#the real fake car job

[gnar-slabdash]

Hat Bracket Round 1A, Match 3: Bloody-Nosed Bowler For Barstools v. Floppy Hipster Sun Hat

Bloody-Nosed Bowler For Barstools Episode: 4x02 The 10 Li’l Grifters Job Character: Eliot, as somebody in costume as Charlie Siringo, “a real-life cowboy and a Pinkerton detective” Propaganda: Eliot may not like his outfit, but he wears it well. And it's not just a fedora or ballcap. It's an interesting hat.

Floppy Hipster Sun Hat Episode: 5x07 The Real Fake Car Job Character: Parker, as the Naive Classic Car Heiress Propaganda: It's so big and you can tell Beth is strugggling to keep it from falling down in front of her eyes Submitted by: @Thieves-never-say-die

[amazzyblaze]

"The Real Fake Car Job" doodles

[minkebel]

i’m thoroughly convinced that nate could have asked for an ‘empty soda bottle’ instead of an ‘orange soda’ but he asked for the full soda solely to annoy hardison

[independent-fics]

Why am I just processing that the guy from “The Real Fake Car Job” is Shaggy.

[chungledown-bimothy]

Love Parker's "I ❤️ food carts" t-shirt. She's certainly in the right place for it lol

[reinanova]

Leverage OT3 AU

a half baked idea inspired by my rewatch of s5e7 The Real Fake Car Job

parker and hardison are in the witness protection program. eliot is the us marshal assigned to keep them safe. parker and hardison are dating when they go into witsec and spending so much time with eliot leads to him falling for them and them falling for him

(i’m aware that the us marshal in the real fake car job wasn’t romantically involved with the mark but the fact that they were living together meant forced proximity and the fact that they hatched a plot meant they talked to each other and probably shared personal details and things which got me thinking of this. shhhh let me have this au—don’t sweat the details)

[anarchypumpkincowboy]

Shaggy’s playing golf and stealing from folks

[fredlikesrats]

matthew lillard??? in my Leverage??? it may be more likely than i was previously aware of

[richardsphere]

Leverage Log: The Real Fake Car Job

Well with a title like that, im left wondering the syntactical ambiguity. Is this a job about a fake car that turns out to secretly be real, or was there a "fake" Fake Car Job that its being contrasted against? Guess we'll see. --- No way this show starts with mistaken identity, so im betting its Witnes Protection covering a criminal's ass like usual. --- Parker looks at this guy's track record of gettign in with the maffia as a get-out-of-jail freecard and just makes a note. --- Since when do libraries charge for wifi? --- Hardison should invest in like, a small trailer for behind lucille. Keep Lucile clean. --- Oh thats bad... the show is seeding the question of "can Nate live a normal life without these high-stakes heists all the time", which is not a good indicator of his surviving the season finale. --- So he's selling the free wifi to afford his mini-cars. (good scam, low level enough most people wont even bother, allow himself to continue his hobbies a little without getting authorities called on him. Its a good con. Small scale, practical.) This guy is good at being bad. --- So the fake car is the Mussolini's car, which is gonna turn out to be the actual car they're looking for by accident? Is that what the title is about? --- Parker sold the "doesnt know about cars but found the Musselcar in her gramps' shack" character well enough, but if she's meant to play the "doesnt actually know what cars are what" character, maybe throw in a line asking about the colour of "Phil's" Alpha Romeo --- Witness Protection Bodyguard's got a good play with the GPS Tracker on the phone. (is the serving tray a bug or is it a bomb? Who knows? At this point i dont see a reason it couldnt be both) --- So he calls his car friend, from his old life. His old life, laundering money for the Maffia. Guess who's about to be assasinated! --- Is it the Wifi Money? Couple months as a librarian, couple dozen people using the wifi a day on average... Maybe a couple other minor side-hustles round town, could really add up. Especially if he suspects Italian-Parker to be naive enough... (turns out im right, i stopped the episode the moment Hardison said he hadnt accessed any banks for the money) --- Oh God, Hardisons gonna kill this guy with the implication that this "strange artist fellow" bought his prize cars and dismantled them for art supplies. ("aquired at a government auction last year) Like i love the powerplay here, tell him I murdered your babies and if you dont stop me, This baby is next. Like this is full on Dubenich invoking Nate's Son levels of emotional manipulation. --- "are we being suspicious enough" You are buying garbagebags, Axes and shovels "dont use that rope, for future reference, you can chew right through it". Well thats ominous foreshadowing --- Oh... The bodyguard thinks Team Leverage are hitmen working for the Mark to kill HER. In her defence i could definitly see him do it, kill his handler, flee the country dig up his missing money abroad. --- "i did not sell out the Marshal Service so you could throw away all of our planning on a car". shit, she's not witness protection, SHE'S MAFFIA? Oh no she isnt maffia, she's just corrupt. (5 MIllion dollars... thats good money) --- Mobster- You called our mutual friend Charlie Corrupt Bitch- You're an idiot! Mob- Then we tracked you down cause you left your GPS tracking on CB!- Ok that one is on me. Honesty! --- So they're not even going to be taking down the maffia? (most episodes, they'd somehow end up pulling those guys down as well) But hey, the Maffia seems to genuinely respect Nate. (in their defence, they've seen the damage these guys do) --- I only knew three of the five. (car would drive him crazy, Access the accounts, Turn on babysitter. Those are the ones he knew. The car friend who got the Maffia involved are obviously the ones he didnt plan on) --- "we matter". Well, this entire episode about the looming threat of retirement ends on a sweet note. But dang if it isnt an ominous plotthread to add to the final season.

