionately refers to as “doctor”. and that is what he is, at least to heavy. and most refer to heavy outside of battle as misha. the team has attempted to use his name in battle and was sternly told to stop. it brings him too close to the reality. heavy is fine being heavy on the field. it is a stark line between his job and himself. he needs that distinction to maintain his sanity.

engineer: engineer is a little more open to the giving and receiving of nicknames. he’s got a standard set of twenty or so general nicknames that he uses interchangeably with every teammate. “slick”, “my guy”, “bud” and its variants, things like that. it’s easy enough for him to use with everyone! and the team responds favorably to him. engineer is frankly the only one who’s been able to address the mercenaries outside of their names and job titles and not get a side eye.

medic: medic will side eye most people who don’t refer to him as “medic” or “doctor” or any variant of those. and he has to like you for you to get away with a pet name. he’s shared his real name maybe twice to the team, and if they remember it, fine. if they don’t, that’s even better. frankly, if he doesn’t trust you and you refer to him as anything past his job title he thinks he owes you money. he’s pretty sure he might owe you money. and he will promptly come up missing. it flusters him when soldier refers to him as “doc-teur”. he knows it’s meant to be mocking but he flushes at it anyway. it’s annoying.

sniper: sniper has come to fully love and appreciate ‘snipes’ as a nickname. scout was the first one to say it, offhandedly. it caught on from there. the only one who doesn’t use it is heavy, medic and spy. heavy just hasn’t found it comfortable to speak than saying sniper or mick, medic is not on nickname terms with sniper, and spy prefers “bushman”. and if anyone else were to call him bushman, he might actually beat their ass. but he lets spy use it. and in return he calls him spook.

spy: spook is only allowed by sniper and engineer. anyone else gets shot. and he doesn’t even know how engineer got included into that group. it just sounds better coming from him. sounds smooth. less like an insult. otherwise, you can refer to him as the spy. or spy, to be casual. spy doesn’t have a name he likes to go by, nor a name that he identifies himself with. sometimes he and the doctor will go through different names. it has been unsuccessful. the only nickname he’s ever come up with is bushman. and that’s less of a nickname and more of a descriptor term.

[beifong-brainrot]

Hey, it appears you've interpreted my post as some sort of critique on Republic City. And look, while I may have hurt your feelings in some weird way, I was simply talking about how Republic City missed a lot of world building opportunities. I actually disagree with a lot said in the linked article.

My problem with tlok isn't the development of technology, obviously. Its the fact that technology in tlok somehow developed the same way it would in our world. Like i am in no way saying that they can't have steam technology or electricity. I was simply positing a question whether it would be as needed and treated the same as in our world, where a lot of western technologies became widespread because white people were also... widespread.

Hell, since you're so hellbent on protecting canon, we see spirit based technology being developed in the show, so it's not an impossible concept to grasp that there are other sources of energy/ways technology can be applied in the atla verse.

And clearly, you didn't pay attention to the references i Linked, because you would take notice to the fact that silkpunk (I also explicitly said silkpunk media should be just a jumping off point) is less about a specific era in technology, and more about aesthetics and philosphy. The two silkpunk creators i linked have a lot of differences, as I aimed to show how diverse the genre could be. Especially with how diverse and vast the Avatar world is, I thought both sides of the spectrum could be applied.

And hey, look, a lot of the references I provided even account for the Fire Nations steam technology, which you keep pulling out like it's some sort of gotcha.

Like I just don't mesh well with the idea that for there to be "modernisation" in a world without the traditional "west", people still need to dress, develop the same politics and social structures as 1920s Amercans. And look, we can all go and call each other racist back and fourth (though I personally didn't use the word because i don't think its my place to be the arbiter of what is racist and what is not) but I never said that poc wouldn't use modern forms of tech, you're putting some very questionable words in my mouth, and I don't appreciate it.

I'd say that the equation if modernity and the western world is Weird on your part though. Like why are the nationalities who were previously all about long hair suddenly giving all their men short hair. Random new fashion trend? Maybe. But super convenient that its so widespread and it correlates so strongly with 1920s trans atlantic aesthetic. But short hair and suits that just Happen to look american just naturally come along with "modernity" and progress, right? It's only natural that whiteness will crop up as a society progresses, even if whiteness supposedly doesn't exist in this world, right?

Nothing to do with westernisation, I'm sure. Don't worry about ir

You're also forgetting that Republic City isn't just one city. It's just the capital if the United Republic of Nations, which was primarily made of the Fire nation colonies and the lands connecting them. You're making a frankenstein out of wealthy colonies where Fire Nationals hold most of the power and areas that probably spent like 100 years fighting off colonies. What do you think is going to happen here.

Do you really, honestly want to tell me that a republic created by essentially squishing colonies together Wouldn't have any biases towards the previous colonists. Is that such an unrealistic position to hold?

Oh yeah, Lao, a ridiculously wealthy man living off ludicrous amounts of generational wealth was in a partnership with a fire national who was his equal (you know except for the part where he had a shitton of Lao's employees disobeying him and working in a dangerous mine without his consent and also hired mercenaries with direct affilation to fire lord ozai but hwy that was just a coincidence). Racism is solved because the 1% aren't oppressed actually.

Like I'm sure the extreme disparity that exists in Yu Dao (which may i remind you, still a part of the Republic, still incredibly wealthy-ergo infulential, and the whole reason the Republic Exists) doesn't exist everywhere in the United Republic, but to say there wouldn't be traces of it in the country is an incredibly rose tinted way to look at it.

Tldr, tlok's Republic City is incredibly sanitised and simplified for what it is supposed to be.

And hey, that seems to appeal to you, so good for you, it's the canon you got. I think it could've been more complex and intricate, and I didn't get that. Like what do you want from me. I still love tlok, I don't mind Republic city as much as you seem to think I do.

Considering what most tlok fans vs tlok haters feel about the setting of tlok, what are your personal opinions regarding the setting of Korra? Because at first I thought it felt jarring with the way it felt more “Americanized” mainly because of how Republic City appeared, but then some said it does resemble (maybe?) east asian cities like Hong Kong for instance. But then I’ve also heard about the reason why it felt jarring to begin with was more so the idea it poses in terms of the Industrial Revolution and it’s relations to imperialism (post below):

https://medium.com/@nettlefish/the-inescapable-whiteness-of-avatar-the-legend-of-korra-and-its-uncomfortable-implications-debc76bbf7f

Honestly, this is a subject I've tried to not speak of directly, being neither American, nor a member of the nationalities primarily depicted in Avatar. So take my response with a heaping portion of salt, ok?

I personally have a love/hate relationship with Republic City. I like the idea of an are where the four nations intermingle, prompting progress and growth. I also have talked at length about how much I hate the fact that the plot seems to revolve around this shitty poorly utilised oriental reskin of New York.

As for the question of whether RC is 'orientalised Western cities' or if it was actually based on actual East Asian cities, I think it's a bit of both. Mind you, I only have access to old photos and drawings, so my comparisons won't be ideal, but it seems the general buildings of the 'bulk' of Republic City do resemble cities like Hong Kong, Shanghai and Tokyo at the time.

It does however seem that the named buildings and areas, eg. places with actual importance seem to be be mainly inspired by actual western buildings.

Of course, there is also the issue that a lot of the buildings of major Eastern cities at the time looked the way they did due to western interference, and so we are posed with the question if Republic City, a city in a world where there are close to no European influences would even look like said cities.

But relying on these aspects of history leads us to irreversably tying westernisation to progress, which I cannot even begin to describe as a problematic and untrue idea. This further muddles the concept of tlok's industrial revolution, as it follows a very western pattern, eg. the devlopment of for example electrical power, telephones and telegraphs, and train lines which is what enabled another wave of colonialism. Trying to consider what would happen in a world where that never happened would be fascinating, and probably liberating for many cultures.

For example, would the world of Avatar even have a need for electricity in a world where Spirits and people who can control the elements with their minds exist?

I admit, it would probably be difficult to envision a modernised world without western/european influences off the cuff, but it is possible. It would take a lot of research and imagination, but it is possible. It would require isolating western influences and trying to establish new patterns in how the world could evolve without white ppl sticking their noses into everything. (I actually have personally been trying to 'reengineer' Republic City fashion bacause I want to redesign the Krew so I'm kinda in the depths of research hell on this lol. The things I do cause I miss sewing apprenticeship...)

The author of the article says that tlok is steampunk, which is an easy mistake to make, one I have made in the past. That still isn't the best choice for a post atla world, in my opinion. I believe tlok is actually more diesepunk. However, I'd say that if tlok wanted to cling to Avatar's clear wuxia inspirations, it should've opted for something like silkpunk, which, in simple terms, melds East Asian aesthetics, history and philosphies with fantastical technology. I say insimple terms because there is a lot more to silkpunk than just that, and not every "Asian scifi" is silkpunk, but if a creator were to attempt to do something of the sort, silkpunk would be a good jumping off point.

Here are some sources I personally used when researching the genre.

Ken Liu, the Author who coined the term Silkpunk explains the term

Interview with Ken Liu

Interview with silkpunk artist, James Ng

Now, when it comes to the sociopolitical narratives around imperialism and colonisation in tlok, I can only comment so much. But I agree with the author of the article that the Fire Nation imperialism and its results should've been explored more. And it would be SO easy. For example, in the comics we see a wealth disparity in between Fire Nation citizens and Earth Kingdom citizens of the area that would later become the Republic.

How would this develop over time? If we look at irl examples, we could see this gap become even wider due to lack of affirmative action. And, lo and behold, don't we already have an incredibly wealthy family canonically descended from Fire Nation settlers. Hiroshi may have described himself as just a humble shoe shiner, but it would be so easy to rework his backstory into being a nepo baby feeding off colonialism. Driving that point further, how would Mako and Bolin be treated as children of q mixed union? Would they be treated differently based on their bending abilities, or their appearance?

This could be easily incorporated into the characters' storylines and characterisation and would probably lead to some interesting dynamics, especially from the perspective of Korra, an outsider.

But the silence on the potential issues of discrimination in an america based city created off colonialism and imperialism is a symptom of another point. That Republic City is not only 'oriental America', it's also idealised 'oriental America.'

A lot of tlok feels like a very odd American centric fanfiction of history, with the America stand in always shoehorned in as important. Despite president Raiko being presented as an all around dickwad, Republic City itself is posed as a bastion of impartial fairness and as having a say in solving international conflicts. We're shown and told that extreme poverty exists in Republic City but we're never told why, we simply have to accept it as a fact of life, why don't we all go look at the cool rich ppl, look at Asami and her big airship, don't think too hard about Mako and Bolin's past.

The characters in charge of most of Republic City's important militias are nepo babies to soem extent, and skate by on their likeablity. Iroh II was cool for the ending of B2 and then got relegated to Raiko's spineless lackey. Lin is, in my probably very controversial opinion, a really bad chief of police in the most stereotypically American way possible.

I've talked ay length at how frustrating it is that we keep coming back to Republic City even when the actual plot is going on somewhere else. B2 and B4 have this problem in particular.

Instead of showing us primarily the perspectives of actually dealing with Kuvira or Unalaq's agression, throughout most of the seasons, the Krew are sorta chilling in Republic City talking how much it sucks that war crimes are happening somewhere else. It's giving American self centeredness to the max. But I think I've already screamed into the void about this a lot.

I will, however, say that the author of the article you sent me makes some crucial mistakes relating to the actual plot and scenes of tlok, which I wouldn't hold against her if it weren't the fact that she uses them to back her points. Points which are, mind you, mostly valid. But the author seems to misremember or falsely represent facts in the show to bolster these points, which is never a good look, even if you are making good points. For example, claiming benders being the only ones with political power in RC, as well as saying that the Council was made of benders, which is false. As is accentuating Korra's role as a Southern Water Tribe princess, whose father is somehow chief, despite also being the shamefully exiled brother of the Northern Water Tribe chief to bolster her opinion on tlok's theme on focusing on those in power. Korra is already the Avatar, a divine vessel. And her father being chief happened later in the show, after Unlaq was revealed to be a little shit. It is ultimately inconsequential to Korra's character, and makes her no more a princess than Katara was.

I can see what the author is trying to do and I think she makes good points, but it feels like she either didn't watch tlok very carefully, or is either intentionally or subconsciously skewing facts to fit her arguments. Making mistakes and oversights like this sours the whole text and is probably the reason I feel like agenda came first in this article. Be it a good agenda, it still leads to certain parts of the article feeling disingenuous to a cerain degree.

However, I do still see a lot of merit in the articke and agree with a lot of its points. I wish Republic City and tlok as a whole had delivered on the amazing concepts it offered, but due to a probable myriad of reasons, tlok will always feel slightly lacklustre to me.

[lordmaddie]

Marksman face reveal???? (REAL) More art of my Enderal Prophet OC, from my fanfic Absolution. Template by jilljoycearts HERE 👈

[spadefish]

Yoink.

Ashe hasn't shown up in the rp yet but I think it'd be really funny if this is how they met.

[yzzart]

hiii! I don't see anything on Anime Dante and I was wondering what your headcanons are for him with a merc s/o, like another demon hunter or something and that's how they found out abt Dante being part demon was that the s/o had been at the night his apartment was raided. (Not as one of the people going for Dante, but she was sent in with Enzo for a reason you can come up with)

⋆˚࿔ TWO DEMON HUNTERS CAN GIVE YOU A HEADACHE. ── HEADCANONS

── content warnings: F!reader, demon hunter, references to anime and episode 2, mention of Enzo and DARKCOM, light content.

“Excuse me, big boy, — could you repeat that?”

⭑.ᐟ It was hard to believe that, in the middle of a bright, bright, and excessively violent night, the hunt for a necklace would end with a contemporary revelation; perhaps, it could sound something dramatic, melodramatic, or pathetic.

⤷ Also with great — immense, unlimited, monstrous — chances of becoming something extremely dangerous and catastrophic. — It was something very bizarre; something you had never witnessed or assimilated in all your work as a demon hunter.

⭑.ᐟ Dante, — the talkative, intriguing, charming and, unbearably, amateur comedian demon hunter; who you had the privileges and inconveniences of meeting during your work; since you had, in common, Enzo as a client — was a demon and well, it wasn't something that wouldn't surprise you.

⤷ That man could take countless shots, as he had taken minutes before, and simply regenerate like a superhero — a somewhat cliché comparison, he told you once — and you had already witnessed a similar situation, but you had no idea it could be possible. — From the looks of it, it was possible.

⭑.ᐟ Enzo remained stunned, tense and, strangely, excited by the idea that one of his favorite hunters — he only had two, so there was nothing he could do — had the DNA of a powerful creature and had completely and without killing several mercenaries; great, you could take some credit for that.

