#well actually i do and he did think it was hot :)

[iamasaddie]

AN HONEST MISTAKE

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person. warnings: darkfic, dub-con eliments due to alcohol intoxication, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers, dm me if you need the full list. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-early 30s. word count: 6,2k

a/n: thank you for all of the excitement and interest you'd shown to this idea, i have been working on it for some time and i'm finally happy to show you part one. huge thanks to @arcanefox207 , Ally helped me to polish this chapter and shown me a lot of support which i truly appreciate <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 2

Dating wasn’t fun. It always felt like an inescapable chore for you, and you tried to avoid it at all costs. Hiding your face in your morning cup of tea when attacked by your mom’s questions, her voice distorted by poor video connection. Joking only to avoid the topic of boyfriends and girlfriends when your friend kept nagging you about it. Losing yourself in an unsatisfactory myriad of hands that belonged to faceless people when the nights got too cold for empty sheets.

You looked at your table, a small hand-made sign read “do better” in your own handwriting. And that was exactly what you were going to do. You were going to kill not two, but three birds with one stone, and that stone was going to be going on a date. A real, proper date, with excruciatingly predictable questions and awkward first touches. And you were going to have fun. 

On the fourth hour of swiping Tinder, you were a breath away from ghosting everyone you knew and hiding in the Peruvian Amazonia for the rest of your life. The few conversations that you managed to have quickly died out when the person you talked to learned what you were there for. A month ago you’d find a pretty face and invite them over to smoke and have some fun, but that wasn’t a great start for an actual relationship. No, your fuckgirl days were over, so you went back to swiping. 

And that was when you saw him.

Joel M., 39 Southern gentleman with a beautiful daughter. Work in construction, so I can build you a house. I am looking for a real connection, please, respect that.

God, he was handsome. Your mouth started salivating as you swiped through his pictures. He was broad, tall and had a tool in his hand. Not the one you immediately started wondering about, but it looked like at least he didn’t lie in his description. Feeling like a complete creep, you screenshotted his profile. If you weren’t a match, at least you’d have someone pretty to think about before going to bed tonight.

Gently, as if afraid, you swiped right. Your screen lit up, and so did your face, you gave a wide grin to your phone. “It’s a match!”

He was too good to be true. A gentleman, he didn’t lie there. Joel gave you the exact amount of attention to make you run towards your phone whenever it rang. It was definitely nothing like you expected. He was attentive, remembering what you said and when, never shied away from your questions, and on top of that he was devastatingly hot.

You heard a blip of a new message and unlocked your phone, a smile already plastered on your face like a Pavlovian reaction.

[Joel M.]: I was thinking, we seem to have a nice connection here, don’t we? [You]: I think so, too. A little unbelievable, but I am feeling hopeful. [Joel M.]: Unbelievable how?[You]: Unbelievable that no one snatched you up earlier. From where I am sitting, you look like a full package. [Joel M.]: Well, you’re sitting awfully far away, so I see how it looks like that. Why don’t we meet in person and find out if you still think the same, darlin? [You]: Joel, are you inviting me on a date? [Joel M.]: Only if you’re accepting. How about a dinner at my place? I am a pretty decent cook.

Your hand hovered above the screen. It wasn’t smart, going to a man’s place for your first date. He could be a creep, he could be a murderer… But then again, you could never brag about your self preservation instincts, sometimes you just thought with a little kitty purring between your legs. 

You tapped on his profile again, looking at the zoomed in picture of his face. His brown eyes looked sad, but kind. A half-smile tugged on his soft-looking lips. Just a few sprinkles of salt and pepper in his hair. Even if he turned out to be a creep, you’d never had such a handsome lay before, and you were planning to check all of his tools as soon as you could, you thought to yourself before typing your reply.

[You]: I’d love that. Send me the address?

You weren’t worried, not really. You never struggled with too low of self-esteem. You knew your strong suits, and you wore them like armor. The upcoming date sent a pleasant shiver down your back, anticipation made you giggle into the void of your lonely apartment. The closer the day came, the giddier you became.

So on the fateful night you had enough confidence to pick out the dress that was a bit uncomfortable but looked gorgeous on your body. You smacked some lipstick that complemented the shade of your skin, grabbed a small purse and a bottle of wine and winked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked good, you felt even better.

August kept tricking you with its weather, the days still suffocated you with heat while the nights were unpleasantly chilly. You hugged your naked shoulders and rubbed your skin in an attempt to warm up as you waited for your Uber to arrive. 

You got inside the white Honda Civic, the smell of cigarettes unpleasantly soaked into the seats so you opened up the window praying that it wouldn’t stink up your dress. The driver acknowledged you with a small grunt and a nod, you did the same, not willing to start a conversation. The estimated forty minutes dragged out and became an hour in the man’s GPS, of course you got stuck in traffic it was just your luck. And on your way to a literal dream man, no less. 

Your kitten heel kept tapping on the car floor, the annoyed-looking driver gave you a stern look in the rear view mirror that you completely ignored. You needed to warn Joel that you were going to be late, and it made you want to grind your teeth. You hated being late, be that a party, a dentist appointment or a walk in the park with a friend. It made you feel guilty, leaving your palms sticky with cold sweat. You clearly weren’t going to make a good first impression, and with the way you chewed your lip bloody, you might not even get a kiss. You looked at the picture of him you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. Out of the two of you, you were definitely winning the creep competition, while he was just a dream come true. 

You zoomed in on his face, your thumb caressed the pixels of his skin. There were smile lines around his lips, and you wondered what made him laugh so hard throughout his life that the remnants of the gesture permanently cut themself into his skin. Joel’s eyes were gleaming with youthful mischief, something you’d thought a person loses after having a child, but he clearly proved you wrong. Sun made his brown look like amber, adding to the overall handsomeness of the man. You imagined yourself next to him – yes, it was way too early, but you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering – he’d be taller, bigger than you, his strong hand on your lower back as you walk through the city. The eyes of men and women hungry to have what’s yours, but he’d only look at you. Yes, he was a bit older, but still young enough to have you on his arm without dealing with accusatory stares and venomous whispers behind your back.

A loud honking from the car behind you made you jump in your seat. The line of cars finally started moving and it brought a sense of relief to you. You had 20 more minutes, maybe you were still going to make it.

The sound of your heels kissing the pavement echoed like gunfire through the neighborhood. When your taxi left you at the needed address, you looked around. It wasn’t too late, the small houses still looked alive with yellow lights and muffled voices. You took a deep breath, straightened your back and looked in front of yourself, examining the location. 

From the outside, Joel’s house looked nice. Nothing too fancy, the white paint a bit chapped, but the porch looked recently freshened up. A sturdy looking rocking chair covered with a blanket and a pillow gave the place a cozy feeling. His lawn was perfectly trimmed, and you imagined watching him mow it from that same porch with an iced tea in your hand. He’d be sweaty and shirtless, you’d drag him inside to fuck before he finished even a third of the territory. You clenched your thighs, a small pool of wetness gathering in your thongs. You better keep that thought away or you’d jump the poor man’s bones before he had the chance to say hello.

You checked your phone, 8:27 PM. Not too late, even acceptable in some countries, you tried to cheer yourself on. You hoped he wasn’t as insane about being late as you were or here went your first date in years. Gently, you tapped on the wooden door, the sound of someone approaching from the other side made you squeeze the bottle neck harder.

When the door flew open, you stretched out the hand holding the wine and fired out an apology in the most comical way you could, your eyes tightly shut.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrendous. I promise I am usually never late, ever.” When no reply followed, you opened your eyes, a smile still tugging on your lips as you took in the man in front of you. It was both Joel and not. With your hand still outstretched, your mouth dropped with a hundred different questions, but you only managed to ask one. “Joel?”

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Is this some kind of a joke? Are you his dad or something?”

The man in front of you was not in his late thirties, hell, he wasn’t even in his late forties! The Joel that was staring at you looked pretty old, mid-fifties at least, you thought to yourself. His hair was mostly salt, no pepper in sight. It was inches longer than in the picture, soft-looking, it curled at the bottom. He was as tall and broad as you imagined, and it did give a little pang to your core that you quickly shut off. His face was ridden in wrinkles, prominent crows feet near his eyes that were still sad, still brown. You had half a thought to turn around and order yourself an Uber home, but the bewildered look on his face made you stop where you were.

“Darlin’, I know what’s going through your head right now, because I promise I didn’t expect you to be this young either! It must’ve been Sarah, my baby girl. She set up this thing, said she was tired of seeing her old man sad an’ miserable. Guess she didn’t think I was mighty attractive anymore.” He says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “She just straight up told me today that a nice woman would come over for a dinner, said she’d be here too, and if I loved her I had better prepared my nicest shirt an’ all. Christ, what was that girl thinking?” 

You caught yourself feeling bad for the man, your heart clenching. He was still definitely handsome. His stomach was slightly more prominent and his was shirt hugging him tightly in the middle. His hand that tucked a little white strand of hair behind his ear matched his face in little sun spots, skin that had been kissed by the burning star for longer than you’d been alive. But he still got it, in a silver fox kind of way. Poor man, put into such an embarrassing situation by his own daughter. Being willingly childfree had never looked more appealing to you. 

“You came all the way here just to be disappointed, I can’t tell you how-“

“I’m not disappointed,” you interrupted him quickly and stepped forward, an unknown force drove your hand to squeeze his forearm in a reassuring gesture. His eyes dropped when your manicured nails dug into his ironed flannel. “Just surprised, but that’s not a bad thing. We both unknowingly catfished each other.”

“Catfish? Ain’t that a type of fish?” 

“No,” you laughed lightheartedly, the man was adorable. The cold breeze picked up, and you were reminded that you were still on the porch, if any neighbors were out they were definitely getting a fresh batch of gossip to discuss before sleep. “It’s when you… You know what, no matter, it’s not important.”

Joel looked hesitant, his jaw ticked and you noticed him look you up and down before swallowing hard. Was he blushing? 

“I want to make it up to you before you go. I made us a nice dinner when I thought you were umm… age appropriate,” Joel tightened his lips and gave you an apologetic smile. “It ain’t catfish, just a steak, but I swear on my mama, it’s good.”

Before you could respond, your stomach growled making the decision for you. Your hand jumped to it, fisting the material of your dress as if trying to silence the embarrassing sound.

“Well, I don’t see any harm in that,” you smiled, accepting Joel’s invitation. The man looked harmless and you didn’t want to leave him sad and miserable, it seemed like he felt guilty enough. “It was quite a long drive.” Maybe it all could become a funny story you both would tell your friends. Separately. 

He stepped aside and you waltzed inside his house. It was big enough to still be cozy without making you feel trapped. The warm light made everything look safe and homey, hardwood floor creaked gently under your footsteps. The door lock clicked behind you and you turned around.

Joel was looking at you, a more confident smile now stretching his lips. The soft lighting took a few years off his face, and once again you noted that the man aged like a fine wine. That reminded you of the bottle you were still tightly gripping in your hand, and you stretched it out to Joel for the second time that night. He accepted with a muttered ‘thank you’.

“Feel at home, sweetheart, I’ll just grab something real quick.” Joel pointed towards his kitchen, the space was open, luring you in with a mouth-watering smell. 

You felt awkward walking around a stranger’s house, but followed his instructions. 

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of the back of your thighs, his tongue flicking over his lower lip in anticipation. 

He disappeared further into the hallway, and you made your way towards the dining table. 

Alone, you took the opportunity to study the place you were allowed in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very unique, or maybe you were just a shitty detective. Joel’s kitchen that spilled out into a dining room was disappointingly ordinary. Walls painted a soft yellow; polished doors of wooden cupboards and kitchen cabinets that looked old but taken care of; a four-person dining table that was now set with a few plates, simple utensils, napkins and wine glasses. You narrowed your eyes trying to see the pictures that were stuck to the fridge with small butterfly magnets. Your long ride and empty stomach must’ve taken a toll on your eyesight so you could barely make out Joel in those. There was a picture of him with another man, and… You leaned over the table as if trying to get closer, to see better.

“You know, you can just come closer to the fridge.” Joel’s chuckle made you jump in your seat.

“Sorry, I was just,” the right explanation failed you, and you surrendered. “I was just being nosy.”

“Didn’t catch you going through my drawers, so no harm. Can’t really snoop if it’s out there to see, right?” Joel set the opened bottle of the wine you’d brought on the table and waved a bottle opener in his right hand. “Haven’t had wine in some time so had to go look for this guy,” he explained. 

“Whatever you made, it smells delicious,” you smiled at him. The sucking feeling in your stomach became uncomfortable, and you cursed at yourself internally for skipping lunch.

“Well then, let’s get some of it in you, shall we?”

Joel seemed way more relaxed, maybe your agreement to spend time with him made him feel less guilty for his daughter’s actions; or maybe it was the confidence of being a host. Either way, it looked good on him. 

You didn’t stop your eye from wandering over his frame while he looked away, putting food on your plates. His dark green shirt was snug around his broad shoulders, the soft-looking material translated the feeling of warmth and comfort you lacked in your dress. He had blue jeans on, and you felt your cheeks heat up when you noticed a firm ass hidden behind the rough fabric. Your hand left the table, and you tugged at your bottom lip absent-mindlessly. What was twenty more years? He turned around and since your eyes hadn't moved, you were now shamelessly staring at his crotch. The jeans did not hide much.

You snapped your face up immediately at Joel’s quiet cough. There was a barely hidden smirk on his face, so you decided that no harm was done. So what if you gave the man a quiet compliment? You’d been doing that for the last two weeks, even though apparently his daughter was the one responding to them. You could spare some flirting for the poor guy, he looked like he enjoyed a bit of your harmless attention.

He didn’t lie, he was a decent cook. The meat melted on your tongue and the wine you brought complimented it nicely. You didn’t notice the way your glass was always full, Joel’s stories from the past kept you too entranced.

Heat was creeping up your chest, settling in your cheeks and you moved the wine glass away. You could tolerate a full bottle without being visibly affected, not your proudest trick but it was what it was. Yet, now you felt like you’d emptied at least a couple of bottles on an empty stomach, even though the bottle on the table proved otherwise. You felt dizzy, but not in a bad way, just more relaxed than you were planning to be. Joel looked more handsome every minute, his syrupy thick voice lulled you into a trance-like headspace.