[gnar-slabdash]

Hat Bracket Round 2A, Match 2: Floppy Hipster Sun Hat v. "How's Your Southern Belle?"

Floppy Hipster Sun Hat Episode: 5x07 The Real Fake Car Job Character: Parker, as the Naive Classic Car Heiress Propaganda: It's so big and you can tell Beth is strugggling to keep it from falling down in front of her eyes Submitted by: @Thieves-never-say-die "How's Your Southern Belle?" Episode: 1x06 The Two Horse Job Character: Sophie, as Catherine Beth Lovery, “Kitty” Propaganda: Southern belle at the races hat? Come on, it’s both classic AND gaudy. Editor's Note: Yeah that’s two different hats. But it's about the CHARACTER the hat embodies. You understand. Sophie would want it this way.

[neverendingford]

.

[callixton]

reallyy good eliot hair episode btw. they let it get wavy. and now it’s in a little ponytail. yippeee. also he and sophie suchh a good duo they’re so weird

[independent-fics]

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Eliot told you.”

Love Eliot once again meddling in Parker and Hardison’s relationship.

[chungledown-bimothy]

well hello matthew lillard

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

PROLOGUE ▷ || play next song? summary : You started an OnlyFans to pay rent. Then came Fuck-a-Fan Fridays, one lucky subscriber, one masked hookup, all caught on camera. It’s anonymous. It’s hot. It’s getting you more subscribers. All good right? 'Till it turns out the ones watching you are your classmates and professors.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, reader is kinda... willfully ignorant

A/N : hii this is my first time writing something like this but im SUPER excited. let me know your thoughts who do you think should come first :))

Being broke wasn’t a personality trait, but sweet neptune, it was starting to feel like your entire identity. Third-year cursed techniques major at Jujutsu University? Check. Half-assing your degree with the enthusiasm of a soggy napkin? Also check. Part-time job that paid in existential dread and maybe $11 an hour? Triple check. You were one bounced rent payment away from selling a kidney, and honestly, that kidney was looking pretty damn optional.

So yeah, when the idea of starting an OnlyFans first crossed your brain—mid-scroll on TikTok, wine drunk on a shared bottle of cooking wine with your equally poor friends, and flopped on your shitty single bed—you didn’t laugh it off. You snorted, scoffed, and muttered something bitter, "Bet her rent’s paid," while watching some girl with lip fillers and a Gucci hoodie flaunt her brand-new car, courtesy of her tit pics. You sighed and stared at the water stain on your ceiling like it held the answers.

Then rent day came. Your bank account proudly displayed a majestic $7.24. Your landlord's emails had shifted from "gentle reminder :)" to "we will pursue legal action," and you had a full-blown spiral that ended with you Googling “how to fake your own death” before switching to “how to start an OnlyFans without your mom finding out.”

And somehow—somehow—you were fucking good at it.

Not just good. Thriving.