⤷ They contacted you, expecting your presence at the meeting to hunt for the necklace, and of course they didn't; you didn't want to and wouldn't accept, consent to the objective of that shitty organization and government. — Dante had revealed the origin of that amulet to you, during certain and coincidental work meetings.

⤷ It wouldn't be a lie to conclude that you and he had created a small friendship, perhaps, something more — Enzo claimed, with his grandmother's blessing, that you had something under the covers — however, work spoke louder at certain times.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to believe this shit.” — The man, half demon, exuded anger mixed with restlessness, disturbance caused by the theft of his necklace and the intervention of a DARKCOM lieutenant; who accused him of Dante’s true race. — “Me being a demon? I would believe you were one.” — He pointed at you, sitting on the window while cleaning the pistol and looking for ammunition.

⤷ It was better that damn ambitious Enzo and shameless Dante got you more ammunition and a raise. — Or that short guy would find out if paradise exists.

“Honestly, Dante, what’s going on in your head?” — You asked, not wanting an answer, because you knew that nonsense would come out of that mouth; Enzo tried to calm the situation, he knew that the mood between you and Dante would never change.

“You, pretty.” — He winked, bold and audacious and seductive at you; Dante didn’t waste time, he never gave up playing with you. — And you wanted to end all your ammunition on that pretty little face, since yours was a reddish tone, especially on the cheeks.

“What beautiful lovebirds, look at you two.” — You almost aimed your pistol at Enzo.

[valentine-cafe]

(bottom male reader) Alessio 781 catching you playing some 18+ dating sims.

well, you just... thought the games were entertaining, and the guys in them were really cute and hot, why wouldn't you want to date them?? thinking about how they'd touch you, how you'd react...the voice acting and sound effects had you locked in.

innocent little you thought you had locked the door, but it was quite obvious you hadn't, when you felt a hand on your shoulder. you hadn't exactly explained your hobby to him, and unfortunately for you, your monitor just so happened to have one of those NSFW cg's filling up the entire screen <333 there was no explaining away about what you've been doing, your face was undoubtedly red and hot, how embarrassing to be caught like this.

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : tiramisu !! . . . mercenary ⊹ bttm m. reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 781 ꮽ  alessio arias

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a charming, smug inhuman mercenary, with a provocative sense of humor and a few punches

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... your boyfriend catches you in the middle of a smutty cg playing out on screen, and so he thinks to himself, why not help you out a little? ⊹ cw ٬٬ 18+ games . rough sex . overstim .

Why be embarrassed of the cg? It's perfect reference!

The perfect reference for how you like to take dick. How you want to be cradled under your thighs with rough hands squeezed to the fat. How you like your ass to ripple with pounding thrusts. Seems it even provides the kind of dick you're into. Hard, girthy, and stretching you out to the point of tears and drool.

"Just like this baby? Yeah? Doin' it better for you?"

His rough voice matches the wood the top of your ass just barely presses to. Your desk thumps with each powerful thrusts. His snap ferally together with his swollen balls. They slap wet symphonies through your bedroom as he fills you up for a second time that night.

Another thing he deduces when he tilts his head to glance at the screen. A wide grin over his heated face. "That's it. Think we're replicating it pretty well, don't you?" Your legs hug around his waist just like the cg, your arms hook loosely over his broad shoulders. Hell, even your expression matches the mc. Brows knit at the centre, face lax, drool leaks out your lips hung in an 'o'.

Those voice lines have nothing on the way your boyfriend whispers so filthily into your ear. "If you wanted a good fuckin' could have just asked y'know," his heated chuckle punctuates with another punishing thrust. One hand leaves your thigh to wrap round your pulsating dick again. You cry, toss your head back and weakly buck into the palm that squeezes over your throbbing head.

"E-Essio-! Fuck - 'm sorry -" he slams into your sweetspot. Creams it a third time. "Sorry - sorry sorry oh god, soo good."

He grins into his neck at your slurs. Slams his hips to flush against your ass and roughly hump. Poor you, all you can manage is to grip his hair and give a loud whine to put any pornstar to shame. "Why're you sorry baby? Don't have to apologise for wanting dick so bad." The click of his tongue drips condensation. He mocks you even while he's fucking your poor, abused bundle of nerves shallowly. So uncaring of how your dick tenses. How you whimper and weakly buck in overstimulation.

"Can't help it. My slutty little boy just thinks 'bout sex 24/7 yeah? That's why I'm treating him."

You gasp and complain in blubbers when he pulls out with a sharp pop! He grins at the mess between your trembled legs and cocks his head. Bastard. "Ssshh baby, fuck, greedy thing aren't ya?"

Your chest meets the desk with a shove. Ass in the air with a quick swat to the back. You almost complain — but words fall dead on your tongue. You don't know what to focus on, the sudden plough of his cock or his large body weighing you down into the desk.

Another slew of drool. You squeal as he hooks a strong arm around your throat and starts mercilessly humping against the back of your bruised thighs. Heaved pants and ragged breath to your ear as he melts your body into putty. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Might as well get used to it. Used to the delicious stretch of his cock. To the repetitive ram of his tip into your sweetspot.

"I should be sorry," his deep groan twitsts your gut in heat. "Sorry for leaving my poor lil' whore to resort to a fuckin' game." Another squeeze to your dick. Another slap of your ass. What more can you do but bury your face into your arms and take all that he gives you? He feels way better than a 2D man on a screen anyway.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[eternalsunrise]

shower talk.

deadpool (wade wilson) x f!reader

wc: 750 (drabble)

tags! established relationship, sexual & murder references (duh)

notes! wade brainrot is so bad idk, logan fic coming soon pls forgive me

wade often barges into the bathroom while you’re in the shower just to sit on the toilet seat and rant about the mission he just went on, or even to ask what takeout you want for dinner. couldn’t it wait until you had clothes on? sure, but he wants to talk to you now.

unexpectedly, you decide to take a page out of his playbook.

you’ve just walked in the door after your 9-5, throwing your keys and bag haphazardly across the room in frustration. you spy the familiar rumpled up red and black suit on the floor, wade was home. you had complained last week about deadpool tracking blood into the apartment after his “work.” it seemed your boyfriend had listened and obliged. if it weren’t for your bad day, the image of him cupping his crotch as he scrambled naked into the bathroom would’ve made you smile.

you hear the water still running, but you finally understand how wade feels, this can’t wait. you open the bathroom door and throw the toilet lid down, unsure if wade even heard you enter over the sound of his own voice belting hall and oates’ greatest hits.

you sit down and let out an overdramatic sigh. your boyfriend’s voice quiets down halfway through “out of touch”

“honey bear? you’re home! these stab wounds will heal in about two minutes then you can join me. i know how you feel about seeing intestines, and i don’t want to make you gag…well scratch that i do sometimes—“

“i fucking hate men.”

you hear the sound of the shower curtain opening slightly, and wade’s head peaks out, looking at you with wide eyes, “woah language, babydoll! you know degradation turns me on.” his head tilts to the side, noticing the distress written on your face “but i have a feeling this isn’t about me…”

you spare him a narrowed glance, then watch as his head disappears. the curtain closes and you hear the water hit skin again as he resumes his shower. he’s giving you time to speak. remarkable.

“you remember that guy i told you about? the one that gave me major creep vibes? and was just an all around dick?”

you get a hum in response, and you can’t see it, but you know wade is physically biting his tongue so he doesn’t say anything. it’s endearing in a way.

you rub your face with your hands, the memory of what you’re about to say lights the fire of anger again, “well. guess who got that promotion i was being eyed for? i’ll give you a hint, it’s not someone with a vagina! and on top of that, i saw him try to look under my skirt as i was leaving! that fuck.”

you almost regretted telling him that last part, knowing where this was going. but your mind was clouded by frustration, and the water was already turned off. the rings screech against the metal shower rod as wade throws the curtain open, reaching over your head for a towel. “okay sweet thing. where does this cock suck and fuck live?”

your eyes catch a glimpse of red turning pink as it swirled into the tub drain. you shake your head, suddenly realizing the severity of what your mercenary boyfriend was implying. “no no babe please it’s not that serious! and you just got home. not to mention if people found out, you’d get in so much trouble all because of something silly that happened to me and—“

a long finger is placed over your lips. you’re eye level with wade’s v line, partially covered by the towel now wrapped around his waist. you trail your eyes upward, locking them with the one who interrupted your rambling.

“shhh. nonsense kitten. now. you’re going to tell me this guy’s address, and i’m going to go out for…” wade uses his free arm to look at a make believe watch, “hmm, about an hour. while i’m gone, you’re going to change out of this sexy pantsuit. then have a glass of wine, and touch yourself while you think of me fondly. i’ll grab dinner on the way home. yes?”

when you nod with wide eyes in agreement, he removes his finger, bending down to meet your face, “atta girl.” he praises as his lips graze your own, kiss light as a feather. he clears his throat then, patting your cheek a few times as he stands up to walk out of the bathroom. whistling as if murder was all in a day’s work (you suppose for him it is)

you sit there stunned, wondering if you just got your coworker murdered….and why you were so turned on.

[live-love-be-unique]

P. R Nightmare

Series summary: A public relations job typically involves managing an individual or organisation’s reputation and building relationships with the public and media. It generally does not include superheros, terrorist organisations, middle-aged Russian super soldiers who breach media regulations and crushing on a client/ coworker.

This is a Robert (Bob) Reynolds x fem!reader series

Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, no specific details about reader appearance are given. Specific warnings will be provided at each chapter.

After battling the New York subway system — which you’re pretty sure had a vendetta against you — you’d made it to your office later than you’d liked. There had been no time to stop and grab a coffee and breakfast from your favourite little cafe near your office, so you’d have to contend with a stale granola bar that you were hoping was still buried in your desk behind some notebooks and a coffee from the communal kitchen.

“You’re late,” your assistant whispered as you walked in.

“I know, I know.”

“There’s someone in your office.”

“What? Who?” You were certain you didn’t have any meetings until at least 11am, you glanced towards your office where you could make out the shape of someone sitting in front of your desk.

“Congressman Barnes, he’s even more handsome since the last time he came by.”

“Aren’t you married, Dorris?” You smirked, she’d been nursing a crush on him since he’d last stopped by your office.

“Barry doesn’t need to know,” Dorris waved her hand dismissively, smirking as she answered her phone.

While it wasn’t uncommon to find someone waiting for you in your office most mornings, most visitors didn’t come bearing a steaming hot cup of coffee, “You join a new team and you’ve given up on the suits? You’ll break Giuseppe’s heart.”

“He’ll live, I’m sure you’ve referred other senators to his tailoring and I’m pretty sure you get a kick back on each suit he makes,” the man chuckled as he watched you walk around your desk and take a seat. “Hi kid.”

“What do you need Barnes?” You lean forward, resting your head on your hands, offering a wry smile, “I doubt you’re here to discuss the finer points of haberdashery?”

“I’m here to offer you a job,” Bucky says, placing your coffee in front of you.

“Last time you offered me a job, you wanted me to help you impeach Valentina de Fontaine,” you eyed Bucky as you took a sip of your coffee. Valentina had been a little too good at covering her tracks for anything solid to actually stick, the hunt for anything incriminating had dragged on for months. “Is this caramel?” you asked, savouring your first mouthful of good coffee.

“Of course,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This time it’s a little less…political. The team needs an assistant, someone to handle the public relations.”

“Really? You were all doing so well,” you smirked. “I saw the Wheaties boxes.”

“Alexei’s idea.”

“The Russian guy?”

“It was his dream,” Bucky shrugs. As he stands he places a file on your desk, “Think about it”

You watched him leave your office before picking up the file, it contained a dossier for every member of the Thunderbolts.

Bucky’s was first, heavily redacted as you’d expected. You knew a little of his past, or at least what he had shared with you while you had helped him with his campaign, but he had kept the details of what had happened while he was under control of Hydra to himself.

John Walker. Former decorated army ranger and Captain America for a short time before the murder of a civilian in a public setting led to his less than honourable discharge.

Yelena Belova. Former Red Room trained assassin with the Black Widow, working as a contract killer for Valentina before the Thunderbolts.

Alexei Shostakov. The Red Guardian, Captain America’s counterpart in Russia. The one behind the Wheaties box…and ‘encouraging’ people in supermarkets to buy them.

Ava Starr. S.H.I.E.L.D operative turned mercenary who could phase through objects due to a constant state of molecular disequilibrium. You made a mental note to look that up later.

And…Bob? You turned Bob’s, Robert Reynolds’s, part of the file over to find that the page in your hand, containing next to no information about the man, was it. There was a picture — he was cute in a boy next door kind of way — and a few sparse details about the man but nothing more.

You quickly closed the file as your office door slammed open, your 11am meeting had finally arrived. Some trust fund baby who wanted you to fix his public image to keep him out of prison. He was charged with several assault counts, all of which he argued were the other person's fault and daddy’s money had brought him two hours of your time.

After his time was up, he had offered you his number like it was some kind of reward. You declined and dialed a familiar contact.

“Barnes? When do you need me to start?”

[orellazalonia]

Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron

Summary: Exploring more of your relationship and dynamics with the rest of the Avengers, they are well-acquainted with how much whiplash and how many headaches you give them on a daily. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: The other going on dates fic didn’t have enough unhinged questionable reader for me. And to be honest….I didn’t like it as much as the prequel. So! I wrote this to cheer me up and feed my need for dumb & genius reader. Purely self-indulgent but hopefully you like it too. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

Being an Avenger came with certain expectations. Tactical prowess. Cool one-liners. Teamwork. A mild-to-moderate understanding of physics.

You had exactly none of that. And yet, you were thriving.

You had taken on aliens, mercenaries, HYDRA agents, and that one time, an actual raccoon with a vendetta. You once guessed the password to a SHIELD vault on the first try by inputting “boob69.” It worked. Nobody ever explained why. You were untouchable.

But nothing broke the team more than the group chat.

It had been a standard team communication channel at first: briefings, updates, emergency alerts. Then you joined and everything fell apart.

-

GROUP CHAT: “Earth’s Mightiest Dumbasses”

Tony: Meeting in the conference room at 9 A.M. sharp.

You: what’s 9 AM in frog time

Natasha: What does that mean?

You: like if a frog wears a watch is the time upside down

Tony: Please, I’m begging you to just answer the question like a normal person.

You: normal is a strong word

-

You once sent a photo of a pigeon wearing a hat with the caption “me when I infiltrate enemy lines.” No one questioned it. Mostly because they couldn’t.

After all, you’re the same person who confidently gave a TED Talk about the strategic history of medieval siege warfare mid-mission while wearing Crocs. The same person who once said, “Vibranium tastes like disappointment,” and then refused to elaborate. You somehow manage to both ace every debrief but also once asked if Wi-Fi is just helpful air soup.