“Can’t lie, you look mighty pretty, darlin’. Had I been thirty years younger it’d be hard to keep my hands to myself.” 

Wine dimmed your instincts, so you just giggled. Joel’s eyes darkened as he tripped his gaze from your face to your bust, your breasts straining against the silk fabric of your dress. You noticed him looking and cleared your throat, tits jiggling slightly. 

“Forgive an old man, sweetheart?” There was nothing sorry about his tone, but it slipped your mind completely, your guard almost all the way down. “As I said, haven't had a pretty thing like you here in ages.”

You tried to study his face, your brain foggy as you struggled to figure him out. “You compliment like a man deep in the dating pool,” you smirked, “makes it hard to believe it’s all an accident. Maybe you actually lured me in here

intentionally?” You raised your eyebrows, but couldn’t handle your own silly accusation, breaking down in giggles.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, this old dog is all bark no bite.” His smile looked sincere, kind laughter leaving his wet lips and he gave you a wink.

“You’re not that old,” your voice dragged the words out like you wanted to convince yourself more than him. You felt hot all over and you weren’t sure if it was the result of the wine you drank.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart, no need to spare my feelings. My prime is long behind the horizon.”

“No, you’re actually very handsome,” you didn’t lie, anyone with a good working set of eyes would see his attractiveness, and you had two weeks to cement it in your brain. “You have a very nice smile, and your hands,” your eyes dropped on the table where a giant fist was curled around his fork. “A lot of women appreciate a good set of hands.”

“Learned to work with them pretty well, too.” Joel nodded and smirked. “Leaking faucets, clogged drainage. Can fix it all.”

In your mind that phrase sounded naughtier than you were sure the man intended it to, and you reprimanded yourself, feeling a different kind of heat rise from your belly. With one swift movement you’ve emptied what was left in your glass of wine, forgetting about your need to somehow get home after dinner. Joel only poured some more in your glass, smiling softly.

He learned the dance moves long ago. Pretty birds like you were comfortably predictable, and even though you oozed a different kind of odor, he knew exactly what to say. He watched you sip your wine with ease, his own glass barely touched on the table.

When the last piece of salad was cleaned off your plate, you felt a pleasant fullness in your belly. Your head was heavy in a sleepy kind of way, and you looked around, trying to find something to hold your attention on. Your eyes skimmed the living room, from where you were sitting you could see an old couch, in some spots it was now more beige than brown, its big cushions looked soft and the blue quilt draped over the back of it was calling your name.

There was a guitar leaning against one of the armrests and you moved your eyes back at Joel who was silently studying you.

“You play that?” You blindly pointed your thumb towards the strategically placed instrument and Joel curtly nodded.

“I pluck the strings, sometimes something bearable comes out.” He joked, the apples of his cheeks saturated with color and you reached your hand to take his

and gently squeezed it. Joel’s skin turned out to be warm and dry, the sensation of giving him such an innocent touch tingled on your fingertips.

“I noticed you tend to undersell yourself. Would you play something for me?” You didn’t want to leave yet, and your empty plate didn’t really leave you a reason to stay. You tilted your head to the right and gave Joel a sweet smile, hoping he’d succumb to your charm. He didn’t wait long before returning the soft gesture. Slowly, he got off his seat. His figure loomed above you for a quiet moment before he outstretched his palm.

“I’d never be able to refuse you,” he admitted. Your hand drowned in his and he tugged you up. You almost crushed into his broad chest, but to your own dismay he took a step back. Your insides throbbed, the smell of his cologne mixed with his own odor awoke every single receptor on your skin.

“Do you like old stuff?” 

“I’m still here,” you quipped and shrugged your shoulders innocently. Joel stopped, making sure you saw him roll his eyes in fake annoyance. He couldn’t contain the breathy laugh, though, so you knew he got your joke. 

You moved towards the couch, while Joel walked a step behind you, enjoying the view of your ass in a skin tight dress. The outline of your thongs was visible to him, and he smiled to himself, maybe you weren’t as innocent as you pretended to be. Joel bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from any comments.

His hand hugged the neck of the guitar confidently, while you made yourself comfortable on the couch.

“I think I know just the thing.”

Your eyes never left his fingers as he started to hum an unfamiliar melody.

His voice lulled you in, deep vibrations as he plucked the strings reverberated in your chest. You felt so warm inside, the heat that was pooling in the depth of your belly rose and touched your chest, neck, the tips of your fingers. The dress clung to your skin unpleasantly and for a moment you wished you could take it off. Was it so wrong?

Your eyes traced Joel’s face, the sharp angle of his nose, the tip of it twitching as he sang gently. His lips caressed the words with a tenderness of a lover and you wondered when was the last time they did the same to a woman. Your thighs tightened as your body already knew something your mind only danced around. You shifted in your seat, moving closer to Joel, letting your knees touch.His eyes found yours, a question burning in his browns. You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a small smile, he smiled back. The melody continued, his warm timbre embracing the words.

Maybe tomorrow, honey, Some place down the line, I’ll wake up older So much older, mama, I’ll wake up older, and I’ll just stop all my trying

Your fingers drew patterns on your dress, nails picking at the seam with nervousness. The fire in the center of you gave you confidence to follow through, and your hand ended up on Joel’s knee, slowly moving up until your pinky touched the wood of his guitar. The melody didn’t falter, but his voice did.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?”

“It is a date, isn’t it?” The shreds of your confidence only allowed you to squeeze his thigh with a hint, yet your eyes looked anywhere but his face.

“You shouldn’t do something like that to an old man like me, will break my heart when you leave,” he sounded so painfully sad, it made your heart ache as bad as your pussy. You looked him in the eye then, god, he was so handsome. 

“What if I don’t leave?” You challenged him like a mouse challenging a lion. Joel shook his head, his hand gripping the guitar’s neck viciously.

“Stop playing with me, darlin’.”

“What if I’m not playing?”

You expected another sad plea, another crack in his voice. But instead, he put his guitar to the side and spread his legs wider than before. “Then prove it.” He husked out. “Prove that you know what you’re doing.”

There was no mistake in what he meant. His voice added a new depth into it, eyes glowed with something dark. Passion, you thought. Need. The one that was pushing you to your knees at that same moment. The one that numbed your skin when your bones hit the hardwood floor between his spread thighs. The one that guided your hands to his zipper before you could even steal a kiss off his tantalizing lips.

He was hot underneath his clothes, his skin was burning like he had a fever and you were almost too impatient to be gentle. Joel lifted his hips just enough to help you tug his jeans down, his grey cotton boxers followed. He watched you intently, and you watched his half-hard cock lay heavily on his full balls. They were hanging low, their size intimidating. But no more intimidating than the main course.

You weren’t offended that he wasn’t fully hard yet, still, Joel took you by the chin and made you look at him. “Sorry, darlin’, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time, but at my age, it’s just not enough anymore.”

You nodded, your mouth flooding with saliva at the thought of him growing under your tongue. He was thick, veiny, more veiny than the dicks you’d seen

before so you thought it was an age thing, however the vines surrounding his shaft only made you whimper harder, thighs squelching with your arousal. 

You leaned forward, inhaling full lungs of him. It was heady, strong, and made you dizzier than all the wine you drank. You reached your hand out with the intent of touching his cock, but Joel stopped you.

“Touch yourself.” For the first time you heard something dark in his melody. Commanding.

“What?” You were confused. Did he want you to just play with yourself? Because you were on the verge of bursting if he didn’t let you get closer to his cock.

“Put your little hand in your panties and slick it up with all the sweet juices that have been leaking out of you since the moment you saw me, darlin’.” Your mouth fell open, hand following his order under Joel’s dominant gaze. “Then you can wrap it around my dick, and prove to me that you really want this.”

It was so easy to just do what he said, without questioning the moral, the consequences. Your hand was wet with your arousal, pussy begging to keep it

there, to give some attention to your clit, but your mind was set on the man before you. 

He hissed when you wrapped your slick hand around his shaft and started jerking it slowly, feeling the girth of him thrum with growing desire. You looked at his cock, entranced. His shaft was shining with your own juices, a pink head became deeper in color as more blood rushed to his cock. You swiped your thumb over it, a tiny drop of precum glistening in his slit. 

“You’re doin’ such a good job, angel.” Joel’s hoarse voice was almost a whisper. You felt the steam coming from him, it made you sweat, your breath hitching. “Why don’t you put that mouth to use, hm, darlin’? You speak awful lot with it.”

It almost made you giggle, a plan forming in your head. Instead of letting his cock in the scorching wetness of your mouth, your head dropped lower. You

stuck your tongue out, lathering his heavy balls in your saliva. They were fuzzy, like a ripe peach, and you massaged them with the wet muscle. 

“Fuck, ain’t nothing angelic about you, huh?” Joel’s voice was barely recognizable, hungry and low it vibrated in your pussy. You opened your mouth wider, sucking his balls in turn. “That’s right, making me feel so good, sucking on my balls like that. Come on, baby, use your tongue.” 

You tried to alternate between licking and sucking on his ballsack, your spit drooling over your chin while you were panting like a rabid dog. The only thing that mocked your ladylikeness was your goddamn dress, and it was almost drenched in your own slick at this point. 

“Good girl, sucking on my balls like it’s what you came here for. Came here to make an old man cum? What a perverted little girl you are, sweetheart.” Your pussy tingled with your praise. The mouth on him made your head spin, like a newfound drug that affected only you he seeped under your skin making you pant and moan as you continued pleasuring him. Your hand jerked his thick cock in tandem with your mouth on his balls. Joel’s eyes never left you, as he continued praising you. “Mmhm, that’s good, drench ‘em, fuck you’re a dirty one.” 

You felt his hand at the back of your head as it pressed you harder into him, your nose was forced into his perineum and he almost humped your face with his groin. Your tongue hung out, and he managed to slide his balls across it before it almost went too low. The tip of your tongue almost touching his puckered hole covered in more hair. 

“Not today,” you heard him grumble before tugging you up. “Come on, darlin’, don’t make me waste a load.” He pushed on your cheeks with his hand, feeding you his cock in one movement. It was a lot to take, your teeth barely scraping his shaft, and you used your tongue to protect the underside. “Take it all, come on, darlin’, you’re the one who wanted it.”

Intoxication and arousal didn’t mix well, as you just moaned pathetically around him, letting him deeper in your throat. It bulged with the sheer size of his dick, you felt it, uncomfortable, but you couldn’t move, your body too heavy and tired. Instead, your hands found his wet balls, already tight and ready to blow every drop of cum he’d been saving for you. You tried to fit them in your hand, gently tugging at his sack to stimulate him further.

“Ready, sweetheart? I better not see you waste a drop.” His hips bucked, and your nose was pressed into the soft tuft of his grey pubes. Joel pressed your head into him harder as his hot load trickled down your throat. You tried to breathe through your nose, the lack of oxygen blackening your vision.

He pulled out seconds before you were ready to pass out.

“Gotta tap my leg or somethin’, sugar. I don’t need you dying with my cock still in your throat.” You chuckled, not sure why. Joel placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip, slippery with your saliva. His whisper sounded gentle, “God, you��re a mess. Beautiful.”

You didn’t trust your throat to work, so instead, you tried to get up on your trembling legs. Your pussy still screamed for release, so wet you could feel your arousal escaping your thongs and dripping down your leg. You hiked the skirt of your dress up, not an ounce of shame inside, and straddled Joel.

“Whoa, darlin’, slow down,” his hands dropped to your hips, keeping you in place. Your brows furrowed. He didn’t look like a man who’d let a lady down. “Why don’t we change our location?”

You didn’t get an opportunity to look around, your feet scrambling as he tugged you into a dark room. His pants were up, but undone, and you lost your heels somewhere along the way, your dress still hiked up like a common whore.

Everything was spinning, so when he dropped on the bed at first you thought he fell. His voice was navigating you through the darkness, but you could barely concentrate on it.

“Come here, angel, let this old man take care of your pretty pussy.” Joel smacked his lips, and guided you to climb on top of him, legs on each side of his body until your pussy hovered over his face.

“Panties,” you whimpered and heard an immediate crack of fabric ripping.

“Sorry, darlin’, can’t make you wait any longer,” his face pressed into the side of your thigh, sticky with your own juices, and you whimpered pathetically at the texture of his scruff scratching your sensitive skin. “Smell so good, fresh, like a new doll.”

You couldn’t understand what he meant, you didn’t even try to. When his lips latched onto your clit, your head tilted back and you let out a loud moan. Joel only moaned back, the sound penetrating your pussy alongside his tongue.

His hands gripped your asscheeks painfully, forcing you to grind on his face. His tongue slipped in your wet hole, and you felt yourself shaking on top of him, your legs giving out as he kept fucking you with his tongue. 

Joel growled in your skin, making you crawl to your orgasm faster and faster with every swipe of his tongue. 

The tip of his nose kept hitting your sensitive clit, as he pushed his tongue further and further in your fluttering hole. He kissed his way up, pinching your clit between his tightly clasped lips and sucked, punching a cry out of you with his raw vigor.

“Come on, sugar,” he commanded, “I feel her cryin’, give her what she wants.”

With doubled passion he flickered his tongue over your throbbing bud, and you felt sweat trickling down your neck and soaking into your dress as an orgasm rushed over you.

Your body felt powerless, and if not for Joel’s strong hands still holding you up, you’d have fallen back. But he kept you somewhat steady, lapping up all that your wasted body could give him until every swipe of his tongue started being painful and you had physically push his face away with trembling hands.

“Got too enthusiastic, my bad. Ain’t every day I get to drink from a fountain of youth.” Joel joked, helping you settle next to him in his bed.

Your tired body was half laying on top of him, fully drained yet still unexplainably insatiable. Forced by something deep in the pit of your belly, you dragged your nails over his soft stomach until you touched his soft cock again. Joel quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand to his chest. You felt the sparse hairs on his nipple tickle your palm. His heartbeat was hard, but steady.

“Sorry, angel, ain’t that young anymore.” He said, kissing the crown of your head. His fingers found their way into your hair and he tugged at it gently. “If you want me to fuck that pretty hole of yours, you’ll just have to agree to a second date.”