Turns out all you needed was a ten-dollar ring light, some bargain-bin lingerie that only looked expensive if you angled your body like a Tumblr-era contortionist, and perhaps the illusion that the people that were viewing your content weren't real. You didn’t even show your face. Just your body - though sometimes doing private videos for the right price, some sultry poses, a well-placed pout you’d perfected in the mirror while pretending to be some sort of pornstar bombshell, and boom—you were in business. Real business. Like, able to pay your rent in full and order takeout everyday no sweat.

It escalated fast. One day you’re nervously posting some artsy nudes, the next you’re getting tipped fifty bucks just for answering questions like, “What’s your favorite color (and can you say it while biting your lip)?” You were sitting in your crusty dorm room still, surrounded by your influx of takeout boxes and cursed technique textbooks you hadn’t opened in weeks, realizing you were somehow becoming a one-woman empire.

So naturally, the next step was chaos: livestreaming. You had heard that could bring in thousands in one night - and honestly? You were starting to build up at least a few hundred subscribers.

“Fuck it,” you said, setting up your laptop, adjusting your ring light, and channeling your inner seductress while fighting back a nervous breakdown, ensuring your mask covered your face fully and that your wig covered all your real hair. Your first camgirl stream was a whirlwind. You were shaking, sweating, probably looking one glitch away from buffering into another dimension with your cracked setup - but the chat?

Tips flying. Comments rolling. People calling you a goddess. Practically throwing money at you to get you to do stuff you had (ashamedly) done for free for other men. Another said they’d sell their soul for a moan.

That was the moment you knew.

You’d made it. Well, all things considered atleast.

Rent? Paid. Groceries? Not a single ramen pack in sight anymore, just takeout bags. Your mental health? Still dicey, but at least now you could afford therapy.

What you didn’t know, though, what no part of your clout filled brain could have prepared for - was that some of the top tippers in your chat? The ones dropping money and borderline-feral compliments like... SixEyesOnly: stretch like that and make that noise again and i think i miiiight just send you an extra 100. OfficeAfterHours: Tipped 50. Please buy yourself some food. And wear socks. It's cold out. (For some reason you followed what he said.) EmoWithaBoner: squeeze the toy harder. pretend its my fuckin neck. Yeah. You saw them every damn day. In class. At the cafeteria. In the fucking jujutsu training hall at college. In all honesty you perhaps weren't the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to connecting the dots. Really.

But that disaster? That story comes later. For now, you were just a broke, horny, slightly unhinged college student who had accidentally stumbled into a side hustle that was by all means paying more than anything you could possibly do with a degree.

And baby, business was booming.

[heavenlybodies333]

Daddy’s Little Assistant - R.C

Rafe Cameron x wards assistant!reader

Tell me again how professional you are while I’m fucking you stupid

Ward had rules. Dress modestly. Answer every call. Don’t touch the bourbon.

You’d followed them to a T since day one—pressed skirts, tight buns, soft yes, Mr. Cameron and no, Mr. Cameron. You’d charmed him effortlessly, outshining Rafe in the only thing that ever mattered to him: his father’s attention.

Rafe noticed. He always noticed.

That morning he’d watched Ward hand you the keys to the family boat—the family fucking boat—and say, “You’re the only one I trust with this right now.”

He nearly snapped.

You were in the study that night, alone. Filing something, probably. Looking like temptation in kitten heels, a white blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt, lips glossed just enough to shine. You didn’t even look up when the door shut behind you.

“Miss Secretary,” Rafe drawled, mockingly respectful.

You flinched, turning to face him. “Rafe. Can I help you?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. That’s supposed to be my line, isn’t it?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already crossing the room—casually “You’ve been real helpful to my dad. Filing his papers. Pouring his drinks. Flirting with him like a little—”

“I don’t flirt with your father.”

“Oh?” His tone turned cruel. “Then what do you do? Huh? Smile pretty and bend over every time he drops a fucking pen?”

You backed into the edge of the desk. “You’re out of line.”

“I’m out of line?” he echoed, one hand bracing on the desk beside your hip. “You think you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger? Think a few good manners and tight skirts make you untouchable?”

You held his gaze, sharp and unwavering. “I’m good at my job.”

Rafe laughed, the sound bitter. “Oh, princess. You’ve got every man in this house fooled.”

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair back into your bun with fingers that lingered too long against your temple. “You play the part so well. But I see through it. I see you.”

You swallowed. “Then what do you want, Rafe? You want me gone?”

He leaned in, “Nah. I want you to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you like the attention.” His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your skirt. “That you like being watched. Liked it when he handed you those keys in front of me.”