Thor called you “small thunder” after you electrocuted yourself trying to microwave aluminum “as a science experiment.” You did not have lightning powers. It was just dumb luck. And you’d do it again.

-

GROUP CHAT:

Clint: who the hell labeled all the fridge items in latin?

You: idk man maybe someone wants you to be cultured

Bucky: You labeled the eggs, “Future ankle peckers, do not anger them”

You: ...and have you been attacked? no? you’re welcome.

-

Bucky still doesn't understand you. Not even a little.

And a lot of times, that haunts him.

He watches you eat hot sauce straight from the bottle like it's a health tonic, quote Shakespeare when you’re tired, and wear mismatched crocs into certain battles because "they're my war shoes." One has a tiny sword glued to it.

You once looked him dead in the eye and said, “I wasn’t born. I was assembled in a Target parking lot during a thunderstorm.”

And then walked away.

He’s been thinking about it for months.

Another time you brought him a bag of gummy worms, patted his head, and said, “For when the depression demons attack.”

Despite all your nonsense, he can’t stop looking at you like you hung the moon with glitter glue and then ate half of it because that brand “smelled like frosting.”

He had tried to pretend you’re a nuisance at first, shaking his head and sighing at some of your antics. But it’s all morphed to reluctant acceptance of the fact that he’ll have to live with so many unanswered questions. That doesn’t stop him from taking care of you though.

He brings you hot chocolate after missions. He makes sure you’re behind him when it gets dangerous. He drags you out of fountains you jump into because you wanted to know what the regals birds like about it. He even downloaded TikTok just to understand your references.

One time you disappeared in the Tower. For five hours.

He found you in the broom closet, sitting cross-legged with three Roombas, wearing a crown made of forks.

“They know secrets,” You whispered. “I’m learning their ways.”

Bucky blinked.

“…I brought you pizza.”

You gasped. “I knew the prophecy would come true.”

-

GROUP CHAT:

Steve: Can someone explain what this is?

Image attached: You in a vent near the ceiling wearing a bad ghost outfit like a cursed Halloween decoration, eating Cheez-Its.

You: surveillance

Steve: Why…

You: i wanted to know what Bucky does when I’m not looking

Bucky: They’ve been up there for 6 hours. I offered help. They hissed at me.

-

Despite it all, you were deadly in the field.

You’d spout off the periodic table in the middle of a fistfight, pull off gravity-defying stunts “because I saw it in a cartoon once,” and solve encrypted Hydra codes in 30 seconds, all while questioning if Mickey Mouse and his friends ever had to pay rent to live in the Mickey Mouse clubhouse.

Bucky, your begrudgingly loving boyfriend, no longer reacts when you do things like wear medieval armor to a stealth op for morale reasons or quote Shrek during hostage negotiations. He just quietly takes your hand and steers you away before you lick anything radioactive.

Steve once asked why you were on a mission wearing roller skates. You said, “Speed and style, Cap,” then crashed directly into a vending machine and pulled out a single uncrushed Twix with solemn reverence.

Tony called you “the human embodiment of a broken Google search.” Wanda called you “a mystery I’ve chosen not to solve.” Natasha just called you “terrifying.”

Because for every baffling thing you did, like calling her “Mom” during a sniper stakeout because “you give off stern PTA energy”, you turned around and cracked encrypted intel before Bruce finished making coffee.

Once, in a mission briefing, Rhodey asked, “Wait, wasn’t the Hindenburg caused by a gas explosion?” and you, dead serious, replied, “Who’s the Hindenburg? That sounds like a guy who collects teeth.”

Everyone went dead silent.

Sam just nodded slowly and said, “Right, okay. Yeah, cool. This is the part where I stop paying attention.”

Nobody could figure you out.

Bruce once ran 14 psychological profiles on you. None of them matched. One came back as possibly a goat in human form.

Clint swears you once explained string theory using sock puppets and a waffle. And it made sense.

-

GROUP CHAT:

Tony: I’m updating the security protocol. Everyone needs to re-register their biosignatures.

You: what if I am a security risk

Tony: You are. Absolutely. Every day. In every way.

You: then I win

Natasha: What did you win?

You: You’ll see 😈

Tony: I have forgotten what peace feels like anymore.

-

You called yourself “The Distractinator” in combat.

Enemies didn’t know what to do with you. Were you a genius? Crazy? Feral? Was that a printer you just threw at their face while quoting Pride and Prejudice?

Yes. To all of it.

And somehow, impossibly, you were everyone’s favorite. Because while you were a chaos gremlin of untold magnitude, you cared.

You noticed when Clint seemed tired and unorthodoxically left snacks in his quiver.

You taught Steve how to use TikTok but made sure to curate only dog videos and motivational frog memes.

You convinced Bucky he could wear purple and look amazing. He does now. Regularly.

You helped Tony fix a faulty AI loop by accident while trying to build “a blender that screams.”

You’re not just a part of the team. You’re the emotional support cryptid.

And no matter how many explosions you cause with your “experiments,” or how many philosophical debates you start about whether lasagna is a cake, the Avengers wouldn’t trade you for the world.

…Though Tony did try to sell you to the X-Men once.

It didn’t work.

They sent you back with a fruit basket and a strongly worded letter.

[gilverrwrites]

Toy Maintenance

Arkham Knight/Reader, 900 words Ft. Slade Wilson Kinktober entry 13: Interruption Warnings: Extremely dubious consent/non-con | implied/mentions of violence | bondage | gags | exhibitionism, sorta | a darker portrayal of Jason Requested by: Anonymous

“Oh, you poor baby. Does it hurt?” The eerily modulated voice of The Arkham Knight jeers at you from above. You’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to, but the answer is yes. Your very bones ache to their core after hours of use. Your wrists are cut from their metal bindings, knees scuffed from the hard floor. Your jaw stings from having your lips locked around a ring gang for such a long time, and you were beginning to fear he was right; your tight little cunt would never be the same again. Everything hurt.

Even as he teasingly slaps his cock between your slit, what should only sting a little, burns. “I asked you a question.”

To emphasise his impatience, he smacks a gloved hand on your already beaten ass, laughing that infuriating fucking laugh when you cry out in pain.

“Uhhh.” Your sob is distorted by the O-shaped piece of metal lodged between your teeth. “Yuush e hopts.”

“Awh.” He continues to mock as he slowly pushes his length inside your used up walls. The pace is not a kindness, you know he wants to feel every inch of it splitting tender walls. As he presses deeper inside, the cum from his previous exploits leaks out of your gaping hole. The wet sound of it escaping and dripping to the floor is absolutely vulgar. Once he bottoms out, he leans over your arched back, ensuring his tip sits snug against your cervix and getting close to your face. “I don’t care.”

The worst part is that once he starts driving into your raw and worked up pussy, ruthlessly snapping his hips at an animalistic speed; the pain is worth it. Just for that modicum of bittersweet pleasure. Even his foul-mouthed compliments and derogatory insults make your eyes roll back, and so he cracks wise at you all the more.

“God you’re pathetic.” He spits in response to your quiet sobs. He likes this angle because he knows he’s hitting that inner sweet spot that makes you crazy with every thrust. “Look at you, fucking loving it. You don’t know even know who I am. Do you?”

You’re shaking your head, scuffing your own cheek on the concrete floor when the door suddenly swings open and slams closed, a tall figure carrying a thick folder entering in between. The Knight doesn’t let up his unrelenting attack on your cunt, not even as the solider stops beside your rutting bodies, depositing the file on The Knights desk.

Up close you recognise him, specifically the two-done armour, and his singular, jarring eye. Deathstroke.

“When you hired me, I came on as a mercenary, not an errand boy.” He states bitterly. You can’t get a good look at him from your spot on the floor, but he seems to be watching your captor. It occurs to you that most would be attempting to cover their modesty about now, but The Knight isn’t done with you, so you remain still, enjoying the euphoric drag of his cock.

“Ohh, sorry, old man. Am I running you ragged?” The Knight replies, voice raspy from exertion but still acrid. Even more sour than it is with you, which you earnestly hadn’t thought possible.

“Not likely.” The merc deadpans. If you had the energy, you might have jumped when his masked head swiftly tilts to meet your eye.

He considers you for a moment before lifting his boot and lightly placing it on your shoulder. You don’t fight, The Knight has long since fucked that out of you. But for the first time since you’d been brought here, you wonder how you must look. Bruised and broken, face planted in a puddle of your own drool. How small and worthless you must seem.

With his foot, Deathstroke shakes your form, only briefly, grunting when you don’t respond and turning back to The Arkham Knight.

“You should take better care of your toys.” He says, chiding him like a father would a child. The Knight doesn’t take too kindly to his tone.

“Fuck off old timer, don’t tell me how to run my shit.” You howl in a twisted mix of relief and anguish as The Knight pulls out of you to get in Deathstroke face. “I got her just how I want her.”

“Is that right?” The older man snickers, his one eye falling back to you, it takes you a moment to register that his proceeding question is directed at you. “Far be it from us to have an opinion, huh girl?”

If or how you should respond is redundant, before you can muster any sound The Knight jams his finger in Deathstroke’s chest. “Do I pay you to have opinions? No, I pay you to do a fucking job. N- “

He cuts himself off mid-sentence, also looking over at you before the two masked men turn to face each other in tandem.

“Oh, I get it. You’re sniffing around because you want a piece.” Deathstroke scoffs in reply but doesn’t deny the accusation. Resolutely unbothered by The Knight’s impeachment of personal space.

Like a carrot on a stick, The Arkham Knight reaches down to you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and hauling you upright so that Deathstroke can get a better look at your naked body, cuts and bruises and all.

“Well get me some goddamn results, an’ I might let you take a turn.” You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you doubt your position on the matter will be considered. “But until then get the fuck outta my face.”

You will achieve great things, even though small steps.

Kinktober Masterlist

[aquaquadrant]

What I'd give to know what Jimmy said to Timmy during that conversation to reassure him

this is a very old ask and referring to part x of from eden, when jimmy and tango first met timmy. while tango was chewing bravo out, the bird boys were off in a huddle. this is that huddle.

~*~

“bravo! did you- oh.” timmy breaks off mid-sentence, every other thought flying clear out of his mind as he stares at his counterpart.

there’s no one else it could possibly be. timmy knows this instinctively, as instinctively as he first knew his own name was timmy despite the username ‘animositygaming’ glaring up at him from his communicator. as instinctively as he first knew that being called ‘jimmy’ by others as a joke felt wrong for reasons he couldn’t articulate- until now.

“oh,” he breathes, his voice small even to his own ears. “i see… you must be jimmy.”

“and you’re timmy,” his counterpart says softly, in a voice ten times stronger and richer than timmy’s despite the identical cadence, “aren’t you? gosh…”

(they’re finally meeting!)

(it’s about time.)

(a tale of two jimmys!)

the old voices in timmy’s head have been far more active lately than they were over the last several years. they’d visit from time to time, typically only whenever something interesting happened to him at spawn. of course, ‘interesting’ tended to mean ‘unfortunate for his personal wellbeing.’ the voices added insult to injury whenever a spawn camper or wandering ruffian decided to take out their anger on him, finding a nasty sort of satisfaction in his pain.

but he never paid much attention to the voices, because they’d only ever tell him things he already knew: he’s weak, he’s pathetic, and he deserves every awful thing that’s ever happened to him.

since reuniting with bravo, there’s been a surge of activity from the voices. they seem to take particular interest in bravo, all the things he says and does, reacting with amusement or excitement. every hard-won battle against the mercenaries hunting them, every new development with his redstone portal, every tense engagement with mr. instinct- it’s almost entertaining to them, timmy thinks.

and they love to tell timmy that bravo doesn’t really care about him, that timmy is just a novelty that bravo will grow tired of, that he’s not good enough to be worth all this effort.

“timmy!” bravo hisses, panic and guilt written across his face. “i told you to wait for me to come get you!”

as if timmy needed the voices to tell him that.

his counterpart, jimmy, is better in every imaginable way. he stands several inches taller than timmy- not due to an actual height difference, but because of his posture. he’s more confident, less closed-off; his back straight and his broad shoulders set back. and they are broad; his frame is filled and muscular, no hollows in his cheeks, no sharp angles to his bones. healthy tanned skin perfectly complements his golden hair and deep brown eyes, with no dark circles to speak of. there are however some fresh cuts and bruises that must’ve been bravo’s doing (he’s a good fighter, not like timmy) but jimmy’s only perceivable flaw is the scar across his crooked nose- which, in timmy’s opinion, just makes him look rugged.

his hair is short, timmy realizes. not as short as his own after bravo took a pair of shears to it, but much shorter than the unkempt state timmy previously let his fall into. and with that, it all falls into place.

“sorry,” timmy murmurs, “i was just… gosh, i- everythin’ makes sense now…” he turns to bravo, apologetic and understanding. “i… get why i wasn’t good enough.”

he’d wondered why bravo even bothered bringing him from spawn, why he’d put up with his uselessness all this time just to be disappointed- beyond the usual kind, that is. there was some sort of hidden expectation that timmy just couldn’t meet, and now he knows why.

(and the truth comes out!)

(see, we tried to warn you…)

(how does it feel, knowing you were just a second-rate replacement?)

bravo cringes. “no, no i- i didn’t mean-”

“ey, c’mere mate,” jimmy interrupts, crossing the distance to timmy in just a couple strides. “it’s alright. ignore him a second, hey?”

jimmy fans a wing out to block them from the others, a curtain of sorts, and timmy can’t help but admire it. the feathers are all full and smooth at the edges, rippling with a golden sheen that catches every stray bit of torchlight. they look like they’d be soft to the touch. unconsciously, timmy tucks his own raggedy wings even closer to his body.

“you alright?” jimmy asks, quieter now. “i- i gotta say, this is a bit of a surprise, isn’t it?”

that might be an attempt at shared humor. timmy chances a look up at him, shoulders hitched by his ears. “so, we’re… counterparts?” he ventures hesitantly. that’s one of the words bravo’s used to describe tango- that and doppelgänger, clone, and some others he’d rather not think about.

“seems that way.” jimmy exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i- i’m so sorry you’ve been trapped in this horrible place, i only just found out about counterparts but i swear, i was gonna come for you. it’s just- there was a lot goin’ on, and we had to work out the portal thing…” he winces. “i’m sorry, that- that sounds lame.”

“it’s alright,” timmy whispers, tilting his head. strange, that jimmy seems to have placed that responsibility on himself. “not… your fault.”

“what happened to you?” jimmy asks, voice filled with sorrow and eyes shining with empathy. “i mean, how- how’d you get like this?”

(emaciated and disgusting, you mean?)