Your words were slurred, eyelids too heavy to keep them open. “Maybe I will, old man.” 

He chuckled, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightened as he looked in the distance. A couple of flickering street lamps visible from his window were providing minimum light in his room and a possessive smile creeped onto his lips as he listened to you snoring lightly into his chest.

You weren't the first mouse to get trapped so easily, but something told him you were special. He wasn't ready to discard you just yet.

LEAVE A COMMENT, YOUR FEEDBACK IS MY MOTIVATION <3

[vaginalvr]

Backstage lovers, nsfw

Spencer Reid x Famous!Popstar!Reader

a/n want to know a secret? famous!reader x spencer are my favorites

cw: Smut, dirty talk, oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, light dom!Reader, mutual consent, slight nerd/popstar contrast kink, fluff before filth

You weren’t used to being nervous.

Sold-out stadiums? You could handle that. Worldwide press tours? Easy. Flirty late-night interviews? All part of the job. But standing in the bullpen of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, your fingers were twitching around the strap of your designer bag.

“Remind me again why I’m here?” you whispered to your manager, clutching your custom leather jacket a little tighter around your body.

“PR,” she said. “You agreed to do a ride-along for that profile piece in Vanity Fair. It’s edgy. It humanizes you. Makes you relatable. You’ll be shadowing Agent Spencer Reid.”

You blinked. “That name sounds… familiar.”

“He's the one with the PhDs. Total genius. Kinda cute, in that tortured-intellectual way.” She gave you a knowing look. “Be nice.”

Before you could reply, a man approached from the glass hallway — tall, lean, with messy chestnut hair and a nervous frown that tugged at his full lips. His badge swayed on his hip. He looked like he hadn’t slept in three days and had read 20 books in the meantime.

“Hi,” he said, offering his hand, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. You must be—”

You grinned. “You can call me Y/N.”

He hesitated. “Sorry, I just… my god, you’re really here.” His voice cracked slightly, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I’ve seen you on TV before, obviously, but I didn’t think you’d actually be—uh. Never mind. Welcome to the BAU.”

You bit back a smile. “Thanks. So what do I do? Do I get a badge too?”

“You get… coffee,” he said sheepishly. “There’s really not a lot of field work today. I hope that’s okay?”

You tilted your head. “Coffee and a genius? I’ve had worse mornings.”

And just like that, you saw it — the faintest pink flush rising to his ears.

Spencer had a hard time meeting your eyes.

Not because he was shy (well, not just because of that) — but because every time he looked at you, he remembered the one time he watched your music video with Garcia after a late case.

He hadn’t expected to like it. But you had swagger, talent, and this mischievous, sultry charisma on stage that lingered in his head far longer than he liked to admit.

And now you were sitting at his desk, spinning slowly in his office chair while sipping a sugary iced drink Garcia had fetched you. Your perfume smelled like jasmine and something expensive. Your legs were crossed. You caught him staring.

“Dr. Reid,” you said lightly, “are you profiling me right now?”

His lips parted. “No—well, not in a bad way. Just… noticing things.”

You leaned forward, eyes playful. “Like?”

“Like…” He fumbled. “You wore oversized sunglasses in. Possibly to hide fatigue or avoid recognition. You keep shifting your weight from hip to hip when standing, which might suggest discomfort with heels, or a tendency to avoid being too stationary. You’ve looked at your phone seven times since arriving, suggesting either work urgency or social media addiction.”

You blinked. “Okay, damn. You’re good.”

He flushed, clearly regretting the outburst. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“Actually,” you said, standing and stepping closer, “it was kind of hot.”

Spencer froze.

“You—think profiling is hot?”

“Only when you do it like that,” you murmured, eyes dragging down his chest, lingering at his lips. “You’ve got this whole Clark Kent vibe. It’s very underrated.”

You were joking, kind of. Teasing. That’s what you did when you were nervous. But Spencer Reid stared at you like you’d just handed him the moon.

He licked his lips. “Can I confess something slightly inappropriate?”

You raised a brow. “I love inappropriate.”

“I, uh… went to one of your concerts last year. With Garcia. You sang a stripped-down acoustic version of Sweet Devotion and… I haven’t really stopped thinking about it.”

Your heart skipped. “That’s my favorite track on that album.”

He smiled softly. “Mine too.”

For a second, the BAU buzzed on in the background — phones ringing, keyboards clacking. But you were in your own little world, surrounded by bulletins and whiteboards, and the intoxicating idea that this man — this brilliant, awkward, devastatingly endearing man — had been a fan of yours before he even met you.

That alone did something to your chest. And maybe… a little lower.

By the time the ride-along was over, the sun had set, casting amber light through the glass walls. The bullpen had emptied out. You stood by the elevator, debating whether to say goodbye with a handshake or something bolder.

“I had fun today,” you said honestly. “More than I thought I would.”

Spencer pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “Me too. You were… incredible.”

“Not exactly catching serial killers, though.”

“No, but you’re catching hearts,” he said quickly, then winced. “I mean—uh—sorry, that was lame—”

You stepped close before he could spiral. “Spencer.”

He stilled. You reached up, brushing a hand along the collar of his cardigan. He smelled like coffee and something bookish, clean.

“Can I kiss you?” you whispered.

He nodded, breath catching. “Please.”

You kissed him slow — not like the kiss of a popstar who’d spent years posing for paparazzi. It was private. Sincere. Like you needed it. Like he did too.

His mouth was softer than you imagined. He kissed like someone who thought about it too much, like he wanted to memorize you one touch at a time. Your body buzzed.

You deepened it, one hand curling into his curls, the other tugging him gently by the belt loop.

When you pulled away, his pupils were blown wide.

“I—” he cleared his throat. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

You bit your lip. “Lead the way, Doctor.”

His apartment was small and cluttered with books, but it smelled like him and was full of quiet charm. His bed was unmade. His cheeks were flushed as he locked the door behind you.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect—”

You turned and kissed him again, this time pushing him gently against the door. “Don’t apologize.”

His hands finally landed on your hips, unsure at first, then firmer. Your bodies pressed together. You could feel him getting hard through his slacks.

“You’ve been thinking about this since the concert, haven’t you?” you murmured.

He gave a helpless nod.

You tugged his sweater over his head and drank in the sight of him — lean, pale skin, toned in that understated way that came from constant stress and running after unsubs. His chest rose and fell fast.

“You’re so gorgeous, Spencer.”

He laughed nervously. “You’re… you’re you. And you’re here.”

You backed him toward the bed slowly, tugging your jacket off, then your shirt. His eyes widened when your bra hit the floor.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “This is real.”

You pushed him gently onto the mattress, climbing into his lap. “Wanna be even more real?”

He whimpered when you kissed down his throat, grinding against the hard line of him through his pants. His hands gripped your waist like he was scared you'd disappear.

“You’re so responsive,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his jaw, sucking lightly at the hollow below his ear. “Do you always get this worked up from a kiss?”

“Not from just a kiss,” he said shakily. “From you.”

You sat up and reached for his belt. He trembled under you.

“Can I?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

You undid his slacks and tugged them down, revealing boxers that did nothing to hide how hard he was. He hissed when your hand brushed him.

“Sensitive?” you teased.

He flushed but nodded. “Touch-starved, probably.”

You leaned down, kissing a trail down his chest, slow and open-mouthed, until you reached the waistband of his boxers.

You looked up at him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I swear to God,” he groaned, “if you stop now, I’ll have an actual medical emergency.”

You laughed and tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock — flushed, leaking, longer than you expected (why were you surprised? Of course Spencer Reid was packing). He twitched when your tongue licked a slow stripe up the underside.

“Fuck,” he whispered, fisting the sheets.

You took him into your mouth slowly, letting your lips glide over the tip before sinking deeper. Spencer made the most delicious noises — breathy gasps and soft whimpers as you hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue.

“Y/N, I—fuck, that’s so good,” he moaned. “You feel—your mouth is—God.”

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his as you took him deeper. He squeezed yours tight, his hips starting to twitch upward.

“I’m close,” he warned, voice broken. “If you keep—oh god—”

You pulled off with a wet pop, wiping your mouth. “Then you’d better fuck me before I make you come in my mouth.”

His eyes went wide with hunger.

“Condoms. Drawer,” he gasped.

You grabbed one, tore it open with your teeth, and rolled it on him. Then you stripped fully and climbed into his lap again.

Spencer looked at you like a man seeing heaven for the first time. You guided him to your entrance, and when you sank down onto him, both of you moaned in unison.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.

You rode him slowly, grinding your hips, watching his head fall back as he tried to keep it together. His hands gripped your thighs, his mouth open, eyes dazed.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered.

You leaned down, lips brushing his. “So are you.”

You moved faster, chasing your own high as he met you thrust for thrust, hips jerking upward as he panted your name.

“I’m gonna—Y/N, I—”

“Come for me, Spencer,” you moaned, clenching around him.

He came hard, with a cry muffled into your shoulder, trembling beneath you. You followed soon after, shuddering as you collapsed on top of him.

His fingers traced lazy circles on your back.

“I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to listen to your songs again without getting hard,” he said.

You laughed against his chest. “Maybe you shouldn’t listen in public, then.”

He turned his head to kiss your hair. “Will you stay?”

You looked up at him, completely smitten. “I think I’d like that.”

A few months later...

The bullpen was quieter than usual — a miracle in itself.

Pizza boxes were stacked on the breakroom table, and the overhead lights were dimmed for the first time since someone brought in birthday cupcakes three months ago. The BAU team gathered in front of the flatscreen Garcia had hacked to stream the Grammys in full HD, popcorn bowls in hand, drinks sweating onto files no one currently cared about.

All eyes were on the screen as a sultry red glow took over the stage.

And Spencer Reid’s heart was hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break free.

“Next up,” the host said, “a nominee for Song of the Year, Best Pop Solo, and Best Music Video — please welcome the inimitable Y/N.”

Garcia squealed. “She’s so stunning it makes me want to cry.”

“She’s insane live,” Morgan added. “We watched one of her music videos last time we were stuck on that Kansas case, remember?”

“I’m still recovering,” JJ joked.

Spencer said nothing. He couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t watching a popstar. He wasn’t watching a Grammy nominee. He wasn’t even watching a global icon.

He was watching you.

The woman who’d spent the night at his apartment last weekend, wearing one of his shirts and eating takeout on the floor. The woman who whispered his name into the dark like a secret and a promise. The woman who hadn’t texted him all day because you’d said you wanted him to see it live.

And now, here you were.

Rising from the center of the stage in a sheer black outfit that hugged your body like sin, bathed in dim lighting and crimson spotlights. Smoke curled around your boots. Your lips curled into a wicked, knowing smile.

The music started low, haunting.

The crowd in the arena screamed.

Spencer stopped breathing.

Don’t blame me Love made me crazy If it doesn’t, you ain’t doing it right Lord, save me My drug is my baby I’ll be using for the rest of my life—

Your voice was low and honeyed, vibrating with emotion, with devotion, and something dark and addictive underneath it all. The band swelled. Your eyes were half-lidded as you walked down the stage, hips swaying with the music, hands curled around the mic like you were praying to it.

Spencer’s fingers twitched in his lap.

He could feel the team reacting around him — catcalls, whistles, gasps — but none of it mattered. Because the way you were singing, the way you moved, wasn’t for them.

It was for him.

I get so high Oh, every time, yeah, every time You’re lovin’ me You’re lovin’ me Trip of my life Oh, every time, yeah, every time You’re touchin’ me—

“I need to know who she wrote this about,” Garcia said breathlessly. “This is giving worship.”

Spencer swallowed hard. He felt like the room had fallen away. Like it was just you and him.

Because you’d sent him the demo of this song months ago. Because you’d played it on his couch with your bare legs across his lap. Because you’d whispered in his ear This one’s yours. Even if no one ever knows it.

And now the whole world was watching you bare your soul, skin glowing under red lights, mouth brushing the mic like it was a lover’s skin.

My name is whatever you decide And I’m just gonna call you mine I’m insane, but I’m your baby Echoes (echoes) of your name inside my mind—

His thighs tensed. His heart raced. He couldn’t look away.

The camera zoomed in on your face, and for a split second — just one beat — you looked straight into the lens and smiled.

The exact same way you looked at him in the morning.

Spencer’s breath hitched.

Then came the bridge.

Don’t blame me Love made me crazy If it doesn’t, you ain’t doing it right Oh, Lord, save me My drug is my baby I’ll be using for the rest of my life—

Your hand slid slowly down your body as you belted, voice raw and holy. You dropped to your knees at the front of the stage and threw your head back on the final note. Smoke exploded around you. The band hit its peak.

And Spencer Reid swore to God he could feel your voice inside his bones.

You didn’t say a name.

You didn’t need to.

Because he knew. You’d told him without telling him. You’d stripped your soul bare in front of the world and wrapped it in velvet and silk and heat. And still, you had kept him yours.

—

When the crowd exploded into applause, the bullpen followed — all except for Spencer, who was still frozen in place, chest tight, pulse erratic.

“She killed that,” JJ said in awe.

“I think I’m pregnant,” Garcia whispered.

Morgan snorted. “She’s something else. Wonder who she was singing to like that.”

Emily smirked. “Whoever it is, he’s probably losing his damn mind right now.”

Spencer coughed. “Probably,” he said weakly.

Garcia turned to him. “You okay, boy wonder? You look like someone just hit you with a freight train of lust.”

His ears flushed violently. “Just… impressed.”

She squinted. “Wait, didn’t you say you met her during that PR ride-along?”

He nodded carefully. “Yeah.”

“You ever talk to her again?”

His mouth twitched. “Once or twice.”

Garcia narrowed her eyes like a cat. “Hmmm.”

He shifted in his seat, trying to look casual while silently praying his arousal didn’t show.

Across the screen, you were accepting your award — glittering and breathless, cheeks glowing.

You leaned into the mic, still panting slightly from the performance. “I want to dedicate this one to someone who makes me feel like that song — completely out of my mind, and totally alive.”

The room howled.

Someone elbowed Spencer. “Dude, imagine being that guy.”

He looked down at his lap and smiled faintly.

“I don’t have to.”

—

Later that night...