Your pulse pounded in your throat, but you didn’t move. “That’s not what this is.”

He smirked, fingers sliding just a little lower. “No? Then what is it? A promotion? A chance to be the new Mrs. Cameron?”

You slapped him.

The sound cracked through the air, sharp and satisfying, even as your palm stung. His head snapped to the side—but he only grinned wider, eyes wild now, feral.

“Touchy,” he breathed, turning back to you. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” you said, trying to sidestep him. But he blocked you easily, chest brushing yours as he crowded you back against the desk.

“Why do you hate me so much?” you asked, voice trembling—not with fear, but rage, confusion. You’d done nothing wrong.

He let out a humorless laugh. “Because he never looked at me like that.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He never gave me the keys. Never said I was the one he trusted. Not once. Not even when I—” He stopped himself, jaw tight. “But you? Walk in here with your shiny shoes and fake little smile and suddenly you’re his golden fucking girl.”

“Because I work,” you snapped. “Because I’m clean, and sober, and I don’t crash his cars or embarrass him in front of clients—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, slamming a hand down on the desk beside your hip. “You think he gives a shit about any of that? He just likes that you make him look good. That’s all you are. A little doll he can parade around to show he’s still got taste. Still got control.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. “You think you’re so different?”

Rafe blinked, as if you’d slapped him again.

“You act like you hate him, but every time he walks past you, you flinch like you still want his approval. You practically beg for it.”

He said nothing as you leaned in, whispering, “And you hate that I don’t.”

“You want to be in control so bad, don’t you?”

Before you could answer, his hands gripped your waist—tight, bruising—and hoisted you onto the desk. You gasped as your skirt rode up.

“You think you’re above me?” he sneered, yanking your thighs open.

Then he shoved your skirt up and tore your panties down in one vicious motion. The air hit your soaked heat and Rafe just… stared. Like he couldn’t believe it. Like your body was the final betrayal.

“No fucking way,” he muttered. “You’re this wet for me? For this?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Slut,” he whispered, almost reverently. Then he spit—right on your cunt. Watched it drip between your folds, his thumb swiping the mess through your slick.

“God, you’re so fucked,” he growled. “You like pretending to be good. Dressing like a little wife. But underneath, you’re just filthy, aren’t you?”

You arched, whining as two fingers pushed into you without warning. He pumped them slow, curling deep, dragging out a cry that echoed off the walnut-paneled walls.

He pumped faster, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until your thighs were shaking and your moans were desperate.

You came on his fingers, panting, shame burning through your veins as he dragged them out slowly, wet and sticky.

He popped one glistening finger into his mouth and groaned.

"Better than coke."

You were still shaking when he undid his belt with one hand, the buckle clinking, his slacks falling just enough for you to see how hard he was. You didn’t have time to speak before he was fisting his cock, dragging it through your folds, wetting the tip with your release.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, still breathless.

He grinned, feral. “Still so polite.” teasing you as he lined up and thrusted, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal motion. Every thrust hit deep, dizzying. Your blouse had ridden up, your bra askew. You were a mess—moaning, squirming as his thrusts got rougher. Your nails clawed at the desk as he fucked you through your second orgasm, and into your third.

“Not so fucking proper now, are you?” he snarled, snapping his hips so hard the desk shook. “Look at you. Legs wide. Mouth open. Moaning like a whore.”

You scratched at his back, your head tipping as pleasure rolled through you—hot, overwhelming, endless.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You gonna cum for me again, pretty girl?

You sobbed his name as your walls clenched around him, the overstimulation making your thighs tremble. He bent you in half, your knees pressed to your chest now, his cock drilling into you from above.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Rafe hissed. “Where do you want it, baby? On your back? Your tits? In that pretty little mouth?”

“Inside,” you begged. “Please—inside, fill me up—” 

He let out a guttural groan, hips jerking wildly as he spilled into you, feeling his warmth fill you. He didn’t move for a long moment. Just panted above you, letting your body twitch and tremble under him.

When he finally pulled out, you felt his cum drip down your thighs, thick and hot.

Rafe smirked, brushing your hair from your face.

“Clean yourself up, sweetheart. Ward’s home in ten.”

And he walked out, leaving you half-naked, shaking, and soaked on top of the desk you once called your workplace.

So much for professionalism.

a/n: daddy i promise that ill never disappoint you😩

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