(even more pathetic than you!)

timmy wrings his hands, suddenly feeling a rush of shame at his haggard appearance. “hels is… too dangerous, for people like me. i learned spawn is safer, even if… there isn’t any food.” he glances over his shoulder and past jimmy’s wing, where bravo and tango are speaking in hushed voices on the other side of the cave. “that’s where bravo found me.”

here jimmy pauses. his eyes dart about in a very particular way; scanning timmy intently while simultaneously trying to not look like it. “does he treat you alright?” he asks, his voice low and careful.

“he… treats me as good as he’s able,” timmy answers with a sad smile, stretching out a wing to glance at the shorn flight feathers he knows jimmy’s already noticed. “he was tryin’ to help, honest.”

(busted!)

something dark flashes in jimmy’s eyes, making timmy’s heart jolt- to think someone could get so upset on his behalf! “oh, don’t you worry, we’ll get that all sorted,” jimmy says firmly, before quickly softening again. “but for now, can i just say… i’m so glad i got to meet you.”

timmy blinks. “… what?”

jimmy spreads his hands, shoulders bowing forward as his wings draw in. “i dunno how this whole thing works, if you’re actually a part of me or not- or i a part of you, y’know, it- it goes both ways. but i just think…” he smiles then, and it’s kind and warm and a little bit blinding, just like the fabled sun, and says, “gosh, how special it is… to meet someone like me.”

(well, that’s certainly… a take.)

(aw, they’re kind of sweet… in a pathetic way.)

(birds of a feather, these two.)

despite himself, timmy feels his own smile- a real, genuine smile- spread across his face. “yeah, same here.”

jimmy brightens at that, reaching out to put a hand on timmy’s shoulder. the movement is careful and gentle, so unlike what timmy’s used to, and he thinks he’d be content to stay like this forever even if the mere weight of jimmy’s hand is starting to drag him off balance.

“we’ll look after ya, mate,” jimmy says, “i promise. now, let’s set a few things straight with bravo, shall we?”

“alright,” timmy replies softly.

(wow, never thought there could be a player worse than jimmy at practically everything.)

(it’s a low bar, but you’ll still never be able to reach it, overworld or no.)

(you’re not worth it.)

jimmy’s hand tightens on timmy’s shoulder, almost as if he can hear the voices, too. but timmy pays them no mind.

it’s nothing he doesn’t already know.

~*~

[leonsdolly]

Cherry Pies

Leon Kennedy x fem!reader x Ashley Graham

Synopsis: You propose the idea of a threesome to your boyfriend, but you accidentally get your feelings hurt during the act.

CW: nsfw 18+, p in v, threesome, ddlg/daddy kink, oral (both male and female receiving), face-sitting, unprotected sex, creampie, cum-eating, fingering, jealousy, implied age gap (mid 20s, early 40s)

WC: 4.5k

If there’s one thing you cherish in life, it’s Leon’s propensity for spoiling you. There’s no end to his love for his cute girlfriend; he’ll do anything for you, and if that means listening to you prattle on about your coworkers’ nightmare hookups or assembling a cozy country cottage for your Sylvanian families, so be it. He’ll swallow all reservations, not that he has any, for the sake of keeping his baby happy. He’s made it known that you’re the best thing that's ever happened to him, all pink and saccharine, like a sugar plum fairy. However, your latest request has him raising an eyebrow.

“Are you sure about this, babydoll?”

“Sure I’m sure!” Your eyes twinkle with excitement as you plop yourself on his lap with your arms around him. “I’ve always wanted to try it… and you like Ashley, right? You said she’s my only friend whose perfume doesn't make you sneeze.”

“Oh right,” Leon thinks back to the friend you’re referring to. He’s only met her once, but he seemed to approve of your friendship. She was well-mannered and indulged in your dramatic retellings of everyone else’s lives for him when he was just too busy licking the government’s bootstraps. “You sure you’re okay with this, baby? Won’t get jealous?” His voice is teasing but a glimmer of truth peeks out. You almost clawed his eyes out when he wolf-whistled at a character from one of the video games you played - the female mercenary in red. Your gel manicure (procured on his dime, of course) was fresh at the time and was the only thing preventing you from expressing your displeasure.

“Gosh, just let me have this, Daddy…” You give him the most precious puppy dog eyes you can muster.

“I’m just looking out for you, sweet girl.” He touches his forehead against yours so that he’s gazing straight into your eyes. “You can get feisty sometimes, you sure you won’t mind if I have my tongue in another girl’s pussy?”

His words deliver a current straight to your core like an electrode is attached to your clit. You lean in closer to nip at his lips, swiping your tongue across them. He chuckles and presses against you for a proper sloppy kiss, intertwining his tongue with yours. You slowly grind your hips against his lap, feeling his cock harden beneath you. His hands slip underneath your shirt, caressing your back and slinking forward to squeeze your tits as he continues to lap into your mouth.

“What if we didn’t fuck until then?” You cease all movement and pull back, causing him to chase your pretty lips with a slight frown.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, doll.”

“No, it'll be fun!” Your eyes glint with mischief. “No sex until then. That way, you can channel all of that pent up energy into fucking Ashley and I properly.” 

“Baby, I’m already energetic when it comes to fucking you properly no matter how many times we do it.” He moves to kiss you again, but you dodge and press your finger against his lips.

“You’re just gonna blueball me?” His offended tone makes you giggle as you wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest.

“There's more to a relationship than sex, y’know.” You’re laying it on real thick at this point; it's utter shit coming out of your mouth, you know it, he knows it, and it's amusing all the same.

“Mhm, I know the girl who cries when my cock isn't in her mouth isn't saying this.”

“Daddy!” You tilt your head up, sticking your tongue out at him.

“I’m just saying. You know I’ll do anything for you, baby. If this is what you want, so be it. Just don't be surprised if I blow my load in two seconds flat and embarrass you in front of your friend.” He nuzzles against your hairline.

“You’re being dramatic,” you roll your eyes and hug him tighter.

T-Minus 3 days.

You shoo Leon away when his hands glide under your skirt in an attempt to touch your pussy.

T-Minus 2 days.

You send Leon a picture of your bare tits, nipples perky through the screen.

T-Minus 1 day.

You let Leon fuck his fist with your used panties wrapped around his cock.

D-Day.

Ashley comes over, all smiles and chirps while Leon is still away at work. The two of you gossip about everything and everyone over delicate glasses of chardonnay while occasionally brushing against each other’s bare legs. You’re clad in a white lacy bra with pale pink trim and white panties with a dainty bow in the same shade of pink - Leon’s favorite colors on you. Ashley wears a matching set in baby blue that brings out her eyes - your favorite color on her. You giggle as you do each other’s hair and makeup to perfection.

“Perfect,” you smile as you playfully tap the blush brush on her button nose. “My daddy likes blush on girls.”

Ashley giggles at this as she runs a hand over your bare thigh. “We’re gonna make Daddy so happy.” Oh God, she's a natural at this - you didn't need to coach her through the dynamics of your relationship with Leon. She knew exactly what to say and how to act - the perfect daddy’s girl. You chose her for a reason after all.

You head to the bed where you curl up against each other to wait for Leon’s homecoming. Ashley looks awfully pretty in the ambient glow of your bedside lamp - shiny blonde hair, smooth skin, cute tits that stand on their own without much help from a push-up bra. Oh, Leon’s going to eat her up. You mentally give yourself a pat on the back as you brush your lips against hers. She kisses you back, and your hand comes up to tweak at her perky nipple through the delicate lace of her bra. You press your breasts against hers as you both moan quietly into each other's mouths. The feeling of her tits rubbing against yours makes your thighs clench together - your pussy’s wet, and your boyfriend isn't even here yet.

Your kisses grow more heated as you continue to rub against each other. Her lips are so much softer than the ones you’re accustomed to, and they taste like cherry pies. You marvel at the way her tongue softly glides against yours like molten candy. You’re so invigorated by the sensation that you fail to hear the front door of your apartment unlocking and Leon’s familiar footsteps making their way to the bedroom.

By the time he reaches the bedroom, he's gobsmacked by the sight of his pretty baby having a makeout session with another pretty baby. You and Ashley finally pull away from each other to gaze up at him through subtle glittery eyeshadow and false lashes. “How was work, Daddy?” You crawl towards him, letting him catch a good view of your breasts, before kneeling at the foot of the bed where you reach your grabby hands out for him.

“Work was work,” he sighs contentedly as he takes your hands and bends down to kiss your forehead lovingly. You both look towards Ashley who’s observing your affections shyly from the corner of the bed. Leon smiles and reaches his hand out for her, urging her to join you in front of him. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

Once she has the green light, she crawls over so that she’s perched prettily on her knees next to you. He places a hand on your cheek, caressing it tenderly before using his other hand to do the same to Ashley. He bends down to plant a kiss on your lips and repeats the gesture with her. “My pretty girls,” he murmurs as his gaze grows heavy with desire.

His words and actions ignite the flame deep inside your core, and you can tell they’re having the same effect on Ashley. You start to palm him through his jeans, admiring the bulge that’s developing in front of your very eyes. You turn to Ashley with a giggle. “Daddy’s cock’s really nice… S’like, actually fun to suck.”

“Really?” Her eyes brighten as she beams up at Leon before helping you unbuckle his belt and slide his jeans down, revealing his hard cock. “Oh…!” She lets out a squeak. “You weren’t kidding…”

Your hand comes up to gently stroke his length as you pepper the tip in sweet kisses until precum’s beading from it. His eyebrows knit together as he inhales sharply. “Here, try it,” you giggle as you lift your head to let Ashley have a taste. She suckles on the head for a bit before you gently guide her head down his thick length. Her head bobs up and down while Leon groans in pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re just as good of a cocksucker as my baby is, huh, sweetheart?” Her response is warbled around his cock as she sucks more enthusiastically at his praise. She finally pulls off, leaving a string of spit connecting her to his sticky tip. It’s broken once you kiss her hungrily, savoring the taste of your boyfriend on her cherry flavored lips. 

“My turn, Daddy,” you sing-song as you open your mouth wide for him, making him guide his heavy cock inside and down your throat. You’re used to him, and your throat welcomes the familiar sensation as it clenches salaciously around his length. His grunts grace your ears, and you do your best to gaze up at him through your lashes - even though you’re used to it, the teary eyes and quiet gags always make their presence known.

“Good girl, my baby,” he breathes as you pull off of his cock leaving just the tip in your mouth. Ashley joins in, sloppily kissing and licking the side of his cock as you work the tip before mimicking her actions on the other side. You both giggle as you move up and down in tandem, sending vibrations through his body. He moans loudly as you slobber all over his fat cock before meeting each other’s lips at the tip where you hungrily lap at each other’s mouths.

Leon takes a small step back, gently pulling both of you off. “As much as I’d love to cum on my pretty girls’ faces right here, I don’t want to blow my load that quick.” He slips off his shirt and moves to lay down flat on the bed where he beckons you over to him for a kiss. As he intertwines his tongue with yours, he undoes the clasp on your bra, leaving your tits bare for him. Ashley shimmies over to squeeze them before licking at one of your pert nipples. Leon moves to take the other in his mouth, and you mewl at the sensation of both your breasts being sucked on. Your clit throbs underneath your panties, begging to be touched, so you oblige, snaking your fingers south to rub at it. 

“D-do you want Daddy’s cock or his mouth, Ash?” You moan as you try to gather yourself and prepare for the next course of action.

A blush crosses her already blushing cheeks as she chirps without any hesitation. “Mouth! Is that okay, Daddy?”

“Sure, come up here, sweetheart,” Leon has to grip the base of his leaking cock as he swears he could almost cum on the spot at the sound of you two deciding where to park your pretty pussies on him.

You help Ashley slip off her panties before she clambers over Leon to slowly position her dripping pussy over his face. He groans at the sight as he takes reign of her hips and guides her directly onto his waiting mouth.

“F-fuck,” her eyes immediately flutter at the sensation of his tongue lapping at her glistening folds. “Your daddy sure knows how to eat puss-” she lets out a high-pitched whine as his lips wrap around her dainty clit, sucking on it the way a real man should. Her moans are cute, endearing really. They’re melodious, her very own aria accompanied by Leon’s groans muffled into her cunt.

“Isn’t he the best?” You smile at Ashley’s nipple, her right tit is starting to free itself from her bra with all the thrashing she’s doing on your daddy’s face. You lean over to give her a giant smooch on the lips before sliding your own panties off and moving down to position yourself over Leon’s hard cock. Your poor daddy has been humping the air this whole time in an effort to chase some pleasure of his own - not that pussy-eating isn’t one of his favorite pastimes. You drag your pussy over his cock, letting your juices lubricate it properly, though it’s leaking so much on its own that the action is needless.

As you sink down completely on his fat cock, your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of him stretching you open. While your pussy’s been trained to take this cock, the initial fit still requires some acclimation on your part. Kisses from Leon also help, but he’s a bit preoccupied with handing those out to Ashley’s little hole.

Leon’s moans reverberate through Ashley as you start to bounce up and down on his cock, meeting the firm muscle of his thighs with your plush asscheeks.

“How does it feel?” Ashley whines as the two of you reach for each other’s hands, interlacing your fingers together for support.

“S-so good,” you gaze at her with a heavy lidded expression as Leon plants his feet on the bed so he can drill his cock up into you harder, making you almost topple over. “Daddy! S’too much!”

He chuckles, and it’s like the vibrations are transmitted directly through Ashley’s tits and received by your mouth as your tongue laves over her exposed right nipple. You pull the rest of her bra down so you can wrap your lips around the neglected left one. You kiss each of her tits one last time before trailing your kisses northbound to her collarbones, then to her neck, to her jaw, to her soft lips.

“Oh God,” she cries against your lips. “Gonna cum, oh my goodness-” Leon’s obscene slurping intensifies as she whines louder before cumming all over your daddy’s face. Her face is cute as she cums, eyes crossing dumbly and pretty pink mouth forming an O shape.

Ashley shakily climbs off of Leon’s face as she watches the two of you fuck through the post-orgasm haze. You bend down to kiss Leon as he pounds into you, tasting Ashley’s pussy juices on his lips. “You taste so good, Ash…”

The blonde smiles wide, going loopy over your words and Leon’s tongue. You straighten up and lean back slightly so that your hands are anchored onto Leon’s thighs as he jackhammers up into you. “F-fuck, Daddy!”

“My beautiful girl,” he groans through his thrusts. “So cute, falling apart on my cock just like that. Look at those perfect titties bounce. Daddy loves watching you get fucked like this.” Your eyes tear up as the head of his cock continues to hit the jackpot inside you. Ding, ding, ding! Your moans grow erratic as you feel the build up in your tummy begin to consume you. Leon feels the familiar clench of your cunt, he knows his baby’s about to make a mess for him.