His phone buzzed just after midnight.

Y/N: Did you like the performance?

Spencer: You made my heart stop. Twice. Pretty sure it still hasn’t restarted.

Y/N: Good. That was the goal. I want you to hear me every time you think about my mouth.

Spencer: That’s already a problem. And by problem, I mean I’m currently in bed replaying every second and probably not sleeping tonight.

Y/N: Then let me make it worse: I was wearing the perfume you said you liked. The one you said smelled like sex and danger.

Spencer: You’re evil.

Y/N: You love it.

Spencer: I do.

Y/N: I’ll be back in D.C. in three days. I want you naked in that cardigan when I get there.

Spencer: Yes, ma’am.

[yuikomorii]

AYAYUI IDOL AU: Chapter 6

// This might be one of my favorite chapters I’ve written so far! I tried to blend some fun with a bit of seriousness, so I really hope you’ll enjoy it. It’s kinda SPICY at some point, hehehe. I know it takes me a while to post new chapters, but I promise I haven’t forgotten about this fanfic, sometimes I just don’t have enough time. T-T

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

— Ayato opens the door —

Ayato: Haa… What happened?

Chief: Come with me! It’s about Subaru-san!

Ayato: Subaru?

Yui: ( Eh? That’s Ayato-san’s co-worker, right? I hope it’s nothing bad…! )

Place: Reception

Manager: Unfortunately, the cooking contest, as well as the filming, will be stopped for today.

Subaru-san picked a dish to make with one of the girls here, but he didn’t know it had garlic in it. After tasting it, he started feeling sick—bad enough that he had to throw up.

Ayato: Damn it…

Yui: ( Come to think of it... he’s in a group with a vampire concept and he has garlic intolerance. I can’t help but find this a bit ironic. )

( Still, poor Subaru-san... get well soon. )

Ayato: I’m going to check——

Manager: Don’t. Subaru-san is most likely resting now. He needs sleep more than anything after what happened.

Ayato: Tch… fine. But let me know when he wakes up!

Manager: Once he wakes up, I'll ask him to contact you. In the meantime, since you two share a room, I’d appreciate it if Ayato-san could spend his time elsewhere in the hotel.

Ayato: ( Did I indirectly get kicked out—? )

Well, whatever. But where exactly am I supposed to go?

Chief: Actually, now that the contest's cancelled and the other team is not present anymore, the onsen is completely free for you!

Ayato: Heh, is that so?

Chief: Y-Yes, but... since you, mister, are a celebrity, I’ll need to look for a private key first.

Can’t have fans fainting in the hallway if they see you half-dressed, right?

Ayato: Pfft, true… wouldn’t want to cause a stampede in a towel. But hurry up then. The sooner I’m in the hot water, the better~!

— Chief nods and starts searching —

Yui: ( I feel like I’m just a third wheel at this point, so it might be better if I quietly leave too. )

( Besides, my job is supposed to be done for today… and Ayato-san probably wants some space anyway.)

Chief: Wait! I almost forgot about Komori-san!

Yui: Hm? What’s with me?

Chief: Since you were Ayato-san’s cooking partner, the original deal included you getting a chance to use the onsen too, no?

I’ll find a key for you too, in case you want privacy! Just give me a sec——

Yui: …!

( Eh—!? Me? In the onsen? With Ayato-san still around? That’s…! )

Chief: Here they are~!

— hands them the keys —

But I should also mention... because the onsen is a relatively new feature of the hotel, we only have one single room so far. So, uhm... it would be great if you two wouldn’t go at the same time.

— Yui blushes —

Yui: ( Just one onsen... but what if we truly run into each other? )

Ayato: Alright, I’ll go there right now. You can go after I’m done, ‘kay?

I’m not exactly in the mood to wait around, so I’ll make it quick, no worries.

Yui: S-Sure, take your time.

Ayato: Will do~

— takes key and leaves —

*timeskip*

Yui: ( I wonder if he’s done by now… it’s already been three hours. )

— looks at clock —

( Yeah… I suppose he must be. I should start getting my things ready. )

— walks over to her bag and gets her towel —

( I hope the water helped him relax. He did seem tense after all… )

— leaves room —

Place: Onsen Entrance

Yui: ( It’s so quiet... he definitely left, didn’t he? )

( A-Anyway, I should knock or say something, just in case. )

*Knock Knock*

Uhm… Ayato-san? Are you still there?

*Knock Knock*

( No answer once again… )

— tries the handle —

( It’s locked? )

( Ah, he most likely locked it after he left, right? Yeah… that must be it. There’s no way he’d still be inside after all this time. )

— opens door with key and gets inside —

( Just as I thought, nobody’s here! )

— locks door —

( Hehe, time to finally relax! )

— starts unbuttoning her clothes —

( This indoor onsen is way bigger than I thought… The ceiling’s high, the walls are lined with smooth stone, and the pool is so huge that it almost covers the whole room! )

( No wonder the second one isn’t finished yet. This must’ve taken forever to build. The attention to detail alone is amazing! )

— slowly gets into water —

Ah~ so warm…!

( And to think they let me use this… I guess being partnered with Ayato-san really came with some unexpected perks, fufu. )

— stretches —

( So good… I feel like I could instantly fall as—— )

* Ring Ring *

( Eh!? Someone’s calling? )

— her eyes snap open—

( Wait! That’s... that’s not my ringtone? )

( Don’t tell me—! )

Ayato: “Haa... What is it this time?”

Yui: ...!

( That voice… it’s coming from the other side of the divider! )

( No… no, it can’t be— )

Ayato: “Yeah, it’s just me, why? Heh, so he finally woke up? Damn, can’t blame him though, since I had a pretty long nap too. So how is he feeling?”

“Oh, understandable. You took mine too? Mhm, it’s better this way.”

Yui: ( He… He’s been here the entire time…! )

( If he finds out I’m in the same onsen while he’s still inside, I’ll surely get in troubles! )

( What if he thinks I planned this!? )

Ayato: ( Ugh, my phone's dying.)

"I'll call you again, just need to find an outlet for my charger, 'kay?"

Yui: ( Ah, he's coming this way...! )

— gets underwater —

Ayato: ( Now where are the outlets supposed to be? Can’t see any at all. )

Yui: ( Did he leave? I don’t know how much longer I can hold my breath… )

( The water is so hot too…! )

Ayato: ( Whatever. I’ll just leave it like this for now. )

( More importantly… what is that? )

— gets closer —

Yui: ( Uuh… this pressure…! )

( I… I can’t… brea—— )

*SPLASH*

Ayato: Care to explain what the hell you’re doing here?

Yui: Aya…——

— faints —

Ayato: Fuck…!

— pulls her out of water —

*timeskip*

— Yui starts coughing —

Yui: Ngh... ah... I-I'm alive!

( But wait… why can’t I move? )

— eyes widen —

( No way! I'm tied to a bamboo stick!? )

Ayato: Finally awake, huh.

Yui: A-Ayato-san!

— face turns red —

( I-I can’t even cover myself...! This is beyond embarrassing! )

( To think that he really went as far as to tie me up… that’s completely unreasonable! )

Yui: D-Don’t look at me like that!

Ayato: Tch. You're in no position to tell me what to do.

Besides, you should be grateful I didn’t report you. Most people would’ve called the cops by now, don’t you think?

Yui: I-It’s not like I did it on purpose! I merely assumed you left! The door was locked, and… and I had a the key too, so… it’s just a misunderstanding, I swear!

Ayato: A misunderstanding, huh?

Tell me then, did you even bother checking the whole room before stripping down? If you had, you would've definitely noticed I was still here.

Yui: That’s… I can’t argue with that. But I truly didn’t have any bad intentions, I was just careless!

Ayato: And why should I believe you’re not just some stalker?

You know I’m famous. You’ve listened to my music and watched my MVs—based on what you said in the kitchen. And then there's the fact that, when we first met, you acted like you didn’t recognize me at all. Even though you're working at Yume no Mori, the very hotel that’s known for hosting events for idols.

And now, after everything, you somehow end up in the onsen at the exact same time as me?

Wherever I go, you just happen to show up too. So tell me, how do you think that looks from my perspective?

Yui: I-I think you must be mixing me up with someone else. When did I even pretend not to recognize you, Ayato-san?

Ayato: Haa… When you handed me that bottle of water outside the club, you moron!

Yui: Eh?

( What is he talking a— wait a second! The bottle of water…? )

…!

— eyes widen in shock —

( No way! Ayato-san… he was the boy I met on my very first night in Tokyo!? )

( The one who had a chest ache… who paid for my taxi… That was him! )

Ayato: Now quit playing dumb, it’s crystal clear you coming here was not an accident.

So what’s the deal with you? Are you really that desperate to get a glimpse of my body? Or is this just part of some sick little obsession you’ve got going on? Either way, it’s disgusting!

Yui: N-No! You got it wrong! I didn’t even know it was you that night!

I just saw someone who looked like they needed help, so I offered some water… that’s all!

And as for me being here... I didn’t come chasing after you or doing anything weird! I got this job through a work exchange program. It was all just a coincidence, not some plan to follow you around!

Ayato: Tch, when will you stop lying?

Yui: But I’m not!

Ayato: ( She’s not only dumb, but also got a damn big mouth. )

Fine, I’ll believe you.

Yui: ( Phew, thanks goodness… I really thought I got him mad. )

Ayato: But don’t start celebrating just yet. I’ve got a condition.

Yui: ( That tone… It’s never good when someone says "but there’s a condition" like that. )

Uuh… what kind of condition?

Ayato: Simple. You don’t tell anyone that you saw me at a private club that night. Not your friends, not your family, not your coworkers, not even your boss—no one.

— gets closer —

Actually, I want you to forget the whole thing. Erase it from your memory. You didn’t see me alone in Tokyo, and you sure as hell didn’t hand me a bottle of water in some alleyway.

Yui: ( That’s it? )

Yes, I promise.

Ayato: You better keep that promise, because if word gets out that I was in such a place, especially unguarded, it’ll stir up more trouble than you can imagine. One stupid rumor, and my entire career could take a hit. You get that, don’t you?

Yui: I-I do.

Ayato: Good. Then zip it and stop following me around. Or next time I won’t be this generous.

( I already took pictures of her in here. If she ever decides to snitch on me, I’ll make sure she goes down too. )

— unties her —

Yui: …!

Than——

Ayato: Don’t thank me. Just go put some clothes on. Then leave the onsen immediately.

— Yui nods —

Yui: ( He's scary when he's like this… But I guess I can't really blame him, can I?)

( It was stupid of me to come in without checking properly... so, I suppose it was indeed my fault. )

( To think he’s the boy I met that night after I first arrived in Tokyo... that truly caught me off guard. )

( Just what kind of person are you really, Ayato-san? )

I-I’m done!

Ayato: And why are you telling me this? You expecting an award or something?

Just unlock the damn door and leave already.

— Yui starts searching key —

Yui: ( Now where did I put it? I know I had the key when I came in… maybe it slipped into the towel?)

— checks towel —

( Oh no… it's not here either? Don’t tell me I dropped it somewhere in the changing area? Or worse… in the water!? )

Hey… Ayato-san? I… I can’t really seem to find my key, so could you maybe lend me yours…? J-Just for a second! I promise I’ll give it back right away!

Ayato: ( Seriously!? First she breaks in, then she nearly drowns, and now this? )

You're telling me you managed to lose a single key in a closed room in less than two hours?

Yui: Uhh… I must’ve dropped it somewhere without noticing...

Ayato: Haa…

— pulls out his key —

I guess if you beg nicely, I might give it to you.

Yui: B-Beg!?

Ayato: …Or do you wanna stay locked in here all night and explain yourself to the hotel staff tomorrow?

Yui: No, no!

Ayato: Good, then be a good dog and do as I tell you.

Yui: ( A dog, huh…? If that’s what you really want… )

— sits on all fours and looks at him —

Ayato: …!?

Yui: P-Please, give me the——

Ayato: You… you obscene bitch!

Yui: Eh?

( Wait what? )

Ayato: ( What the hell is wrong with her!? To sit on all fours in front of a man who’s only wearing a towel… did she want to suck me off!? )

Leave me alone already!!!

Yui: But I—

Ayato: I-I said leave me alone!

— shoves her out then shuts the door —

Yui: Ayato-san…

Yui’s monologue

So many things happened today… It’s almost overwhelming trying to piece them all together.

From carrying the luggage, to cooking with Ayato-san… and then—

The onsen. That whole incident. My heart still hasn’t stopped racing…

I came to Tokyo with simple intentions: to work, to learn, and to make new friends.

And yet…

The boy I met on my first night here and the one I couldn't stop thinking about…

He turned out to be Ayato. Ayato, the frontman of SAKAMAKIS. A name everyone knows. A face on billboards.

Someone so far removed from my world, it's really laughable to think we’d ever cross paths again—

Yet we did.

But instead of a reunion, it felt like rejection.

I made a mistake… and now he sees me as nothing more than a nuisance. Maybe even worse.

I keep telling myself that it shouldn’t matter. That it’s impossible for an ordinary person to get closer to an idol.

But then…

Why am I crying now?