“Daddy, I-I…” You’re blubbering as the feeling in your tummy snaps, and you cum all over the cock that continues to pummel into you. He pulls you down to press kisses to your swollen lips and flushed cheeks as he admires your fucked out expression. He slows his thrusts down until his hips are still against yours.

Ashley pokes at your arm, giggling at your dopey smile. Her clit was throbbing while she watched you take Leon’s cock, and now it’s demanding the special treatment. She’s raring to go for another round, and Leon still hasn't finished yet. You swap places with her - you lounge on your side as your chest rises and falls from your previous orgasm. Ashley lays on her back as Leon hovers over her, spreading her plush thighs open so that he can slot his cock inside her twitching hole. The two of them moan in unison as he bullies his way inside and starts pumping in and out of her sloppy cunt.

“That’s some good pussy,” Leon groans as he leans down to kiss her feverishly through his thrusts. Ashley mewls into his mouth as she claws at his back with her acrylics, leaving scratches that would surely be visible tomorrow. It’s a wonder one didn't snap off. 

“Daddy!” She whines as the slapping of his balls against her ass echoes through the room. “You're gonna make me cum all over again… Can't wait to squirt all over your big dick this time.” 

He chuckles at this as he pinches her nipples. “Is that right? Gonna let Daddy cream this pussy?” Okay, it’s getting weird. He leans down to touch his forehead against hers. What the hell?

Your chest tightens at the sight though you shake your head, chastising yourself for feeling the familiar pit of jealousy brewing in your gut. You wanted this! Leon had raised his concerns over whether you would be alright with this arrangement, and you had insisted that it was what you wanted. You had reassured him that your possessive streak wouldn't rear its ugly head. Your brows furrow together as your bottom lip involuntarily juts itself into your signature pout as you watch them continue to kiss. You’re not being fair - you know that much; these are two people who are significant to you. They agreed to this because they thought it would make you happy. Do they have to look at each other so fucking tenderly? You trust them, love them, and now you’re about to set the entire apartment building on fire, trapping all of you in the flames of your hysteria.

The safe word you and Leon had decided on a long time ago bubbles on your lips, threatening to pop out any second now, commanding a halt to the evening’s activities. You’re an insecure little brat who spends her days whining for Leon’s attention like a mutt with serious anxious attachment issues. “Bingo…”

The second the word reaches his ears, Leon’s tapping Ashley’s thigh gently as he ceases his thrusting.

“Sorry, sweetheart… I need to check on my girl.” He pulls out of her squelching pussy with a grunt as he turns his attention towards you, taking you in his arms. “Everything okay, baby?” He strokes your hair as he kisses the top of your head. You sniffle as you shake your head.

Poor Ashley’s still lying on her back, legs spread for the world as she processes what just happened. She props herself up on her elbows and looks at you with the gaze of a friend who genuinely cares for your well-being. Both their looks of concern make you feel like a real insecure bitch, dramatizing your grievances as usual. 

“Are you okay?” Her soft voice floats over to you, increasing your guilt by tenfold.

Leon’s rubbing your back and whispering sweet words in your ear as he patiently waits for you to articulate the reason for your distress. You cling to him, burying your face in his chest before finally looking up at him in shame. 

“Didn’t… didn’t like seeing you guys like that…”

His expression is a mixture of guilt and confusion, but he doesn't seem completely surprised. He continues to stroke your hair soothingly as he speaks. “Baby, I thought you said this was going to be alright with you?”

“I-I…” Your eyes narrow in frustration, and your cheeks flush from the embarrassment of feeling a tantrum coming on in front of Ashley.

“You’re okay, no one’s mad at you,” he continues to reassure you by using his low, tender tone that was reserved only for you. “Use your words babydoll, help me understand what's going on in that pretty little head.”

You take a deep breath as you look into the eyes that know you better than anyone else, always analyzing your innermost thoughts. “F-fucking was fine, but holding and kissing each other like that is too much for me. You were looking at her like she's your baby.” You abandon all control of maintaining composure; accusatory whines are apparently spilling out of your mouth before your brain can even process them.

Leon freezes for a moment before letting out a singular sigh. “Doll, you’re my one and only baby… You’re always gonna be mine. I’m so sorry that I made you feel otherwise… Promise neither of us were thinking that.”

You drop your head down and keep it buried in his chest. You continue to cling to him, refusing to look at him but not wanting to let him go at the same time. A pang shoots through his heart as he ruminates over his actions. He continues using his gentle voice while tightening his arms around you. “Baby… My sweet girl… Guess we got a little carried away. Swear on my life I’d never want to do anything to hurt you.”

Ashley’s been observing your interactions quietly with a guilty expression. She sits up fully to reach her hand out so that she’s rubbing your shoulder gently. “I’d never do anything to hurt you… You’re my friend, and I love you lots… Pinky promise we weren't acting that way ‘cause we want each other or anything like that… Was just going along with the groove we set up at the beginning… Daddy and his girls….” She lets out a nervous chuckle as she bites her lip worriedly.

You turn your head slightly to peek out at her. “S’okay, Ash.” You can’t stay mad at her, she’s just too sweet and only wants to make her friend happy. You can't fault her for any of this, it just doesn’t feel right. So you focus your sour attitude onto Leon - after all, he’s the one who should’ve known how to conduct the situation appropriately, right? He's the one who shouldn't have flirted with the idea of cumming inside another girl while gazing into her eyes, right? Of course Ashley wouldn't have been able to think straight with a big dick like that scrambling her guts.

You push against Leon, trying to pry yourself from his arms, but he keeps his hold firm around you despite your anguish. “You're not getting away from me until I make this right, angel.”

“Don't wanna be near you,” your huff is slightly muffled as you continue to struggle.

“Baby.” Hurt seeps into his voice. “Please don't say that. I told you I was sorry. Look at me, sweet girl.”

You continue frowning into his solid chest. He keeps holding you close to him, doting on you like a little lamb - sweet nothings being whispered into your ear, kisses being dropped all over your head. He caresses your face, strokes your hair, rubs soothing circles all over your back, murmurs words of reassurance and love. The whole works, really.

Despite his loving actions, you continue to grumble against him like an agitated kitten. He never relents - he meant what he said, he's not letting go of you until he makes amends.

“My perfect baby, don't you know I love you more than anything in the world? Silly girl. You know I’d lay my life down for you without a second thought.”

He continues to coo and kiss at you until you’re back to melting in his arms. You finally look up at him with glassy eyes and a perpetual pout. “You really mean all that?”

“Of course I do.” He sighs heavily. “I should’ve made sure we established boundaries before starting this, honey. I’m sorry I upset you.”

“S’okay,” your voice wavers as you reach up to paw at his stubbled jaw. He kisses you, channeling all of his devotion to you through his lips.

“C’mon, dollface. This ain’t over yet.” He gently maneuvers you so that you’re laying flat on the bed next to Ashley. You reach out to lace your fingers through hers as she brushes her hair out of your face and presses a sugary kiss to your cheek. Both of you are spread-eagle for him, tits squished against each other as you wait for him to finish what he started.

He pushes his hard cock into you as his head falls back, relishing in the feeling of your velvety walls clamping down around him. He begins to rut into you, holding one of your legs in place against his shoulder while the other hand wanders over to Ashley’s cunt to rub at her clit. He strokes her clit for a while before plunging two fingers into her sopping hole. His fingers move in tandem with the way his cock pumps relentlessly in and out of you. You and Ashley moan into each other’s mouths as Leon groans and thrusts even faster at the sight of you two making out while he drives you both closer to your pleasure.

“C-can we do this again, Daddy?” You break from the kiss to look up at Leon with hazy eyes and your tongue lolling out.

“Yeah, can we,  Daddy?” Ashley looks up at him with the same fucked out expression.

“Of course we can,” Leon grins down at the two of you. “Next time, I’ll - shit - fuck the two of you while you’re on top of each other. Leave you guessin’ which hole’s getting my cock.”

He knows you’re close when he can feel your pussy squeeze desperately around him as your breaths grow more shallow. He turns your head to kiss your ankle bone as your leg is still propped up against his shoulder to allow him deeper access. His thrusts become faster and deeper as he aims to pummel into the spot that has you seeing stars. He makes sure not to forget about Ashley either, quickening the pumping of his fingers inside her as he also rubs harshly at her clit with his thumb - he’s getting carpal tunnel at this rate. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and her grip tightens around your hand as she nears her high.

Ashley’s the first to reach her climax. She cums all over his fingers as she practically screams in pleasure. Her pornographic moans cause your orgasm to hit you before you’re even truly aware it’s happening. Your pussy clenches around Leon’s cock as your back arches in pleasure which makes his thrusts stutter a few times before he shoots his cum deep inside you.

You writhe in pleasure as his load fills you up the way it should, the way it’s destined to. Leon musters up the last of his energy in pulling out and plopping next to you. His arm drapes over you, but not before slipping his fingers into your mouth to swallow the last bits of Ashley’s essence. Ashley moves down in between your legs to observe the way your boyfriend’s load oozes out of your battered hole. She gently laps at the excess cum seeping out of your folds, cleaning you up with kitten licks until your pussy is all neat and tidy again. She moves back up to snuggle against you, kissing you sweetly.

“We’re doing this again, right?” She mumbles against your hair as her eyes flutter shut.

“Definitely.”

[celaenaeiln]

Something fanon gets wrong

Dick Grayson is genuinely one of the greatest fighters in all of DC.

I know people have trouble believing this for some reason but a man who has defeated every single one of his enemies, other people’s enemies, and has consistently come out on top should have his abilities talked about a bit more because they’re amazing.

Let's start small to big. Firstly Donna talks about Nightwing's abilities.

When I read this I was confused by what she meant. Prowess means skill or expertise and that makes sense but Dick has a lot of power behind him though...

And then I realized she meant metaphysical power.

Dick isn't a magician. He can't run at supersonic speeds, throw buildings, speak to animals, communicate with the dark, fly above the clouds, bounce bullets off his chest (Oh, wait. He can do it off his ass instead never mind), turn into animals, or other amazing abilities. But his skill is so high that he is easily able to keep up with people who can.

M'gann, the white martian with extraordinary capabilities, tells Dick, "You are just a human, with no superpowers, yet you have consistently excelled throughout your career, despite being surrounded by godlike beings."

This is incredible.

We see Dick leading teams of superheroes and metas all the time and we take it for granted but we never acknowledge the immense power and skill he must have for him to be able to do this.

Repeatedly. Time after time. He outsmarts both his human allies and outfights his meta ones.

One of Dick’s greatest OP moments is when he takes down the entire Titans team -Gar, Raven, Donna, and Jason too when he hung around with them- single handedly. And when Jason put a gun to the back of his head in supposed victory, Dick opened his hand to let the golden bullets fall, gleaming in the light with the coldest line, “with these bullets?”

We all know how amazing Bruce is, but Dick is on Bruce's level.

No?

Okay, here's the evidence.

Dick has fought Azael in a sword fight to a standstill when Azael has beaten Bruce separately and Tim and Jason combined.

He has defeated Ra's in a sword fight and Ra's is one of the greatest swordsmen.

Sometimes he doesn't even need a sword to defeat a skilled swordsman.

He's a League of Assassins member and we all know that anyone from the League of Assassins is never just good. They're excellent. The entire fight Dick is looking for Blockbuster and he's so capable and good at fighting the entire scene was like watching Thanos flick Captain America away vibes. He's not even looking at him when he smashes his foot into Shrike's face!

Most importantly, he has defeated Deathstroke

The greatest thing about Dick is he is able to defeat Slade at the peak of Slade's abilities. Slade doesn't need to be weakened for Dick to win.

Here's where people has some hesitance accepting Dick's abilities.

"Bruce has defeated Slade but Dick has never been able to!"

He literally has in Dark Crisis but I'll give you the lead up.

Dick can easily disarm Slade.

He can predict Slade's moves ahead of time and properly counteract them.

He can go toe to toe with him and in one comic, they dance down a hallway, fighting, neither able to get the upper hand. The mercenary meta, considered by the US Government to be 1 of 2 greatest assassins (the other being Katana) isn't able to pin down and defeat a 20 year old despite his enhancements.

I left out the scene where Dick twisting Deathstroke's arm and smashing his face into a bedroom mirror despite being complete weaponless and in his civilian identity. No protection and no support. But it's another example of how Dick's poweress is much greater than people expect of him.

Of course there are panels where Dick has been defeated by Slade but Dick isn't 17/18 anymore. He isn't learning to fight without Batman hovering over his side.

Also there is a panel everyone references to when talking about Nigthwing losing to Deathstroke. This one.

sure. okay. whatever. BUT WHY WON'T YOU SHOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT COWARDS?!?

THEY DANCE-FIGHT LIKE THEY'RE ENEMIES IN A BALLROOM ON OPPOSING SIDES BUT CAN'T AFFORD TO LET ANYONE FIND OUT.

THIS IS SOME HIGH LEVEL JAMES BOND-RED NOTICE-MISSION IMPOSSIBLE- TYPE SHIT.

"Close the hold, you morons! Close the--Guuk!"

That's Slade talking by the way. To his allies. Who do you think made him "GUUK!"?

And here they were evenly matched.

But Slade had to pull out bombs he had been saving for when other people came in order to defeat dICK AND HE STILL LOST BECAUSE DICK BESTED HIM.

Yup. Dick is just that good.

Nightwing defeated Bane

Before you go into saying something like "it was a holographic construction." What the fuck difference does that make? Does a holographic construction alter the strength used by the enemy, change their fighting style, phase through when fighting, act dumber than the real deal? No, right? The fact is Dick broke Bane's back the exact same manner that Bane broke Batman's. All those scenes of Bane punching Nightwing around? Let me remind you that the guy snuck up on Dick. The second time Dick underestimated Bane's powers before getting ready to put in real effort before Batman interfered to take Bane for himself.

All those amazing scenes of him defeating enemies that we've scoffed at recently? They're just a continuation of what already is written. It's not new or unbelievable, it's expected.

Here's my final point. Dick has defeated all of the Justice League's enemies in one go.

This is Batman/Superman comic where Kara gets infected so Dick as Batman sends her to the medbay while he tears down the Watchtower to save her. As in every single defense mechanism the Watchtower has, he demolishes it with his pure skill and abilities. Furthermore, the Watchtower defenses were enhanced by cyborg Superman to be lethal. To kill on sight.

Just. Phenomenal.

He did it! He defeated all of them and made it to the electronic controls he was aiming for.

Another thing I want to point is Dick's strength is greater than what people assume it to be.

He's the world's greatest acrobrat and has a build fitting of that but the strength he packs in his body is equal to that of a meta. Maybe it's because of how he only fights with metas and has teammates that are all metas but he has raised his striking power to equal that.

He shatters cyborg superman in one blow.

He can handle blows from meta humans in a way most others can't which suggests to me that he must've done some kind of training or have maybe increased pain tolerance or have the ability to backseat the pain so it won't affect his fighting. How many can take a hit and rise up the next second?

He's not metahuman. Batman must've done several tests because he also was amazed by robin Dick's poweress lol but really Dick is just extraordinary. Give him any enemy and he will garaunteed defeat them without using cheap tricks or surprise moves which is why he is one of the greatest. The only time people have gotten an upperhand on him is when he has been emotionally weakened. Emotionally. Imagine the absolute monster he would be if he controlled his emotions like Batman.

But I would never want him to though because his emotions are the reason why he's the light of DC.

[defectivevillain]

unexpected patronage

pairing: Logan/Wade/Reader

The reader’s pronouns are he/him and he’s masculine intended. Otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

summary: Wade pokes you and you flinch as his finger finds a hole in your shirt, from where Wolverine had grabbed you moments ago. “Sheesh, you practically hole-punched him, pookie," he says to the man, who growls disapprovingly at the nickname.

You’re a bartender working the graveyard shift at Joe’s Diner. You’ve seen some strange people, but these two guys are by far the strangest…

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

Warnings: canon-typical blood/violence/suggestive humor. Dogpool is referred to with it/its pronouns until the reader warms up to her. Expect lots of pet names and sexual humor, because it’s Wade.

author's notes: This fic is focused on Reader/Wade/Logan, and it’s explicitly romantic (nothing past making out). I know, this is rare for me. lol.

Also I know virtually nothing about the Deadpool & Wolverine movie, so this will be canon non-compliant. We’re going to pretend Joe’s Diner is just in NYC, lol.

You’ve been a bartender at Joe’s Diner for a bit now. Since you work the graveyard shift, you grow used to seeing a variety of people. Out of all the unique personalities and strange people you’ve met across the past few months, Wade takes the cake. 

The first few times you see him, he’s wearing a hood over his head, sun glasses, and a face mask. You promptly tell him he looks very suspicious, to which he responds that it’s ‘just his charm’. You roll your eyes and serve him the drinks he wanted, figuring he doesn’t want conversation. Contrary to your expectations, the guy is crazy talkative—quickly introducing himself as Wade before proceeding to talk your ear off. You would be annoyed, but honestly, his chatter is entertaining and it helps the time pass. 

If you thought Wade’s first outfit was weird, what he wears next time is far weirder. He’s outfitted with some sort of red spandex jumpsuit, with katanas strapped to his back and combat boots. He looks positively ridiculous, but, this is New York City after all. You settle for just raising a brow at him. He asks for his typical drink and, after some cajoling, admits that he’s a mercenary by the name of Deadpool. You don’t really have anything to do with that information, so you just shrug it off and continue serving him until he leaves an hour later. 

From then, Wade makes sporadic visits. The most notable one starts just as any other. It’s about one thirty in the morning, and the bar is quiet. You’ve been serving a gruff-looking guy for about an hour now, and you’re beginning to think you should cut him off. Before you can do that, you hear Wade’s voice. 

“Hey, baby!” he greets you. You blink at the pet name, secretly a bit flustered but not showing it. Wade’s just like that. 

“Hi, Wade,” you greet him, a small smile on your face. He’s wearing his suit, which hides his facial expressions. His voice sounds happy, though. 

Wade sidles up to the bar, before turning to face the guy you’ve been serving drinks to. “I’m gonna need you to come with me right now," he says ominously. You blink in surprise, your heart jumping in your chest a bit at the rather demanding tone in his voice. 

“Look, lady," the guy huffs. He spares him a glance, before looking back down at his drink. “I’m not interested.”

You pay a glance at Wade, who seems annoyed. Feeling strangely sympathetic, you try to help him out a bit. Why you do it, you’re not entirely sure. He can defend himself—and probably kick the guy’s ass. But still, you’re speaking before you can get yourself to stop. “That’s just Wade,” you hear yourself explaining to the other guy. “He’s a good guy, he won’t hurt you. Unless you give him reason to.” You blink. 

The guy just huffs, clearly uninterested.

“I tried, Wade.” You shrug. At least you can say you tried, and you won’t have to agonize over your silence.  

“And I appreciate that, sweetheart,” Deadpool says sincerely, before shaking his head. “Even your handsome face can’t convince him… The guy’s busted.”

You start to tune out their conversation after that, as they exchange verbal blows and insults. Wade seems to be getting more irritated with each passing second, and you know that things will escalate soon if you don’t do something. 

You had planned on cutting the guy off, but he motions for you to give him another drink. You know it’s not the best idea, but you find yourself sliding another one over to him before you can contemplate the consequences. He promptly downs it in one go. You think you make eye contact with Wade and you look at the glass pointedly. 

“Ah!” he says aloud. You resist the urge to facepalm, instead sneaking glances at the guy. It doesn’t take long for him to pass out and hit the floor. You grimace at the loud sound of his collision with the ground, and hope it wasn’t painful. Then again, the guy seemed pretty muscular—maybe he’ll be fine? 

“What’d you put in that thing?” Wade asks incredulously, looking at the empty glass. “Horse tranquilizer? Glitter glue?” You laugh at the latter remark. Glitter glue? Ridiculous, honestly.

“It was just liquor," you huff, leaning over the counter slightly and paying the guy a glance. He’s unconscious, but breathing. You look back up at Wade. “He’s been drinking all night; I figured it would only be a matter of time.” 

“I’m speechless," he says, then continues speaking. You chuckle at the irony. Wade is never truly speechless. “Completely speechless. You know, you make quite the accomplice.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What do you plan to do with him, exactly?” you trail off, feeling a little guilty. Maybe you should’ve asked that question a bit earlier. Ah well. It’s too late for that now. Besides, you trust Wade. He’s not a bad guy. He likely needs him for his mercenary/vigilante stuff. 

Wade’s answer confirms your suspicions. “Oh, I just need his help with something,” Deadpool says vaguely. He considers the guy for a moment. “Besides, he’s Wolverine. He’ll be just fine.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, that’s Wolverine? Shit.” To think the heavy drinker at your bar was Wolverine… You shake your head in disbelief.

“Yeah!” Wade confirms. “You just knocked out the mighty Wolverine! Not many people can say that.” You grimace, not feeling particularly proud of that fact. 

There are a few seconds of silence before Wade sighs. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I gotta get going.” He almost sounds regretful. 

“Have fun,” you say, raising a brow at the ease with which Deadpool tosses him over his shoulder. “Don’t die.”

“I won’t.” He promises, sending you another mock-salute. Then he stumbles for a second. “Damn, this guy’s heavy. Gotta go; adios!” He’s gone in the blink of an eye. You stare at the front doors for a long moment, before rubbing your eyes roughly and half-expecting to wake up in your bed again. That felt like a dream sequence. Unfortunately for you, it seemed to be reality. 

Wade returns with Wolverine a few mornings later. How do you find that out, exactly? Well, you’re stepping out of the break room and going to the bar when you see Wolverine rummaging through the cabinets. He very nearly rips the door off of the refrigerator and you quickly intervene. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, staring at him in disbelief. “Get out from behind the bar," you order. 

Wolverine growls, but obeys you and settles in one of the seats. “I need a drink,” he says gruffly. 

“Then just say that, dumbass," you chastise him. He blinks at you in poorly-concealed disbelief, as if surprised you’ve insulted him. You get the feeling he doesn’t get spoken to like that often. Oops. “What do you want?” you ask. He confirms he wants his usual. 

You prepare his drink and watch as he takes a sip. “Wade finally won you over, huh?” you finally manage to ask, unable to hide your curiosity any longer. Wolverine blinks. You look pointedly over to where Deadpool is sitting, pretending not to eavesdrop. 

Wolverine scoffs. “No.”

“You sure?” you ask. “He seems to think you did.” You send a wave to Wade and he waves back, waggling his fingers excitedly. He looks about as energetic as a little kid hopped up on sugar. It’s kind of sweet. 

“No,” Wolverine repeats. 

You take one look at the guy, grumpy and cranky, and come to a quick decision. “You’re cute," you huff amusedly. He puts on a cold and uncaring facade, but it’s clear he isn’t actually like that. Deep beneath those layers of muscle, there’s a heart.

It’s as if you insulted him. Every muscle in his body seems to stiffen. He’s tightly wound and tense. “What did you just say?” Wolverine demands, aggravated. 

If you had even an ounce of self-preservation, you’d retract the remark. But it’s nearing three in the morning now, and you’re too tired to care. “I said ‘you’re cute’,” you repeat casually. “Y’know, the whole growly act—” 

Suddenly his claws are in your shirt collar and he’s dragging you forward, bringing you far too close to him and rendering the bar counter between you inconsequential. You wince as his breath hits your neck. “I am not cute,” he growls.

“Okay,” you say, if only to placate him. Truthfully, you think his little growly act is quite cute. But it’s clear he doesn’t think so—and objects to the description. 

Fortunately, before he can put his claws through your throat and end your life, Wade is intervening. “Hey, hands off, werewolf!” he huffs. “He’s the only capable bartender in this place.” 

“Thanks, Wade; I’m flattered," you respond, hoping Wolverine doesn’t notice how fast your heart is racing. You put your hand on Wolverine’s and attempt to get him to release his grip. He stares at you for a long moment, as if reminding you that he has the control in the situation. You just stare back, unimpressed. He finally releases his grip. 

“You should be flattered, sweet cheeks,” Wade responds, before getting up from the booth and heading over to the bar. He pokes your shirt and you flinch as his finger finds a hole in your shirt. “Sheesh, you practically hole-punched him, pookie.” Wolverine growls at the nickname, clearly disapproving. 

You follow Wade’s gaze to the top of your shirt, where there are puncture marks from Wolverine’s claws. “Aw, seriously?” you complain. Wade’s right—your shirt does look like it was hole-punched. It looks a bit ridiculous. “I liked this shirt.”

“Get another one,” Wolverine says blankly. 

You glare at him. He glares back. 

Wade is practically bouncing on his heels as he looks between you, either oblivious or uncaring of the tension between the two of you. “Look at us,” he says. “The perfect team. The brains, the brawn, and the beauty.” He points to himself, then Wolverine, then you. 

“You think you’re the brains?” you hear yourself say sarcastically before you can stop yourself. Wade gasps in mock-offense. Wolverine huffs in amusement. Deadpool looks between the two of you for several moments, turning his head back and forth. 

“What,” Wolverine eventually demands, annoyed with his constant back-and-forth motion. 

“I don’t like this little duo,” Wade frowns. At least, you imagine he’s frowning underneath the mask. 

“It’s okay, Wade,” you reassure him teasingly. “You can be the beauty, it fits you better.” And you certainly don’t feel like the beauty of this group anyways. 

“Aw, you’re making me blush," Wade says, bringing his hands to his cheeks. 

“I’m not a part of this,” you feel the need to clarify. They have superpowers, and they’re likely doing something rather important. You’d… rather not join them. You don’t have combat abilities, regeneration, sharpened claws… or anything like that. “But I’ll serve you drinks when it’s all over. When you’re done with… whatever you’re doing,” you offer. Supposedly they’re going on some sort of mission to save the world… Blah blah blah. You don’t know the specifics and you’re grateful for that. 

Wolverine huffs at your comment. “I’m going to need one," he says. 

“More than one; don’t lie to yourself, buddy,” Deadpool teases. He slaps a hand on the guy’s shoulder in a friendly gesture; Wolverine immediately shoves him off. You resist the urge to laugh, instead pouring him another drink when he asks.

You don’t see Wade or Wolverine for several days. You’re a bit worried, truthfully—but you know they likely have far better things to do than spend time here with you, in the wee hours of the morning. You can only hope they’re not too exhausted.

Finally, after far too long, the front doors open one morning to reveal familiar red and yellow costumes. You look at the two superhumans for a moment, taking in the blood splattered across their tattered clothes and the dark circles under their eyes. They look absolutely exhausted. There’s a dog in a matching red spandex suit at Wade’s ankles; and Wolverine looks less pissed than usual, which is admittedly concerning. What makes you laugh, though, is the state of their tattered uniforms. Wade’s suit is wrecked and Wolverine is wearing a strange mask with two protruding horns. You greet the two of them, before eventually giving in and laughing at the sheer state they’re in. 

“What,” Wolverine demands, taking a seat at the bar. Wade follows his lead, taking the seat next to him. Wolverine doesn’t so much as put up a fight—a clear indication of his fatigue. 

“Sorry,” you say, not feeling particularly apologetic as you struggle to suppress more laughter. You slide him his drink. “It’s just hard to take you seriously wearing that mask.” 

Wade cackles. “You’re not much better, Wade,” you say with a slight smile, getting his drink for him. “You look like a broken fire hydrant.”

It’s Wolverine’s turn to look amused. “You do,” he agrees. 

“Shut up!” Wade huffs defensively. 

“It’s okay, Wade,” you say with faux concern. Your eyes fall to the dog that came in with him. “Just watch out for your dog; it’ll probably pee on you.” Wolverine snickers. 

“Dogpool!” Wade remarks, as if just remembering the animal’s existence. You roll your eyes, unsurprised that the dog has slipped his attention. He seems like the type to forget he has a pet. 

“Wade, don’t put your dog on the bar counter—” you hiss. But it’s too late—Wade has picked up the dirty dog and placed it on the bar counter, where people drink and eat. Immune to your stress, the dog runs about in small circles, before deciding to scare the shit out of you by jumping right at you. 

You’re forced to catch it. You hold it at a distance, if only because its fur looks matted, dirty, and splattered with the blood of this duo’s enemies. You hold the dog at arm’s length, looking at Wade expectantly. But he’s just laughing his ass off, because of course he is. You hold the dog out to Logan next, but he just shakes his head. Sighing, you set it down on the ground. It’ll lose interest soon. 

But the dog—Dogpool, you remind yourself, unable to take the name seriously—only yips and runs between your legs, before trying to climb up one of them and panting as it stares up at you. “Wade,” you say. “Care to explain why your dog is humping my leg?”

“Aw, she’s just like her father,” Wade coos. You’re sputtering at the remark. “C’mere baby,” Wade says, rounding the bar and holding his arms out to her. 

Dogpool doesn’t even seem to notice him, instead wagging her tail as she still claws at your leg and tries to climb you. 

“Come to daddy, come on,” Wade urges her, making little noises as he beckons her closer. You grimace as she stays near you. Wade visibly deflates. “You’ve stolen my dog’s heart! How dare you?!”