[ednygmasbowlerhat]

the leverage ot3 is so amazing because each pair within it has its own unique and fascinating dynamic and then all 3 together have a third fascinating dynamic so the character depth is so good.

like parker and hardison have their adorable dynamic that gets tons of attention in the show so i don't think i have to explain but if i do, they are super playful with each other and so loving and romantic and hardison is always calling parker pet names and it's fucking adorable.

then you have parker and elliot, who are the two most emotionally stunted on the team, but something about being the two people who aren't "good" like the rest of the team (like basically the whole conversation they have while stuck in that like ice cave in the mountain climbing episode) is super deep. also, especially in redemption, i love how even though they pardison are not canonically dating eliot, parker is always including him in their future plans, like elliot will also get robot bodies with parker and hardison, etc. etc. like this is particularly sticking out to me in the most recent leverage redemption episode (the swipe right job) when parker is going on a rant about dating apps and elliot goes "we're in trouble" (about their covers getting blown on a job) and parker's like "no me you and hardison are fine" like hello did she just acknowledge that they're dating? more to the point though, i love how we see parker and elliot just hanging out and having like real, honest conversations, especially in redemption. i also love how they clearly spend time together outside of work - like the sheer number of parker and elliot noodle incidents is insane.

next up: elliot and hardison. holy shit they are so iconic. they are the big guy smart guy duo and it plays out in such a sweet way in their relationship. like even though he acts all exasperated, hardison really softens elliot up, for example, elliot complaining about the lucille song but then joining in in the first contact job. and then, at the same time, elliot helps hardison be tougher, think his really great speech in the rundown job where he convinces hardison that he is capable of stopping the terrorist attack and he like grabs the back of his neck and stares him right in the eye like he's donating his aura or something. but at the same time as encouraging him to be tough, elliot is still super overprotective of hardison, like when he instinctively grabs hardison and steadies him when he steps on the mine in that same episode, and i think that's so cute. speaking of the rundown job, the way that elliot and hardison are supportive of each other both in like a serious way and like a funny flirty way. as far as serious, in that episode, we have elliot literally jumping for joy when hardison figures out the sos car thing in time, and then of course as far as flirty and funny, you have the handshake when they're both staring at how hot parker is dodging lasers. btw the fact that they have a handshake too is just like the definition of their dynamic. i love it.

finally, all three together is super interesting because of how all of these dynamics come together. elliot is the scary looking dog who could fuck you up but is actually quite sweet and would rather nap with you on the couch. parker is the cat who takes a while to warm up to you but once she does she is super loving and sweet. and hardison is their genius golden retriever who is like the heart of the group and is always bothering the other two to play with him but secretly they love it. and they work together so well because they play off of each other's strengths and compensate for each other's weaknesses. it's just so fucking amazing ot3 5ever.

[trothplighted]

I was going through some of Rowling’s old interviews and came across one in 2004 where she spoke of Sirius:

“I am so proud of the fact that a character, whom I always liked very much, though he never appeared as much more than a brooding presence in the books, has gained a passionate fan-club.”

This wasn’t the only time she expressed surprise that Sirius became a fan favourite, and it’s honestly baffling to me??? He had an entire book named after and primarily revolving around him, and is canonically the closest thing to a parent that Harry, the protagonist of the series, ever had. Even if we disregard everything else we know about Sirius and his storyline, there’s no way in hell he wasn’t going to be popular. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said that a character like that was specifically designed for fan service (I mean...he's hot, has a flying motorbike, and is literally named after a star, lol). It’s bizarre that Rowling seems to have had no idea, and that she believed he was / intended him to be nothing more than a “brooding presence” in the series – which is at any rate an appalling and deeply unsympathetic way to describe his trauma and depression.

It made me think of how there's such a major disconnect between authorial intent and authorial execution when it comes to his character as well, especially in Order of the Phoenix. Characters like Molly or Hermione call him irresponsible/reckless/immature, claim he confused Harry and James, that he treated Harry like a friend rather than a godson, that he was biased against Snape, etc. Rowling’s interviews confirm that she intended to characterize Sirius in such a way and that Hermione and Molly are meant to be viewed as her mouthpieces. But Sirius’s actual behavior and relationship with Harry does not correspond with any of this and his actions + dialogue are for the most part very reasonable and sympathetic. (There’s also Kreacher’s storyline, which made me dislike Sirius a lot when I was younger, but upon my reread comes across as almost entirely nonsensical, contradictory, and seems specifically designed to paint Sirius in a bad light to the point where he’s compared to VOLDEMORT of all people by Hermione - who, in the process of criticizing Sirius, dehumanizes house elves entirely by claiming that none of them are capable of individual morality or have any ethical agency of their own. It's frustrating because she's 100% right that house elves should be freed but the way she infantalizes them is...pretty shitty and not the way to go about it. But I digress.)

Rowling seems to have done a complete 180 degree turn on how Sirius is presented by the narrative between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix, and I can’t really understand why.

I get the sense that the creation of Sirius’s character in particular was, at the very least, partly accidental on Rowling’s part. She didn’t expect him to blow up the way he did, and I get the sense that she doesn’t seem to have been thrilled by how much the early HP fandom liked/valorized him. There was an interview where she was asked if she liked him, and she said that she did, only to immediately list down all his alleged flaws and emphasize that “I do not think he was wholly wonderful” (which character in the series is wholly wonderful, lol? Sirius came across as a great deal better than most to me). There have been so many other interviews where she’s done the same thing despite the fact that Sirius's faults or perceived faults had absolutely nothing to do with the questions at hand. It’s such a startling contrast how she talks about pretty much everyone else from his generation, all of whom she seems considerably warmer and more sympathetic towards in varying degrees.

As I haven’t been back in the fandom for very long, this is the first time I’ve come across her interviews - I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into them or not. I wondered if you agree/disagree, as you’ve been in the fandom for much longer and I love all your metas about the series. Thanks :)

You’ve hit upon my personal Rage Point for the entire series, anon.

I want to start by pointing something out about Sirius and Kreacher, which is that in GoF Sirius tells Ron and Harry (and Hermione, though he brings it up to compliment her observational skills) that Crouch Sr.’s mistreatment of Winky is an indicator of his character. (“If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.”) This is, somehow, the same man who one book later is egregiously dismissive of and abusive toward his family’s house-elf, to the point that this dismissal causes his death (oh, and Albus blames him for dying, too.) Despite Sirius expressing two wildly different viewpoints from book to book, we’re intended to take that as his true self, as the authentic expression of his beliefs and position.

I’ve spoken before more than once about other drastic character shifts that happened as a result of the Three Year Summer, both as a writing break and as a paradigm shift in the notoriety of and ubiquity of the series thanks to the movies being released starting in 2001. I was in elementary and middle school while the books were being published, and OotP was the first book I remember seeing large-scale advertisement for in my school outside of a book fair - there was a big larger-than-life poster teasing the book cover with a release date during the summer to get us all hyped up for it. I’d obviously heard of Harry Potter before that, but that was the moment when the books went from “famous book series” to “cultural phenomenon,” at least in my mind. And I think that we can trace this shift in opinion on Sirius Black back to the Three Year Summer, too.

In my opinion it’s obvious that Joanne really liked Sirius, when she first developed him. I don’t think she’s telling the truth when she says she doesn’t think he’s wholly wonderful - when she first came up with him she absolutely did. He’s got pride of place as a Cool Character in all the ways she loves to lavish attention on someone. He’s set up with a phenomenal entrance in PS chapter one and then he spends all of PoA in the spotlight. He has a dramatic reveal of his true allegiances and his innocence, and he’s Harry’s best and most supportive parental figure throughout GoF who consistently gives good advice and who risks his own life and liberty to make sure his godson is safe. He considers coming back to England and living in a cave and eating rats to be his duty as a godfather, and while Harry feels responsible for his circumstances he’s always really clear that he (1. doesn’t care about the risks to his health and safety (2. will gladly sacrifice comfort and stability if it means being able to protect this boy (3. will not let Harry feel guilty.

These aren’t the actions of a man who confuses Harry with James - throughout GoF he continues to insist that his decisions are his own, made as an adult trying to parent and support a kid who desperately needs a stable presence in his life. Harry’s used to taking the blame for the actions of adults (my heart is still rent asunder by his expectation that Lupin is going to gaslight him about denying him the chance to face the boggart in their first DADA lesson) and he’s also used to feeling like he has to manage the emotional state of a household (see: all the times he plans out what to say or not to say to the Dursleys to get them to do what he wants), and Sirius doesn’t let him sink into either of those pits. He also prevents Harry from bottling up his feelings or concealing his distress, and never lies or twists the truth. He’s being very deliberately written as someone who serves as a positive role model and positive mentor figure for Harry, and then suddenly come OotP he’s moody and immature and subject to a number of very strange smear campaigns from characters the author confirms are intended to reflect her real opinions.

So… what happened, over the course of the Three Year Summer, to make her change her mind? We can’t ever know for sure, obviously, because Joanne hasn’t ever bothered to lay out how her feelings on each member of her cast changed and evolved, and she’s unlikely to do so at any point in the future because now when people talk to her they mostly talk to her about transphobia. But I have a theory.

See, between 1998 and 2003, the HMS Wolfstar set sail. While most of the seminal meta came out after OotP (see “The Case for R/S” as probably the one I and others my age are most familiar with as an introduction to the ship) and most of the really famous fanfics started trickling out around that time (The Shoebox Project started in 2004), there were fanfics before that point, a growing fan community, and a number of pieces of fanart and fancomics (check out the list of doujinshi in the linked Fanlore article, some of those date back to 2001). Edit: here is an archived humorous/gently snarky list of Wolfstar fanfic tropes created in 2002 - while I can’t personally remember the names of fics from before 2004 or so I want to point to this as evidence that there was an established fan community, even using the “WolfStar” name, prior to the publication of OotP.

Normally, I wouldn’t think that fanfic from prior to 2010 or so had much of anything to do with the author’s opinions on their work, because norms and fan culture around fanfic were much more focused around keeping these stories private and away from the prying eyes of The Powers That Be/TPTB.

I say normally, because Joanne was aware of fanfiction, and aware of fanfiction remarkably early in her career as a public figure.

Younger fans are almost certainly not going to know this, but one of the first real fandom divides in HP had to do with fanfiction, and specifically the question of how to treat fanfiction written by and for adults that featured sex scenes or other mature content. Since the books were children’s books (though there was an adult fandom since the start, especially online - the Harry Potter For Grown-Ups/HP4GU mailing list and its descendant communities still loom large in fan history as some of the early pillars of today’s digital scene) a lot of people didn’t know what to do or how to treat fanfic. This was also compounded by fanfic being a lot more subject to legal action or takedown notices - Anne Rice, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, and Anne McCaffrey all became infamous either for pursuing individual authors and archives until they took down their stories or instituting guidelines about what kinds of transformative works were acceptable, or both in McCaffrey’s case.

Rowling, however, was different. Rowling said that noncommercial fanfic was completely fine, that she wasn’t going to pursue any kind of legal action against fanfic authors, and that as long as adult-oriented fanfic was appropriately warned for and not shown to or targeted to children, she didn’t care if it existed.

This laid the groundwork for the founding of Fanfiction.net, for fanfic communities on LiveJournal, and eventually for Archive of our Own and the Organization for Transformative Works. In an era where legal disclaimers were common on fanfics as a mostly-useless attempt to prevent being shut down by IP holders, Rowling threw the doors open and democratized her stories in a way she - I would argue - ultimately came to regret.

I can’t prove that her sudden slander of Sirius was a result of latent unexamined homophobia and a desire for revenge against the fandom for daring to claim one of her favorite characters as a gay man. I can’t prove that his backstory of being kicked out of his house (for unspoken Family Drama reasons centering around him being filthy and disgraceful) only to be shoved back into it, or Trustworthy Adults suddenly painting him as dangerous to children and inherently irresponsible and reckless, or all of his trauma being ignored and painted over, or every scrap of his heroism being erased, has to do with Joanne deciding that if we’ve made him gay he shouldn’t get to be a character anymore.

I can’t prove it.

But I do believe it. I believe it because when you ask yourself “is this queercoded character being subjected to authorial homophobia”, suddenly everything about Sirius’s arc in OotP makes complete and total sense in the worst way possible. This is also why I think Tonks and Remus were paired off, why Tonks suddenly becomes more gender-conforming, and why Bill Weasley transforms into Normal Settled-Down Hetero William. It feels like her desperate attempts to take her characters and shove them back into a box that she controls. I don’t think she was at that point consciously and virulently homophobic, but I think her clear and evident discomfort with fans interpreting these characters who she wanted to be straight comes through in her writing.

I also believe it because she does the same thing to Albus, after his death. Someone who’s been uncomplicatedly heroic and praised by all parties and even used as her mouthpiece to pass judgment on Sirius suddenly becomes morally suspect and untrustworthy and shady and secretive, with enemies lining up as soon as he’s dead to slander him - and again, just like with Sirius, we’re meant to accept this as the correct version of events. He even confirms all of this to Harry himself in the King’s Cross afterlife. The old Albus can’t come to the phone right now, he’s dead, and only his critics remain. Coincidentally, Albus is of course the only confirmed gay character in the entire story. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?

I’ve been angry at her for 20 years for killing Sirius, and angrier still at her straightwashing efforts. I wouldn’t believe her if she said she wasn’t doing that, at this point.

It’s not as if I expected her to be a perfect ally as a center-left moderate cishet white woman in the late 90s/early 2000s, and I do think that Dumbledore being gay was revolutionary in a way that most modern audiences seriously fail to appreciate, but I wish she wasn’t so damned insistent that no one else could be queer in any way at any point. She’s also really evidently uncomfortable about any displays of affection between confirmed same-sex pairings - she was absolutely neurotic about the amount of physical contact between Mads Mikkelsen and Jude Law during FB3, to the point that she fought with David Yates about it. And her behavior contributed to the intense homophobia I and others experienced in our formative early years in fandom - no-slash mailing lists and archives, the immediate classification of all queer fanfic as inherently more mature or more sexual simply by virtue of having queer people in it, Wizards For Bush, etc. As a result, boycott or no boycott, I hope that Wolfstar is canon in the new series, I hope Mundungus stays the crossdressing icon that they are, I hope Tonks is canonically nonbinary, and I hope Joanne loses sleep over it.

[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 | Original Fic

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.

[rimqueen]

ROUTE 69 !

ft. di!leon kennedy x woc!reader

tags. piv, smut, cop!leon, ignorance/racism but not on purpose 😭, leon woc fetishiser, blowjob, public sex, car sex, creampie

notes. im scared 2 post this all I have to say is im a fat brown woman and um my belly fat is going to shield me from any backlash.. this fic was much worse and then I changed it to di leon and made it more of him being ignorant without realising n having a fetish. readers race/ethnicity isn’t specified but since im south asian i did write it w myself in head .. reading this back it’s very south asian actually wow. some bits r taken from my old n deleted fics if they sound familiar 😴 i’ve been writers blocked 4 months so this is clunky n disjointed,, feedback n rbs always appreciated :3 UNEDITED!!!!!!!!

You get pulled over beside a cornfield—Where Leatherface met Sally. 