As if you have any control over the situation. But secretly, the longer you look at the dog, the more endearing she becomes. She’s kind of cute. Just a little. Emboldened by Wade’s frustration, you pick up the dog and hold her in your arms. Wade pretends to cry, then attempts to make grabby-hands and get you to give her over.  

You wince as she promptly licks your face with her absurdly long tongue. “Okay, no, never mind—” You quickly back out, placing her down on the counter again. It’s not the ideal place for her, but at least she won’t attempt to coat you in slobber again. 

“Wow, Deadpool is in love with you,” Wade comments, seemingly less bothered now. Then he seems to realize what he just said and starts stammering. “I meant Dogpool. Not Deadpool. That’s me.” You regret the fact that he’s wearing his mask, because you swear it almost sounds like he’s flustered. 

Wolverine looks rather entertained by this conversation. “It’s an alternate version of yourself, and it still likes him better,” he points out. Wade isn’t happy with that comment; Wolverine has a wry smile on his face. “Go to your father,” he then says, tapping the dog lightly and directing her to Wade. She runs up to him and yips excitedly. 

“Aw, you know I can never stay mad at you, honey,” Wade says to the dog, making kissing sounds. You watch the display with amusement, thankful the dog has seemingly forgotten about you. You don’t realize you’re smiling until you feel Wolverine’s gaze burning into the side of your face. 

You blink and turn to him. “Want another drink, Wolverine?” you ask him, a bit restless under the weight of his gaze. 

“Not on this counter,” Wolverine huffs. Then he straightens. “And it’s Logan.”

“Fair enough,” you acquiesce with a smile. Dogpool did just run all over it. “Logan,” you correct yourself. He nods. You decide to focus your attention on cleaning the counter, so you don’t have to think about the look in his eyes as you said his name. 

In the coming weeks, Wade and Logan visit frequently. They always make sure to sit at the bar when you’re working, talking to you and saving you from your boredom. It’s nice to see them slowly return to their normal, well-rested selves. You have to admit: you were a bit worried about them when they showed up with blood splattered across their costumes a while ago.  

Idly, you have to wonder why they still keep visiting you. Sure, you serve drinks—but you work at ungodly hours, and the liquor served here certainly isn’t anything special. It’s a bit cheaper, you suppose. But overall, there are no overwhelming qualities about Joe’s Diner that would make you want to choose it over a regular bar. 

That particular mystery remains unsolved for a while, until one day after hours, when Wade strolls in purposefully—Logan following at his heels. Wade makes a beeline for the bar stool nearest where you’re standing and takes a seat, looking at you pointedly. He isn’t wearing his mask, allowing you to see the intensity of his gaze. He studies you for a long moment. 

Wade seems uncharacteristically nervous and jittery. His fingers tap restlessly against the counter. His leg is bouncing and his gaze can’t seem to settle on any one thing for too long. “I like you,” he eventually says, so quietly that you almost convince yourself you misheard. “Like, like you, like you.”

“You had weeks to prepare, and that’s what you came up with?” Logan says snarkily, clearly unimpressed. He stands a short distance away with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“He likes you too, but he’s too grouchy to admit it,” Wade says for Logan; Logan promptly claws him in the arm. “Ow,” Wade says. The remark seems to be born out of instinct, rather than genuine pain. He sends Wolverine an inscrutable look over his shoulder before returning his attention to you. 

“Well, I like you like you too,” you answer after a few seconds, a small smile on your face. “Both of you. If it’s true,” you add on, because Logan doesn’t seem particularly pleased. But he also doesn’t object to Wade’s statement, so it must be true. 

“Yay!” Wade interjects, promptly leaning over the counter and kissing you excitedly. His hands find the nape of your neck and he’s tugging you into him with a fierce grin. After a few moments, he breaks away and looks behind him—all without letting his hand fall from your face. “You gonna join us, buddy?” Wade asks. 

“I’m fine here,” Logan says with a smirk.

“Perv,” Wade remarks, before turning back to you. He kisses you enthusiastically, his hands falling to the collar of your shirt. 

“Jesus, Wade, don’t throw me over the counter,” you huff when you break apart, secretly worried that he’ll drag you halfway across the room. 

“Wolfie’ll catch ya, don’t worry,” Wade says with a grin. Is that supposed to be reassuring? He keeps kissing you, nearly tugging you over the counter again. At some point, you have to actually catch yourself from falling into the surface. 

“Just— Wait,” you say, not even thinking before jumping and sliding over the counter quickly. You’re standing next to him now. “Better?” you ask. 

Wade blinks once, twice. His lips are parted in surprise. You’re starting to feel self-conscious and embarrassed when he breaks through the tense silence. “That was hot,” Wade says. You scoff disbelievingly and Wade turns to look at Logan, as if hearing him do something. “And I think Claws over there agrees,” he points out. 

Before you can even process what’s happening, Logan is standing in front of you, backing you into the bar counter and kissing you. And even through the nearly overwhelming sensations—one of his hands on your hip, the other boxing you in; the tangible weight of his muscled forearm as you grasp it—you can hear Wade cheering excitedly. It’s so stupid that you find yourself laughing, to the point where you have to take a breath. 

“Sorry, it’s just— Wade, what are you doing?” you laugh breathlessly, looking over at him. Logan’s hand remains on your hip even as he follows your gaze, glaring murderously at Wade.

“Just fanboying, don’t mind me,” he shrugs, sitting on one of the bar stools and kicking his feet. He looks very gleeful. “Y’all are so cute.” 

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get over here, Red Riding Hood.”

“Aw, then that makes you the Big Bad Wolf,” Wade remarks, skipping up to both of you. “Tumblr’s gonna eat this up. We should get T-shirts, or maybe—” Logan’s kissing him before he can continue speaking. 

You’re confident the three of you would stay there forever, if not for Dogpool’s unexpected interruption. She runs up to your legs and then jumps at Wade. Wade freezes and looks down at her with a gasp. “Her sweet virgin eyes!” he exclaims, bending down to pick her up. “Poor baby. I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

“Not sure if she’s a virgin anymore, after what she was doing to my leg earlier,” you mutter quietly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Logan overhears in his proximity and laughs. That may be the first time you’ve ever heard him express such genuine amusement. It must be a rare sight, because Wade is also looking at him in surprise. 

“So you can laugh,” Wade says, pretty much pouting. He’s still holding Dogpool in his arms, and he’s bouncing her up and down as if she’s a baby. “You don’t laugh at things I say,” he frowns. 

“Because you’re not funny,” Logan responds with a shit-eating grin. 

“Hmph.” Wade is dejected for all of ten seconds, until Dogpool promptly licks his face and you all abandon the argument to laugh.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

endnotes:

Me: Would Deadpool say ‘adios’? @connorhasabigtip, my bestie: Yeah, he’d say it unironically because he’s a little slut. Me: *laughing my ass off*

I formatted this in between rounds of Squid Game on Roblox… and I think that’s what Wade would’ve wanted.

I looked up pictures of Joe’s Diner and was like, hm, they don’t have a bar + the counter’s too high and filled with stuff. Then I decided I didn’t care, ‘cause this is fiction. If I want to slide over a bar counter, then I’m sliding over a bar counter, physics be damned.

“It’s hard to take you seriously wearing that mask,” is a Dance Moms reference, bahaha (“Jill is yelling and screaming, and all I can think is, ‘It’s so hard to take you seriously wearing that hat.’”)

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[vigilskeep]

hello! you know a lot of dragon age lore so i thought id ask you— i saw a post earlier that was discouraging to me aa trans person where the op said that veilguard having top surgery scars in the cc goes against established worldbuilding. does it make sense for top surgery to be possible in thedas? thanks

my rule of thumb is that in a world where healing spells exist, there’s absolutely no logical, believable reason for it not to be possible. you don’t have to go back and provide sources about historical surgeries—which is something i personally know nothing about—for this to be true

like, i just can’t take this line of thought seriously. ohhh we can have floating cities and magical neon lights and spirit healers who can mend injuries just by passively standing next to you, but we draw the line as soon as it’s something that would make our trans players happy! it’s so transparent. do not listen to these people or let them discourage you

if you want to get into the worldbuilding potential of it—which is just fun to do—we can probably guess that for the top surgery scars to be as neat as they seem to look in the veilguard character creator, similar to modern ones, magical healing was involved. now i do believe that the chantry might get suspicious of body-altering magic, that magical power is hoarded by the circles in the south and the wealthy in the north, and also that “out” trans people are a minority in thedas. so i’m not saying that this is something easy for your average guy to get hold of. that’s where you can feed it into backstory. are they powerful and connected enough that they could find specialists willing to go beyond the ordinary? or do they have underground connections to hidden apostate healers, whose only priority is what helps (or perhaps just how much you’re willing to pay)? do they belong to a culture that might not be restricted by the chantry’s norms about gender or magic, like the dalish or the rivaini? or do they belong to a mage-focused community or order, who among themselves do whatever they like? endless options

some might be referring to a line in dai from krem, a trans man, where you can ask him about potentially changing his body with magic and he essentially says he wouldn’t let magic that could do that anywhere near his body, though when he was younger he might have dreamed about the possibilities. firstly, krem is absolutely not the gold standard for trans representation and nobody should care about being flexible from what bioware put out a decade ago. secondly, krem is a random mercenary who knows one (1) mage, who spends the entire time insisting she’s not a mage. i very much doubt he’s the no. 1 source for what might be magically possible in this or any regard

also ultimately, and i cannot express this enough, you can do whatever you want forever. it could be absolutely fundamentally impossible in-world somehow and it would still not be that serious to be “unrealistic” in the dragon video games. don’t let anyone discourage you from making the character you want to make. it being an option makes it canonically part of thedas, end of. they put it in the game and nobody bitching about it can take it out

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: 4K

Synopsis: Your father has offered your hand in marriage to an insufferably arrogant Athenian Polemarch. To make matters worse... he's terrible in bed. What a pleasant coincidence that he's just so happened to hire a certain mercenary known for her excellence in the area?

Content/Warnings: nsfw, reader is referred to w fem pronouns/has fem anatomy, top!kass, bottom!reader, scissoring, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), jealous!kass but she won't admit it, in love!reader but she won't admit it, ambiguous ending ooooh

A/N: i am so sorry that it took me this long to post this... but it genuinely ended up being my favorite smut I've written so far. it's not even anything crazy, i just love kassandra so much and i hope this finds all my other fellow kassandra lovers out there.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

There's little that irritates Kassandra more than arrogance, so it's no surprise that right now, the look on her face clearly says she'd rather be anywhere else than sharing a meal with men who have heads as big as they claim their dicks to be. 

At least you're there to catch her humorous expressions of reproval from across the dinner table; to respond with your own, sharing a silent conversation about how ridiculous these men sound as they decide that the next best subject to discuss over roasted quail and figs is how good they are in bed.

The only reason you're attending this glorified pissing contest is because your father had offered your hand to tonight's host, Alexandros, not too long ago. You aren't naive; you understand that in this world, women don't marry for love, but for security. Alexandros was at least a safe bet; an Athenian Polemarch with plenty of wealth to spare.  He decides to chime in, raising his cup of wine in the air for dramatic effect. “One thing is for certain,” he begins with a toothy grin, “no woman has ever left my quarters unhappy…” The room explodes with cheeky laughter and hollers of praise, droplets of dark red sloshing over their cups as they toast to Alexandros’s proclaimed skills… It isn’t until their cheers die down that they realize you’ve choked on your wine.

“What’s the matter?” Alexandros asks, clearly more annoyed than concerned. 

Kassandra is slouched against the backrest of her chair. She lulls her head over to Alexandros’s direction to shoot him a glare when he takes such a short tone with you.

“O-oh!” you begin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and trying to conceal your laughter the best you can.

Kassandra’s scowl is replaced with a grin as she watches.

“I just, uh…”

Find it hilarious that you seriously believe I’ve ever left your bedroom pleased…

“...wine just went down the wrong way,” you say, finally having collected yourself enough to give him a dismissive wave.  “We’re running low, anyhow.” 

You stand to grab the decanter from the center of the table before excusing yourself to the kitchen to refill it. 

A knowing smirk plays on Kassandra’s lips as she watches you leave, your shoulders still bouncing with giggles all the way to the kitchen. 

She had become quite fond of you since taking this contract with Alexandros. The only reason she could stand to take contracts with men as insufferable as the Polemarch is that they were notoriously exuberant with their riches, offering her ludicrous amounts of drachmae, room, and board just to run simple errands that they just couldn’t be bothered with. Still, it didn’t make these men- or working for them- any less annoying, but this time, she found herself hoping Alexandros had one more request of her before she set off for the next job; something that would give her the excuse to spend more time with you. 

She's standing to succumb to the pull you seem to have on her before she can help it, pardoning herself for a moment and following the path to you with a wry smile. 

You turn your head toward the sound of two knocks on the open frame of the kitchen, a grin spreading across your face at the sight of the Misthios walking toward you.

“Make haste,” she playfully urges, “we’re in the middle of an incredibly insightful discussion about whether it’s better to take a woman from the front or the back. You really don’t want to miss it.”

Her feigned graveness sends you into another fit of giggles. 

“And what say you, Kassandra?” you ask playfully, hopping up onto the wooden counter behind you. She leans her hip against its wooden edge and crosses her arms. “Which is better?”

You don’t expect her to give an honest response, but when she leans in and lowers her voice, you can’t help but hold your breath.

“Whatever my lover wants,” she croons. She pushes herself off of the counter, reaching for a bowl of olives and casually popping one into her mouth as if she hadn’t just been so crass.

The exhale that finally escapes you comes out as an incredulous chuckle.

“I didn’t know there were still people who cared what their lover wanted.”

“What? No… didn’t you hear Alexandros? No woman leaves his chambers unhappy, remember?” 

Her words- saturated in sarcasm- are met with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Alexandros only believes that because he can’t tell the difference between real pleasure and a performance.” 

Her eyes are trained on you, narrowed and contemplative. 

“Then why do you sleep with him?” She finally asks.

Great question. 

You sigh. 

“It's in my best interest to get used to it; If I’m to be married to him, you know.”

A frown finds its way onto Kassandra’s face. It’s something she’d seen too many a time: a beautiful woman with so much to offer- a woman who deserves only the best- pressured into a loveless marriage to meet some arbitrary social expectation. Many of these women would end up requesting… assistance… from her while their husbands were off at war or otherwise occupied, and as much as she loves pleasing women, Kassandra prided herself on having strong moral convictions. 

She wouldn’t sleep with a married woman behind her husband’s back. It’s why she finds herself dreading the day that you do marry Alexandros, because, at this rate, she wants you for herself. 

“You haven’t accepted his hand yet, have you?”