Okay, sure, you were speeding, like, a little bit, but it’s not like there’s anyone to crash into, there’s no schools around here so no kid is going to wander into the road and splat against your windshield like a bug, and there’s no deers so you really don’t see the problem. This road is long and winding like an unfurled spool of silver ribbon, it’s scary, and the only source of light is the fucking moon, and while there’s probably only a 0.01% chance of something happening to you—This is Midwest America you’re talking about - land of the free, birthplace of literally every serial killer like ever.

They have it all here: killer clowns, rapists, somebody’s coworker, zodiac killers, night stalkers, mommy’s boys and cannibals. 

An entire carousel of freaks.

He’s just a cop, you tell yourself, some overweight, gun-slinging, bible-thumping degenerate that has to pick on generally polite and law-abiding women like me to feel good about himself. 

You press your face against the wheel and try not to think of Jason and Michael Myers and that terribly evil, big-nosed clown with his stupidly small top hat.

Tap, tap, tap. 

You don’t even look when you roll down the window, not until he sighs deeply and gives a pointed, “Ahem.” 

Don’t look at him wrong. Don’t smile at him wrong. Don’t even breathe wrong. Don’t give him a reason.

When you lift your head you're met with his crotch. It’s not exactly a sight for sore eyes, but it’s not exactly unwelcome—You can tell by those hands and those thighs and—well—that dick that you’ve got him all wrong. He’s not fat or ugly. He’s a hot gun-slinging, bible-thumping cop, and somehow that’s even worse. 

“Do you know how fast you were going—“ He adjusts his belt, probably shifts his dick from one side to the other side of his obscenely tight uniform before he bends down to peer into your window. “—ma’am?” 

Oh god. 

He’s like hot hot. 

Somewhere between retired underwear model and vintage pornstar hot. His eyes are the type of blue you'd like to dip your toes into, and his name badge says Kennedy. 

“Fast enough to get your attention?” You smile at him hopefully, sitting up straighter and shifting your body towards the window to show him your perfectly planted cleavage. 

Officer Kennedy seems to take that into consideration, nodding thoughtfully while he looks right down your work blouse and at the scalloped cups of your lucky lace bra. It’s always been there to get you out of a pinch—like that presentation today, if you hadn’t stood directly under that spotlight with that bra and that sheer blouse, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be getting a promotion and such a glowing recommendation. 

When he’s done checking you out, Officer Kennedy asks for your license and registration, you rifle around in the glove compartment and pretend not to notice a pack of condoms falling to the ground. 

He leans forward, peering through the open window, yoi catch sight of the ID clipped to his shirt. “Think we might have a code M&M on our hands,” Officer Leon Kennedy says. 

“A what?” You dig out your insurance papers and hand them over, fingers trembling when you go to get your license from your card wallet—You haven’t done anything bad, you went over the speed limit, it’s not like you’re lying about your papers, it’s not like you have a body in the trunk—It’s just the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you. 

“Y’know, Mexican or Muslim—Aw, don’t look at me like that, it’s just a joke, don’t make me feel bad about a joke.” He clicks his tongue like he’s embarrassed. “I’m not like that,” Leon continues as he squints at your license, “I don’t have a problem with anyone or anything, it’s just how we talk down at the station.”

You just blink at him. What are you even meant to say to that? 

“Tough crowd.” He shrugs and hands everything back to you, for just a moment you think you might be able to get away with a slap on the wrist, but you don’t go to his church, you don’t sound like him, you don’t wave around little flags on the Fourth of July, you’ve never even had a casserole, and you most certainly don’t look like anyone he would call a friend. “Here ya go.” He sticks his hand through the window, waving around a fine.

“I can’t pay that,” you blurt out, and you want to be smart and tell him that you know speeding doesn’t cost that much, he could just give you a point on your license and it would all be fine and dandy, but you’re panicking. 

“Didn’t think so.” Leon gives you a pointed look—Like, like he planned this, like he’s setting you up, and he is, he so is—You’re tired and upset and wary about the gun he’s wielding on that belt. “You know,” he sighs, glances at your strategically unbuttoned shirt, “there’s something else you could do for me.” 

Okay, this is good, it sounds more like the start of a bad porno than a horror movie and you’re alright with that. You can do porn, you can take dicks, but you can’t take chainsaws or hooks or needles or anything of the sort. 

To be coy, you blink at him slowly, tears beading your lashes like morning dew. “I have a boyfriend, Officer.” 

“Ah…” Leon seems to take it seriously, like abusing authority is fine as long as a woman’s single—but the moment she’s taken? He’s got morals. “Arranged marriage, huh?”

You blink at him. Again. And again. And again. 

“No…” You say slowly—Oh, what the hell. “Yeah, forced marriage, it’s a whole thing, if I don’t make it back tonight I'm in for a beating—That’s why I was speeding actually, officer, I just want to get home before it’s too late.”

“Damn shame.” Leon shakes his head, the gravel crunching under his boots as he shifts. “Treating a pretty girl like that…Nice skin, pretty hair, big eyes—That’s just not right.” 

So he’s like that - the type to call you a princess in bed and a terrorist at the airport, the type to fuck you and let you know that his buddies can’t find out about this, he doesn’t change the radio station when a rap song comes on when he drops you two blocks away from your house. 

“Listen, sweetheart, you seem like a good girl, girls like you, they're good in school, study hard, doctors, lawyers, all that stuff—“ He makes a vague hand gesture that is neither here nor there. “—So I don’t wanna give you a ticket or a court date, but, uh, that doesn’t come for free.” 

“I understand, officer.” You bat your lashes at him, biting back a smile. This isn’t so bad, you got a promotion and now you’re getting laid. There’s no axe murderers or rapists in sight, just a cop with his dick in the right place. 

“Good girl.” He nods, pleased, and then he switches off his radio. “So, you do that for that prick at home or me?” Leon’s eyes drift to your cleavage, to your thighs in that short skirt, it keeps riding up the more you squirm in your seat. 

“I like uniforms,” you tell him innocently, “can’t help it.”

Leon laughs, slow and knowing. “I bet you do.” His fingers brush his belt, not to reach for his gun, but to unbutton them. You poke your head a little further out the window, his hand finds the back of your head, guiding you to his dick. His gun-slinging, bible-thumping dick that you fully intend to put in your mouth - you’ve made your bed and now you're kneeling in it. “I don’t have a breathalyser with me, so this’ll do.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as your warm mouth closes in on the tip, he’s big, but not in the way that makes your jaw ache—If he wanted to do that he’d find better luck shoving a gun in your mouth. 

“Fuck, wait.” He lets out a soft grunt and pulls his cock from your mouth, smudges of red lipstick and strings of spit keeping his tip and your lips together.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, heart thumping out of your chest—Did he change his mind? Did he have, like, an epiphany? Was it bad? Oh god, what if someone saw you? What if there really is a murderer out here and everybody knows they always go for you when you’re fucking—

Leon opens the back door—You were worried about murderers and hillbillies but your doors weren’t even locked. “Get in the back.” 

“Oh.” You let out a breath of relief, climbing over the handbrake and losing a heel on the way over to meet him. He braces an arm against the roof of your car as you kiss the tip off his cock, letting dribbles of pre wet your lips. 

“Fuck,” Leon groans, one hand rests atop your head, “you’re trouble, I should’ve cuffed you.” 

“I would’ve liked it,” you mumble around a mouthful of fat cock, you should be ashamed of soaking through your poor thong, but you’re not. That ticket would feel a hundred times worse than a sore throat. 

“Speak English.” He gives you this cheeky smile when you let out a noise of surprise, but you’re too concerned with taking him deep in your throat to start an argument—So he gets away with it like he has a million times before. If it were any other day you'd give him a piece of your mind. Really, you would. Honest. Once his tip knocks the back of your throat, you start speaking his language, gagging wetly as you swallow around him, one hand trailing down to grasp his heavy balls. You feel him pulse, and he curses under his breath. “That got you going, huh?” He snorts, amused and all sorts of turned on.

When you pull off with a pop, you go straight to licking up the seam of his balls. “You having fun down there, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” It’s muffled as you take one into your mouth and then the other, you like to play with your food, and sucking up (read: off) took you so far in school. 

“C’mon, enough of that,” Leon hums, pushing you off gently like you’re a kitten clawing at the hem of his trousers. You go to whine and then wonder what your parents would think of this and zip your mouth shut. Your grandmother came to America for what? For this? For you to let any old pig put his dick in your guts? Whatever. Whatever. He’s a hot pig. He’s like the cutest guy you’ll find for miles, and you’ve already gone to college, you’ve got a good job, why can’t you indulge? “Scooch over.”

You shuffle back, skirt hiking up your thighs until it’s more of a belt, he wedges himself between your thighs—Your legs dangle out the door, and you're still worried something or someone is going to come out of the cornfield waving around a scythe and cut up both your bodies like a canvas, but you’re wet and he’s on top of you and there’s no going back now.

“Wait—Keep it on,” you gasp softly as he lifts the hem of his uniform shirt.

“Why? You like it?” He asks, blinking at you with those big blue eyes, they’re clear like a summer afternoon. 

Obviously. 

“I dunno…I kinda like it, feels wrong.” You take his hand in yours once he drops the bunched up fabric, bringing it to feel how wet you’ve gotten. 

“What? The badge? The uniform?” He looks smug, like you're some kinky act of rebellion for him—Well, you don’t really have the right to speak on things like that. 

“The gun,” you say softly, flashing him your sweetest smile. 

“You're dirty,” he tells you with a groan, lining up his cock with your soft cunt, dragging the fat head up and down your folds, letting it brush over your throbbing clit just to see you writhe. 

“Hurry,” you whine, digging your nails into his biceps, you want him to split you straight down the middle. “Wait—Are you married?” 

“Does it matter?” Leon asks before he pushes in with one single glide, you're so wet there’s no resistance, just the slight stretch of a pleasantly big dick, tip nudging your cervix. 

“Oh my god.” You drag your nails down his back, legs going rigid as pleasure prickles your spine. “I was just—just wondering.” You bet there’s someone. Blonde, short, small, the kind he can bring home with no judgement. 

“Probably should’ve asked before you sucked my dick.” Leon huffs out a breath as he shifts his hips, angling deeper, making you sniffle as he drops his sweaty forehead to press against yours. He’s so deep you feel him everywhere, you can’t escape him and you don’t want to. 

His cock drags in and out of your slick cunt, one of his hands is by your head and the other settles on your tummy, trailing down until he finds your swollen clit. The pad of his thumb rolls over the soft bud as he fucks into you, pussy clicking wetly with each sharp thrust. 

If you had any dignity left, if you weren’t twenty seconds away from gushing all over him, you'd probably be embarrassed by the noise. The wet squelch each time he bottoms out, the smack of his balls on your ass, the way you’re whining like a fucking, boot-licking idiot. 

“Wait—Wait, I can’t—“ You push at his abdomen, wanting him to ease up as you feel the pressure build deep in your gut, there’s no time to feel guilty when it feels so fucking good, when your cunt tightens and he presses down on your clit and your poor Honda Civic—She’s been subjected to a lot tonight. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.” Leon cups your cheek, his hand is softer and smaller than you expected, gentler than the one that’s pinching your clit and making you sob into your fist. “Go on, good girl.” 

You think you black out when it happens, and you don’t know why. It was good, sure, but it wasn’t, like, deserving of a pornstar reaction, and you just gave that—Boosted his already huge ego, made a fool out of yourself, disappointed whoever in your line of ancestors decided the shift to America was a good idea. 

“You do that for your husband?” His voice is strained, his thrusts are sloppy, his mouth is hanging open as he ruts into your messy cunt. 

“I don’t actually have—It’s the uniform.” You think about the box of condoms on the floor and hook your legs around him, digging one kitten heel and one regular human heel into his ass to keep him from running away. 

Leon’s eyes go wide, he opens his mouth to protest, and then you squeeze his dick so tight it empties his brain and his balls. He even looks good when he cums. Adam’s apple bobbing, lips parted, a perfectly timed rivulet of sweat drips down his temple as he fills you up. 

The quiet after all of it is said and done kind of makes you wish you did hear a chainsaw revving somewhere in the distance. He buckles his belt as you pull your thong back into place, dried cum sticking to your thighs, dripping onto your poor old car. You have driven a million relatives back and forth in this little thing, you take your mom to the doctors and your grandma to the grocers and now she’s ruined. 

His radio is switched back on, you find both your shoes and place them on the passenger seat. You can’t drive in this state, not when your legs are wobbling so bad you wouldn’t be able to step on the brakes. Maybe that’s what you need to do. Drive head first into a wall. 

“I can drive you home,” Leon offers after he watches you stare at the windshield blankly, “Can get somebody to bring your car over in the morning.”

You accept and wonder who he voted for as he drives. His pinned radio stations are all some sort of rock, but there’s no country and that makes you feel a little better. 

He grabs your wrist before you get out, all blue-eyed and earnest. “I hope…I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with your folks, I know how they get, your people, I don’t want, uh, anything to happen to you.” 

You look at your house. All the lights are off. There’s not a single car parked in the drive. There’s nothing because you live with no one but yourself. You thought cops were meant to have deductive skills. 

“And if your husband gives you any trouble, you can call me, for real this time—Not, not for that, but for help,” he finishes clumsily, like he didn’t raw you in the middle of an open road while he was on fucking duty.

“I don’t have…” You look at him, like really hard, remnants of red lipstick on the collar of his blue uniform, his seed staining your panties white. “I’ll tell you if he gives me any trouble,” you say, only because you know he needs a reason to come and see you, he couldn't be casual with somebody like you. He’s going to knock on your door with a warrant just so he can fuck you into your mattress. 

“Okay.” He nods, lips twitching into a smile. “I’ll bring the handcuffs next time.”

I’ll bring a fucking veil next time so I can hang you or myself, maybe an anklet or two if you’re into that officer.

You fix a smile onto your face. “Goodnight, Officer.”

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“No, man, I was talking to both of you. I mean he's hot but I have enough daddy issues of my own, thanks, I don’t need his too,” he says with a sigh. “I'm dating a different younger brother. Specifically one who is legal, legally adopted, and also is not actively murderous and did the least amount of time in the League of Assassins. Though apparently that’s just . . . not a thing here, I guess.” 