“I haven’t,” you shake your head, eyes trained on a crack in the stone floor below you. “I just need more time to consider it, is all.”

You’re lying through your teeth. You would have accepted your fate already, had it not been for the woman standing before you and the taste she’d given you of what real chemistry feels like. 

Your gaze lifts to her own, sadness painting your features. 

“Are you still planning to set off for Argolis tomorrow?” 

She smiles softly at you. “As much as I’d like to stay… I’ve already got work lined up there.” 

You nod, giving her a woeful smile of your own. A silence settles between the two of you, but your longing gazes say everything. You want to ask her not to leave, and she wants to ask you to follow. You both know that neither can happen. 

But when Alexandros’s voice cuts through the silence from the dining room, calling out to ask what’s taking so long, a bolt of indignation strikes Kassandra.

“I’m going up to my room,” she begins resolutely, “and I’m going to leave the lamp on until the 12th hour.” 

You nod slowly, not quite understanding her message.

“If, by then, you haven’t arrived…”

Your eyes widen. Now you understand. 

“...then I’ll be off to bed tonight and on the waters to Argolis tomorrow. No hard feelings. But, if you’d like to pay me a visit before then,” 

She slots herself in between your legs, hand coming up to anchor to your thigh as she leans in to purr,

“You’ll find that the door is unlocked.” 

She takes a few steps backward before turning on her heel to head back to the dining room. Soon, you hear the idle chatter of everyone bidding her goodnight, and imagine her walking up the stairs wearing the wolfish grin she so often sported. You imagine her sauntering into her room- the most secluded space in the estate, back in the corner of the second floor- stripping layers of armor off to reveal chiseled muscles wrapped in bronze skin, undoing her braid and letting her chestnut waves cascade over her bare shoulders- 

You're pulled out of your thoughts by the burn of your thighs pressed tightly together. 

The rumors of her divinity must be true. Her allure is inhuman, and as you slide off of the counter, having long abandoned your task of refilling the decanter of wine, you realize that no human will satisfy the warmth pooling at your core.

You walk back out to the dining room, having already prepared some half-assed spiel about not feeling well and figuring that you should retire to your room for the night. Alexandros is nonethewiser; nor does he care. 

Your fist is already poised in front of the door to Kassandra’s room, where lamplight spills through the gap underneath the door, and your heart flutters in your chest as you leave two gentle knocks on its surface. 

Your breath is stolen from you when it opens. 

You'd think she'd seem more imposing donned in golden armor, hand poised on the hilt of her blade. Somehow, her rumored divinity is harder to deny when she assumes this form: wearing only a night tunic, nimble fingers mindlessly unraveling the cord from her braid.

She opens the door wider for you to enter, keen eyes darkening as you cross the threshold to her room. 

“I told you it’d be unlocked,” she muses, kicking the door closed behind her in a fluid movement.

“It was only a courtesy,” you begin, strolling toward the end of her bed, “in the case that you were… indecent.”

She chuckles, a low rumble smooth like honey. 

“I don't intend on staying decent for long.”

The cord she'd been working at finally falls free from her hair, and she tosses it onto the dresser behind her, eyes glued to yours as she begins to make her way toward you.

“Alexandros allowed you to leave?” She asks, hands shaking out her braid before they settle on your hips as she takes her place in front of you. 

You know she's trying her best to school her disdainful expression, but her words drip with it all the same. 

“I told him I wasn't feeling well,” you shrug. 

“And he let you come up to bed by yourself?” 

She doesn't bother hiding it anymore. 

You wrap your arms around her neck, placing a hand on the nape of her neck and pressing soothing circles into the muscle with your thumb. 

“I shan’t be cross. My ruse depended on his negligence, after all.” 

She sneers, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. 

“I don't understand why-”

“Kassandra.”

You stop her before she can begin yet another one of her rants about how insolent and incompetent your suitor is. You've heard it all, you know it well enough, and frankly, right now, you just want to be fucked. 

“You've already told me what I’m missing,” you purr, your hand trailing down to trace her exposed collarbone. You lean in to whisper into her ear, your voice soft and tantalizing like the patterns you draw on her décolletage:

“Will you show me?”

You feel the tendons in her neck tense as her breath hitches, but The Eagle Bearer is never caught off guard for long. 

Suddenly, her hands fly to the cord wrapped around your waist.

“Get this thing off,” she spits urgently. 

You can't help but chuckle at her uncharacteristic lack of suave. Your hands get to work helping her remove the fabric draped over your body. 

“Are you always this eager?” 

“No,” she replies earnestly, brows raised as if in surprise of her own desperation, “I’m not; but you…”

When your dress finally hits the floor, her jaw goes slack. 

“Gods, be with me.”

It takes everything within her not to fall to her knees and take you in her mouth right then and there. 

You reach out to tug at her tunic with a smirk.

“Come on,” you urge, “don't leave me alone in such a state.” 

She obliges, but not without the lighthearted roll of her eyes. She pulls the thin material over her head, tossing it aside with abandon. Now, you both stand before each other, bare and on fire with desire.

Her brows furrow curiously as you sink down onto the bed and begin to scoot back toward the headboard.

“You need not do anything but stand there.” 

She laughs incredulously at your shamelessness, but when you spread your legs, reaching down to explore just how wet some witty banter and a few lost garments have managed to make you, she can't help but fall to her knees this time. 

“You're trying to kill me,” she exhales,  beginning her trail of kisses at your ankle.

Your giggle melds into a gasp as your middle finger swipes up to brush your hardened clit.

“I’m trying to fuck you,” you clarify. 

“Oh, I’m fucked alright.” 

She makes her way up your thigh, arms wrapping around them and hands kneading their soft flesh. Her mouth comes closer, closer, closer to your center, and when she finally hovers just above your cunt, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“I’m so fucked.”

The first drag of her tongue through your slick folds already has you mewling. The warm muscle flattens to trace a long line up from your entrance, then curls to circle the swollen bundle of nerves peeking out from its hood. Your hand flies to her head, fingers anchoring themselves in her long waves, and she chuckles, the vibrations pulsing through you. 

“What, does he not use his mouth like this?”

“What do you think?” you nearly seethe, pushing her head into your core in an effort to silence her and urge her to continue. 

This time, she laughs fully, head moving against your grip to place an apologetic kiss on your inner thigh. 

“I think I should stop teasing, lest I get my head cut off.”

Your retort dies on your tongue when she delves back in with her own. Your breath stutters with each languid stripe she draws, each tight circle she makes. It nearly stops altogether when she begins to settle into a delicious rhythm. 

“Breathe, agapi,” she coos lowly, massaging the junction between your hips and your thighs, “it feels so much better when you breathe.”

You nod frantically, doing your best to follow the misthios’s directions. In through your nose, and you can feel each surge of blood that pumps through your veins, thrumming harder and racing faster as her own pace quickens. Out through your mouth- and always escaping you as a breathy moan- and you can feel yourself melt; into the soft sheets, into her firm grasp, into the pleasure that buzzes at your core.

With the sudden focus on your senses comes the realization of just how close you are, and when she circles your entrance with two of her long fingers, you're all but begging for that final push over the edge.

“Yes,” you cry out, “yes, please; want you inside…” 

She removes her mouth for just long enough to ask you how many of her digits you want, but even the few seconds of lost contact are enough to make you huff out a whine. 

“Mph, I don't care,” you complain, bucking your hips up. “Anything, just keep going.” 

She halts all of her movements, looking up at you with wide, chiding eyes. 

“You're quite demanding, hm?” 

She pulls away from her place in between your thighs completely, crawling up to place a kiss on your jaw, and then, a nip on your ear. 

“I could stop now,” she threatens lowly, “leave you laid out and desperate, just like he does.” 

You nearly sob at the thought.

“But you don't want that, hm? You want to be a good girl for me; isn't that right?”

You shiver underneath her, clenching around nothing when her middle and ring fingers begin to spread the mixture of your slick and her spit up and around your entrance.

“Y-yes,” you beseech, “I’ll be good… want to be good for you…”

She hums as if to consider giving you what you want. When her long fingers finally plunge into you, you thank the Gods she shows mercy. 

Your once airy moans are guttural now, punched out of your lungs with every stroke against your velvet walls. 

She wastes no time on a useless, repetitive in-and-out motion- she’s sure you're more than used to that- and instead, curls her fingers up to skillfully locate the ridges of nerves on your front wall and begins to massage them with the pads of her fingers.

Her thumb stretches to press into your clit in tandem with the fingers hooked inside of you. You don't have to tell her not to neglect the bud of nerves; not like you constantly have to remind Alexandros, who still fails to give it attention.

You're not even sure you can look him in the face after getting fucked this good by someone else. 

Gods, she’s fucking you so good. 

Your stomach begins to tense, your breath sharp and shallow. 

“Breathe, love. Relax and give it to me.”

One deep breath, and then another, before they're turning into heavy pants and loud cries. Your hands grab for anything they can anchor themselves to; one on the firm bicep supporting her weight, and the other around the sheets underneath you. Your trembling legs wrap around her, your chest arching up into her own, and when she leans down to request that you be a good girl and come on her fingers, you fall apart underneath her with a slew of moans and curses that you believe might have even made Aphrodite blush.

Eros would approve, at least. 

Wave after wave of pleasure rouses at your core, tightening like knots before snapping and rolling out to warm the rest of your nerves. Your hand reaches down to stop her when the pleasure begins to feel too hot- icy-hot- and the roll of your hips becomes twitching and tensing. 

When your eyes flutter open, she's gazing down at you with a look that can only be one of utter awe and pure adoration. She stares like you're the one who possesses divinity.  

You don't know this, but she's decided that there’s no way you don’t. 

“Why are you staring?” You chuckle breathlessly. 

She purses her lips and shakes her head. 

“You're gorgeous.”

You wave a dismissive hand in the air before letting it fall like lead onto the bed.

She leans down to place a kiss on your temple. 

“You alright?” She whispers into your hairline.

You nod underneath her kiss, brushing her hair back to rest behind her shoulders. 

“I’m perfect,” you croon. “But what of you? You haven't had your fill.” 

She comes back up to rest on her haunches, brows raised.

“Oh, I had my fill.”

You giggle, but she's dead serious, eyes drinking in your splayed out figure. 

“You know what I mean. Do you prefer not to receive?” 

Your question is genuine, head tilting against the pillows underneath it.

“That isn't necessarily the case,” she muses, “but I have enough fun getting pretty women off.”

Your eyes narrow in feigned jealousy. 

You tell yourself it's only feigned, that is, but truthfully, the thought of her doing to other women what she just did to you leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

“I’m just another pretty woman, hm?”

She leans back down with a playful scoff, pressing feather-light kisses to the apples of your cheeks. 

“No woman is just another pretty woman. I take my craft seriously.”

You punch out a laugh. 

“But I will say,” she keens in between kisses that are traveling down to your neck, “I'm afraid you've made quite an impression.”

She nips at the thin skin over your pulse before her tongue darts out to smooth over it, and when she tastes the salt of your sweat, she can’t help herself from latching on. “And you’re going to leave a mark that I’ll have to answer for in the morning.” “Hush,” she mumbles, teeth trailing over your windpipe, “don’t wanna talk about the morning. Just want you.” She sits up, leaning back on her heels again, staring down at you with a wicked grin. “Spread your legs for me?” You’re not sure what she’s planning, but at this point, you’ll do anything she asks of you. “Good girl,” she coos, hand sliding up the expanse of your thigh; and when she swings a leg over your hip, her center hovering just above your own, you gasp.

“Just need you to lie there and look pretty,” she husks, eyes trained on your fluttering cunt. “Can you do that, agapi?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, your eyes wide and bright and your hands flying out to rest on the tops of her muscular thighs. 

You hiss when her center- nearly dripping- finally makes contact with your own.

“Too much?” She asks, eyes snapping up to search your face for any discomfort. “I know you’re still sensitive-” “Keep going,” you demand, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, “I want you to get off on me.” Her eyes flutter back into her head, your words sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her throbbing core. She drops her head down to watch as she begins rocking her hips forward, then circling them back, rocking them forward, circling back. You didn’t think you’d ever see Kassandra reduced to a whining, panting mess, but as she grinds down into your cunt, chasing her own high, you’re sure you could cum just watching her. Or maybe, it’s that her swollen clit is slipping back and forth right over your own. It’s a debauched scene: bodies impossibly tangled; the room filled with the sounds of her groans, your mewls, and the squelch of her arousal mixing with your own; the smell of sex and sweat in the air. It’s a wonder Alexandros hadn’t heard anything… A knock on the door has your eyes flying wide open, and hers clenching shut. “Everything alright in there, Misthios? It sounds like you’re in pain.” 

Alexandros. “Shit, shit, shit,” you mouth, sitting up; and inadvertantly positioning Kassandra in a manner that puts even more pressure on her clit. She leans down to bite your shoulder in a desperate attempt to rein herself in. “You have to answer,” you begin in a panicked whisper, “this is your room!”

She can’t help it; she’s so close that her hips move on their own accord, twitching forward to chase the feeling of your heat against hers, and if she were being honest, she quite likes the thrill of getting caught… Another two knocks on the door, and you watch in awe as she topples over the edge, hips stuttering, brows furrowed, and jaw slack. She’s still riding through her orgasm when she responds, her steady voice belying her current state. “I’m alright,” she calls out, “Just stubbed my toe.” Alexandros is nonethewiser, chuckling as he bids her goodnight and begins to walk, according to his footsteps, to his room; In the opposite direction of yours.

By the grace of the Gods, you were in the clear. Your eyes trail from the door to the woman in your lap, her chest heaving from exertion. Divine. You’re certain that she is. Now, it was her turn to ask why you were staring. You shake your head, at a loss for words. She just chuckles, placing a kiss on your forehead and dismounting from your lap. She falls on the bed beside you, and you yelp when she pulls you down with her, planting kiss after kiss on the crown of your head, the side of your face, the tip of your nose. You make the mistake of settling in beside her, placing your head on her chest. It’ll make it that much harder to leave; to go back to your room, knowing that when morning comes, she’ll be gone. You decide not to think about that now. For now, you pretend that there is no choice to be made; that there is no Alexandros to consider. That there is no other to keep you from spending the rest of your nights in Kassandra’s arms. ──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

Her room is bare before Helios’s chariot breaks the horizon the next day. That is, save for the folded parchment resting on the nightstand. You pad across the stone floor to pick it up, thumb rubbing gingerly over your name scribbled in ink on its front side. When you open it, you read, 

I think I’ll visit the bronze statue of Athena outside of the Parthenon today…  I’ll be there until the 12th hour. You know the rest. -Kassandra.

──˚₊• 𝐄𝐍𝐃 •‧₊˚── Taglist: @the-gender-gremlins