Dick and Jason stare blankly at him again. Even Jon stops sniffling into his shoulder long enough to give him a confused look of his own. Kon just tries to figure out how to explain literally anything about himself without having to say the word “clone” out loud in a reality that may not be all that clone-friendly. Said figuring does not “figure” very well. 

Or like . . . at all, really. 

Goddammit. 

“Who the fuck did any time in the League of Assassins?” Jason demands disbelievingly. 

“. . . don’t worry about it,” Kon says. “So like, uh . . . I can explain. Probably.” 

They all look at him again, up to and including Alfred, who somehow left and came back with tea without Kon even noticing and is now just barely raising an eyebrow at him. How the fuck he even made that so quick is beyond Kon. Doesn’t that shit need to steep or whatever? He feels like that shit needs to steep or whatever. 

“. . . okay,” Dick says slowly. “So when you say you’re not Superman, you mean . . . literally not Superman. As in, not Clark Kent.” 

“Bingo, World’s . . . eh, what’re you, Third-Greatest Detective, y’think?” Kon asks, cocking his head as he looks the guy over consideringly. 

“Bullshit, you look exactly like him!” Jason protests indignantly, pointing accusingly at him. It’s incredibly novel, as an experience, actually, given he’s not doing said pointing with the barrel of a gun. Like, whole new experience to be having with a version of Jason. 

“That is really not as rare a quality in the multiverse as you apparently think it is,” Kon says. “Actually it’s like . . . ridiculously common, in my experience.” 

“How?!” Jason demands, again like he just . . . what, thinks Kon’s gonna answer honestly? Like, genuinely appears to think that? 

Weird. 

“It is such a long story,” he says. “Or like, such a short story that I’d really prefer to see Batman’s immediate reaction to, just in case he feels like whipping out the kryptonite over it.” 

Technically this reality’s kryptonite shouldn’t work on him, but they’re all having a very weird interdimensional crisis right now and also it’s, like, the principle of the thing or whatever. Whether it works on him or not, when you get to the “whipping out the kryptonite” stage, you’ve kinda crossed the Bat-Rubicon or whatever. 

The bigger concern right now, though . . . well, like . . . 

“Wait, you’re not a version of my dad?” Jon asks uneasily, just barely tense in his arms. “You mean–not at all?” 

“Yeah, no, sorry,” Kon says, hoping that if he doesn’t make a big deal about it, the kid will at least, like . . . semi-match that energy. At least this version of Jon almost definitely hasn’t met an Ultraman, so . . . fingers fucking crossed, he guesses. He is being way too optimistic about this shit, frankly, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do with a literal ten year-old? “Thought you realized that earlier, and then the conversation got complicated.” 

“Then who are you?” Jon asks, looking even more uneasy. 

“I would love to have a concise answer to that question,” Kon says. “Like. Ever. Listen, I am sorry, kid, I wasn’t actually trying to pass for your dad. Hell, I wasn’t even trying to pass for their . . . also-dad, apparently, god that is so weird, I’m sorry.” 

“Bruce being our dad is weird?” Dick asks with a frown. 

“You specifically calling Bruce your dad is weird,” Kon clarifies, sparing him a quick glance. “Like, congrats on all the family therapy I’m assuming you did, seems like that worked out real well for you and all. Clearly did the work there.” 

“What?” Dick frowns, looking a little uneasy himself. Kon . . . probably should stop saying shit that’s going to make people associate, like, negative emotions and shit with his presence, considering. 

Like. Definitely he should, at this point. 

“Sorry,” he says again, then looks back to Jon. The kid hasn’t freaked out on him yet, at least, but he’s still pretty tense. Which . . . yeah, well, the kid saw him toss Killer Croc’s teakettle like less than half an hour ago, so probably he is feeling a lot less safe than he’s used to feeling right now. Especially a lot less safe than he’s used to feeling when he thought he was with his fucking dad. 

Kon really, really feels like an asshole over that. 

“Are you okay, kid?” he asks. “Like . . . you need me to put you down, or . . . ?” 

“I want my dad,” Jon says, abrupt and just barely cracked as he stares at Kon’s very El crest-less chest, his hands fisting in Kon’s jacket. 

“Sorry,” Kon repeats, trying not to visibly wince. “Like–listen, I meant it when I said I had you. And we are family, in my book. Like, I’m not your dad or even Superman, but I am a Kent. And an El, too. Though I’m assuming in your case you’re gonna care more about the ‘Kent’ part, far as I know my reality’s version of you’s never been all that concerned with, uh . . . any of the Kryptonian shit, gonna be honest. Which, like, I have a limited amount of dog in that race myself, just I was an ‘El’ first and–yeah, never mind. Sorry, rambling here. Uh. Do you need to put me down, or are you good right now?” 

“What’s your name?” Jon asks, rubbing anxiously at his big wet eyes, and Kon literally does not even know how to compute the question. It just . . . it is very much the last thing he would’ve expected the kid to ask him right now, he guesses. 

“Kon-El,” he says. “Conner Kent.” 

“. . . are you from Krypton? Like–from Kandor, or . . . ?” Jon asks hesitantly, and Kon . . . sighs, a little. He really did not wanna explain himself pre-Batman, but the literal ten year-old definitely deserves at least an explanation, at this point. 

Also he doesn’t want the kid to be worrying he’s from the fucking Phantom Zone, considering. So yeah. 

“Not so much, no,” Kon says.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wayward 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Duke!Steve Rogers (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you accompany the court to a foreign kingdom for a tournament of four kings and find yourself entwined with a staunch duke.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“My lord,” you gasp. “My apologies.” 

“For what affront? Having fun?” Duke Rogers challenges. He lets you go slowly, his touch dragging on your arms. 

“I... suppose,” you bat your lashes. “More so, not looking where I step.” 

“There are greater things to worry for,” he brushes his hands over his tunic then puts them behind him. Like many of the lords, he wears shorter sleeves as well. You notice how his muscles bulge beneath the skin. “I do hate to trod on your gaiety.” 

“My lord, not at all. I... think I am in need of a reprieve. I do get carried away,” you shift on your feet shyly. 

“Mm, it is rather raucous,” he glances past you and his brow arches. He moves as if ducking behind you. “Pardon, I see someone I’d rather not speak with.” 

“My lord?” You crane around in confusion. The ladies continue their buoyant prancing and your father peers through the crowd. You spin back to the duke. 

“As do I,” you eke out. 

“I know where we might retreat, until they pass us by,” he suggests. 

“Oh, you do?” You wonder. 

“Not to be untoward. My lady, be assured, I am promised to another and would not act ungentlemanly.” 

You peek back again and dodge your father’s eyeline. 

“I don’t worry for that,” you face the duke again. “Please, if you will.” 

He waves you away from your father and you scurry after him. He is sure in his stride. In his duties, he must be as familiar with this far away place as those who reside there.  

He leads you into the corridor, away from the din, and you sigh at the cool air. You only notice then how hot you truly are. The sweat has grown so constant that you’re quite used to your damp clothes. 

“Many thanks, my lord. I must confess, I did not wish to let my father spoil my night. Again.” 

“Your father?” He intones. 

“Mm, yes. I came with him. He is one of King Tony’s men. He has been rather... uptight. Especially since... well, it hardly matters.” 

“I admit I might not be any less,” Rogers huffs. “My king has caused quite the stir.” 

“Yes, he has,” you agree. “But it is good. He has a wife and that means he will have heirs.” 

“Mm, yes, in theory, it is very good,” he scratches his beard. “Ugh, this heat.” 

“It is horrid, isn’t it?” You fan yourself with your hands. 

“You wear it well,” he assures. 

You look at him coyly, “sir?” 

“You glisten,” he tilts his head coyly. “Mm,” he hums as his demeanour sinks. “How long can we hide? I must face that weasel soon enough. If I am to wed his daughter, I will have to do so often.” 

“Betrothed? That is exciting. Is she kind?” You ask. 

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve not met her as yet. The arrangement was agreed upon today. My king bids me to it. He says it is past time.” He crosses his arms. “Is there some handsome lord at home awaiting you?” 

“No, though my father wishes so. He hoped I might find a suitor here but... alas...” 

“Here? Oh, let us hope not. It is a den of intrigue. Only those with a purpose have come.” He clucks. “That would include myself. I came to ward off war though my leige does work against that end.” 

“War? Do you think?” You wince and cover your mouth. You shake your head. “Forgive me,” you speak between your fingers. “I ask foolish questions.” 

“It is not foolish to worry for war. It is a hideous affair. All should fear it,” he girds. 

“Yes, but I am a woman. I haven’t the mind for it. Father says.” You throw your your hands. “I can’t even find a husband. My sisters are wed. He is proud of them...” You look at the duke and cringe. “And I blabber at you about it.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“You needn’t humour me,” you lean on a column. “What do you know of her? This beautiful lady you are to wed?” 

“Not very much, I fear.” 

“Did she say she is beautiful?” 

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“Perhaps she is clever. She must be if she is to be a duke’s wife.” 

“Hopefully,” he agrees. 

“And she must take good care of a household,” you add. 

“She must,” he utters. “I didn’t... I am adjusting still to the idea, I think.” 

“I still can hardly fathom it. When I do finally find someone. A husband? In my head, I see only a shadow. As fearsome as a wraith.” You sigh. “Well, I’m certain your wife will be comely and sweet.” 

“I can hope.” He says. “She is in attendance, so I was informed, though I’ve not yet chanced upon her. That who I avoided, I’m sure he is eager for us to meet.” 

“You are... nervous?” 

“Unprepared,” he says. “But I am a duke, so it must be done. It seems not many men heed their duty, as it were. I should not follow in their stead.” 

“I’m certain all will be well,” you say. 

“For you as well,” he returns and glances over his shoulder. “Do you know very many ladies?” 

“Some.” 

“Perhaps you have met her?” He turns to you again. “If I gave you her name, would you point her out?” 

“I can try. As I said, I only know a handful beyond my own realm.” 

He looks you over thoughtfully. His brows stitch and his jaw ticks. He looks almost reluctant. He exhales through his nose. He enunciates the name clearly. You flinch. You squint at him curiously. 

“You know her?” He asks. 

You snort and flutter your lashes. How can it be? Truly? The duke?

“Why, yes sir, I do know her.” You squeak, “she is I—erm, I am her. Sir.” 

[c4tluver02]

too hot!

wc: 2.5k

summary: Going over to Steves for a pool day turns into races and playing mermaids.

warnings: r had female anatomy, Steve has a dirty mind, Steves taller than r.. nothing crazy!!

a/n: i feel like ive written like three pool pics w steve but i am who i am.

The July heat was no joke. Not even the blast of Steve’s car AC was enough to stop the sweat from dripping down your neck. He had offered to pick you up to take you to his place to swim. A nice cold pool waiting for the two of you sounded like heaven in itself. 

You were already in your bathing suit when he got to your place, only a small pair of shorts covered you enough for Steve's liking. Good thing you're gonna be in the privacy of his backyard he thinks. 

The drive to his place is nice, the music is playing and the gold in his hair is really poking out today. You swear the sun makes his hair lighter. He’s also wearing his swim trunks, already been in the cold pool trying to clean it before calling you. However, he's wearing a shirt making it appear as a normal outfit. But you know those short swim trunks better than anyone, they show just the right amount of thigh that makes your mouth water. 

“I like these.” Steve says pulling at the bow on your hip. He’s talking about your swimming suit you so comfortably show off. 

“Thanks baby. I hope I get a good tan.” You say as turn your body towards him more. 

“Did you hear the UV on the news? It’s at like 9 right now.” He really wishes you had something on because to drive and look at you was something he was having trouble multitasking. 

The conversation from there flows easily, both of you happy to be in each other's presence. 

–

Once you get to Steve’s place he’s quick to take his shirt off, lazily discarding it to the couch as he goes to the kitchen. 

Copying the same motion to take off your shorts you lay them next to Steve's shirt as you follow him. Both of you are now ready to swim and Steve got drinks for you two. He’s even sweet enough to open the door for you, the ground is so hot you can feel it through your thin flip flops. 

The sweetness immediately stops when he presses his cold can on soda against you back making you squeal. He laughs as you try to do the same back but sigh when you don't get the same shocked reaction. 

Steve thinks about pushing you into the pool when you bend over to dip your hand in, feeling the water out. But with the open soda if your hand and the teasing he just pulled he goes against the idea. 

“I think you having a pool is the best thing that ever happened to me.” You say as you step down the stairs in the water. 

This makes Steve roll his eyes and flash a pretty smile. “Really? The best thing that's ever happened to you?” 

You turn to him as you stand on the last step, thigh deep in the water, pretending to think about his question. 

“Hm, yep! I am pretty sure it’s the best thing to happen ever actually.” 

“Funny, cause I could think of a few things that would actually top being in a pool.” He says going into the water himself. 

“What, like sports and beer?” You giggle, flicking some water at him. 

“Mmm no I was thinking something maybe like pus-” You slap your hand against his mouth before he gets it out. Already a step ahead of his dirty mind, knowing him too well. 

Taking your hand off his mouth when he stops talking. “You’re awful Steve Harrington.” But it’s said with a smile, cheeks already burning red. 

“You look really pretty in your little swimming suit, have I told you that yet?” He asks walking  towards you. The area of the pool you are standing in isn't deep, the water hitting him at his stomach. 

“You told me you liked it but not that I look pretty in it.” Your lying against the wall of the pool, both of your arms laying out of it as you put down your drink. 

Steve cages you in putting down his own drink. “Well I think you look really pretty. Even without the bathing suit.” He adds cheekily with a wink. 

“Oh well thank you! How sweet of you to say that.” You play along. Steve always acts the same when he sees you in a bathing suit, sweet but ready to turn it to something else if you asked. 

“I am known for being sweet so that checks out.” He responds, giving you a quick kiss, removing his arms from your sides where he was trapping you. 

“Wait, I'm gonna go under.” 

“Okay watch out for sharks.” Steve says getting a drink of his soda. 

“That's not funny, you know I hate sharks.” You say turning to him with a frown. The single mention of it taking away your light demeanor.  

“Baby you're in a pool there's no sharks. Go under.” 

You do as he says despite wanting to roll your eyes and fully submerge yourself under the water. When you get back up you push your hair out of your face and it gives you an idea. 

“Steve, did you ever play games in the pool as a kid?” 

His relaxed look tells you he’s not really in the pool to play games but to sit and chill. You on the other hand have been in the water for 3 minutes and can’t sit still.

“Uh, not really. Never had anyone to play games with. Also I never really went swimming since I was home alone.” 

He says it so casually but your heart breaks for a second at the information. You knew he was alone a lot but maybe it was worse than he lets on.

“Well good thing I’m here we can play.” You give him a soft smile and grab his hand. He’s following along but unsure by what you mean. 

“Did you ever pretend to be George Washington?” The smile that breaks on his face is wide and you can tell he is already interested. 

“Um no what's that?” 

“Okay so you go underwater and then flip your hair over and then when you come up you fold it and you’ll look like George.” 

Steve laughs at the way you say his first name like you know him. “Can you show me?” You explained it fairly well but if he's gonna embarrass himself by getting something wrong he’ll be over and done with the games. 

You nod and do as you just said, under the water, coming back up, and flipping your hair over itself. Steve lets out a loud laugh at how you look, he’s clearly never seen this and it makes your heart grow twice its size. 

“You do it! I think you have long enough hair for it.” 

Steve copies and when he comes up he tries to fold it but obviously not as familiar with the motion as you are, it falls before it has a chance to stand. 

“Here lemme do it. Go back down and come up.” It may sound demanding but your tone is so gentle it’s anything but. 

For the second time he goes down and comes back up and you fold the front of his hair for him. It doesn't look as George Washingotn as yours does but the idea is there. It still gets a laugh out of you all the same and Steve knows he looks funny but to hear your laugh he couldn't care less how he looks.

“It’s close enough, I guess it’s a girl thing.” You shrug as you bend your head back to dunk your hair in the water, getting it back to its original state. Steve just shakes his head to get the water out. 

“What's another game you played?” Steve asks.

“We could rate each other's hand stands? I would do a bunch of tricks and make my parents rate them like I was a gymnast.” 

“Okay, do you wanna go first?” 

“Sure, ok when I come back up, give me a number from 1-10 based on how well I did.” You walk back from him a little so you don't hit him in the face when you bring your legs up. 

Steve can tell you've done this countless times because of how fast you go upside down and poke your legs straight out. 

Coming back for air you ask “So? How’d I do?” 

“I think that was a solid 9/10 you did really well!” His smile is contagious and you blush at his praise. 

“Thank you, now you go.” You say giving him space. 

Steve does as asked and when he is upside down he realizes this actually takes a bit of core strength. Too busy focusing on keeping himself up straight he lets his legs fall apart. 

“Okay, how was I?” He asks floating back up.

“That was like a 2/10. Your legs didn't even stay together! And you had sickled feet!” Steve doesn't even know what sickled feet means but it was true. 

“2/10?! It was my first time, coach, go easy on me!” 

“Okay fine maybe you can do better with front flips?” Steve's eyes widened at that. He can do a front flip no problem. 

“Okay watch, ready? Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.” He says getting out of the pool. You meant a small flip in the water but he must be so confident he could do it out of the water. 

“I won't blink, I have laser focus on you.” You promise. 

Steve takes a running start and does a big flip into the water. It is impressive you know you couldn't do that. 

When he resurfaces he asks what you would rate it. 

“I think that was a 10/10 and many know I'm a harsh critic.” You say clapping. 

“Thank you, no thank you, you’re too kind.” Steve says bowing. “Okay your turn.” He says swimming over to you, lightly pushing you out of his way so you can get out. 

“Okay, but I haven't done a flip in years. I am probably rusty.” You say walking out of the water. In Steve's mind you look like a Victoria's Secret model sensually getting out of the water, but in reality it's really cold and you feel like you're hunching over.

“Well I’m not a harsh judge unlike someone else.” 

You think about a running start like Steve did but you go against it. You do however make a big leap trying to get higher, this gives you barely anything and your flip is barely a flip. It’s more so a dive but when you touch the water you're folding. 

When you get out of the water you can hear Steves loud cackling. “Holy shit I thought my boobs fell out of my top.” This makes him laugh even harder. 

“Baby that was like a 0.5/10.” He jokes as you look down to make sure your boobs, in fact, didn't fall out of your top. Not that literally anyone (you or Steve) would mind.

You make a high pitched scoff. “I thought you said you weren't a harsh judge?” You're smaller than Steve and the way you almost drown trying to swim over to him is adorable. The doggy paddle isn't doing you any favors. 

Grabbing your arms to quickly drag you over to him, he gives you a hug. “That was barely even a flip.” 

You hug him back and wrap your legs around his waist. He’s holding you but because of the water you hold no weight. 

“I told you I wasn’t very good at them. And my top isn't for tricks. If I would have known I was gonna do flips I would have worn something different.” You try to defend yourself, but really you just can't flip. 

“It’s okay, at least you can do a handstand.” He can feel you twisting the hairs at the nape of his neck and the fact that your so close to him in this outfit, dripping wet, is starting to get to him. 

“We have one more thing to see who the real winner is.” You say letting him go completely. 

“And what's that?” 

“We have to race each other, whoever gets to the other side of the pool first wins.” 

Steve nods as he sees you messing with the time of your top. 

“Can you tie this tighter for me Stevie?” You ask moving your hair up and out of the way. 

Ready to help you in any way he notices the burn you're already developing. “Honey, your shoulders are already red.” Oh you did forget sunscreen. 

“It’s okay.” Another problem for another time. “Did you do it?” 

When he pulls taught on the strings he can feel just how heavy your chest is and it doesn't help his case. Nonetheless he ties it tighter and you give his cheek a quick kiss as a thanks.

“Ready?” You ask walking towards the wall for you two to start at. Your voice takes Steve out of his mind and walks with you. 

Both of you have your backs flat against the wall. “On three we go?” You ask. 

“Yeah I’ll count. One, two, three!” 

You both push off the wall as hard as you can but Steve goes way further than you. Thankfully you can open your eyes in the pool and you use it to your advantage. Using your arms to push you towards him you pull on the hem of his shorts. You dont pull hard, just enough to see the line between tan skin and pale skin but it makes Steve stutter. 

However, despite the move you pulled Steve still wins. When you both arise from the water, out of breath. 

“You little cheater!” Steve says using the last bit of air he had.

You giggle almost feeling light headed at the lack of air. “You were so fast!” It almost comes out whiny. “How are you so fast? That's not fair.” 

“I was a lifeguard. I guess I should have told you that before the race huh?” Steves squinting at the sun in his face. 

This time you give him a big splash and he gives you one just as big, if not bigger, back. Your squeals are loud, anyone who was passing by could hear them. The sound of a great time. 

“Okay Stevie that's all the games I have.” You say sighing. This was a lot of exercise. 

“That’s okay, I think we did enough in the pool, yeah?” He says, swimming to the other side of the pool to get your drinks. 

You just hop onto the ground and get out that way but you meet him to get your drink. 

“Did you wanna tan?” Steve asks, giving you a towel to dry off with.

“Can we eat something and then tan?” 

Steve doesn't really wanna tan but he’ll do whatever you want to do. 

“Okay baby, I got the watermelon you wanted.” 

“We can have watermelon and chips?” Steve doesn’t know why you’re asking him, he's gonna say yes either way. 

“That sounds good.” He agrees and opens the door for you to walk in. You’re still towel drying your hair but Steve can't get over how happy he is right now. He can't wait to spend the rest of summer like this.

[kryannoy]

i loved your headcanons of reader taking care if sakura!! can you do one with Sakurs taking care of the reader?? thank you in advance!!

HE TAKES CARE OF YOU

genre: fluff, sfw

characters: sakura haruka x reader

a/n: i was thinking of writing this even without the ask, but thank you for being the catalyst <3

You got his fever right after he recovered (because I always do when someone else in the house gets sick).

And typical Sakura blames himself for it when it's only normal things like that happen.

He troubled you with taking care of him, when he doesn't need it but he won't admit to you it mattered to him so much, and now you got the sickness?

That day when he came back home from school and saw you in such a weak state, borrowing his bed and blanket to bundle yourself up, he's already cursing himself.

He hesitantly checks your forehead with the back of his hand and becomes even more guilty to feel it so hot.

He tries to remember his hazy memory, because he was half asleep at that time, of how you took care of him. You put a cool fever on him, you closed the curtains for him, you prepared him medications, food and an energy drink for him.

He starts off by searching where you put the remaining cool fever from yesterday. Once he found it in one of his empty kitchen cabinets along with the strip of pills, he took those and brought them back to the room.

He sat cross-legged next to you and opened up the box, gently not making much noise. He figures out how you made it stick to his forehead, carefully making sure none of your hair gets stuck to it.

You wince from the sudden coolness and peaked through your eyelids. As soon as you stir awake, you can feel and hear the thumping of feet going further away from you. You see Sakura pretending to busy himself with all the stuff his classmates gave him yesterday that he hasn't finished putting them back in his kitchen.

You chuckle at this and go back to sleep so he can do what he was going to do without being so embarrassed. He didn't hear it and he didn't know that you were pretending to go back to sleep until finally you actually fell back to sleep.

So, you knew he spent the next hour sitting next to you, waiting if you needed anything, sometimes texting back his friends, sometimes mindlessly watching you. And that's pretty much what you can remember.

You didn't catch him became very much aware when the sudden thought of brushing your hair away like you did slips in his mind.

He became so aware that his face turned bright red all the way down to his neck that he had to get up and leave his house to buy you food because he just remembered that.

He was quick with it because his front door doesn't have a lock. He doesn't want bad guys to break into his house especially when you're present in there but in a vulnerable state.

When he comes back, you're on your phone weakly scrolling through.

"Did you just get home from school?" You ask, pretending you didn't remember who put you the cool patch on your head.

"Uhh . . . no. I went out to get you food. I assume you haven't eaten?" He really mumbles a lot when he's telling a nice thing he did for you.

You shake your head no.

He brings the food to you and you sit up.

"Sorry I didn't ask if I could sleep in your bed."

" . . . Sorry I got you the fever." His head is down and he looks like a child who did something wrong.

"Nonsense! It's only natural that these things happen, Sakura."

He looks up to see you smiling like you didn't care he troubled you. Well, of course you didn't. You just said it was nonsense.

"Thank you for buying me food. And the cool fever."

He blushed again and denied that he wasn't doing this for you but it was just he felt guilty.

But you both know that's not true.

[clairewritesfanfics]

His favorite pet names for you (Invincible Variants)

Characters: Flaxan, Full Mask, Head Cap, Maskless, Mohawk, Omni-Mark, Prisoner, Shiesty, Sinister, Target, Viltrumite

Flaxan Mark

beloved, darling, LOVE

“It's okay, I got you. Go back to sleep, love.”

Full Mask Mark

SWEETHEART, SWEETIE, angel, baby, honey, cutie, princess

“Hey, sweetie, I'm gonna be late...again."

Head Cap Mark

baby, babe, princess, hot stuff, gorgeous, the missus (he will use this even when you're not married)

“Sorry, can’t come, the missus is waiting for me.”

Maskless Mark

He occasionally calls you with baby or sweetie, but prefers using your name or variants of it.

“Good morning, did you sleep well, honey?”

Mohawk Mark

angel, baby, babe, PRINCESS, hot stuff, pretty, gorgeous, beautiful, sexy, cutie, doll

This one seems to love using pet names instead of your actual name.

“Easy, easy, I know you’re excited but you gotta breathe, gorgeous.”

No Goggles Mark

angel, babe, baby, honey, sweetheart, sweetie, mine, the missus (he'll also call you this even when you're not married)

“Guess who got off work early and cooked dinner, baby!”

Omni-Mark

darling, love, honey, DOVE

HELP why does it suit him so much? You’re his precious dove. (I dunno why but him using it is music to my delusional ears.)

“Hm? What’s wrong? Bad dream? Okay, come over here, dove…”

Prisoner Mark

ANGEL, baby, pretty, sweetheart

Get it? Because through everything, you’re the one who gives him faith. 🥺

“You were all that I thought about, angel.”

Shiesty Mark

BABE, BABY, pretty, sweetheart (sometimes mockingly), princess (often mockingly)

“A'ight, princess, I’m sorry–I’m sorry that you think you deserve an apology.”

Sinister Mark

HONEY, angel, babe, baby, pretty, beautiful, gorgeous

You like to joke how he's your "busy bee" because he is always zooming around in that black and yellow suit.

Target Mark

babe, baby, princess

“This one and that one–wrap them up, and use the design that my princess likes.” 

Viltrumite Mark

BELOVED, WIFE, sweetheart, darling, honey, cabbage, flower, my little frog, my heart, my soul, my star

He is quite fond of this Earthly custom of using pet names, he even uses the most unique and random ones because they sound nice. (Also, I headcanon that he has a fascination for frogs for… reasons hehe)

“Look at what I found hopping around the garden. Can we keep him, flower?”

author’s note: Sorry for the lack of personality for Maskless and Flaxan. Unlike the others, both Marks are...amorphous to me right now. Though I do headcanon that Flaxan has beef with the GDA (of course, it has something to do with his love, ahem, us) and that he's significantly older than the rest of his counterparts.

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.

[alienpossession]

The Hotel Chain General Manager: Desert Spring Part 2

Desert Spring Part 1

"Hey ladies, need any help with that?"

"Oh no, we're good,"

"Are you sure? Do you know the hotel got this insane soothing gel that helps really well with sore muscle? I swear by its quality, my pecs cramped after yesterday's insane chest day, the hotel PT applied this gel and the cramp instantly vanished," he said as his pecs twitched, a deliberate move from his end intended to arouse the two girls that giggled upon seeing the pecs twitch

"Well, I guess there's nothing wrong to try, our legs can use some soothing gel after all,"

"No, no, let me apply it to you two. You can just sit back, relax and enjoy the sensation," he said with a smirk as he squeezed the tube to release this huge dollop of black, sparkly cream, "no worries, the color will not affect your skin tone or anything, it's very quick to absorb into your skin," he added quickly as he watched the look of bewilderment in both girls face as they probably surprised to see the shiny pitch black texture of the gel.

He quickly positioned himself in between both girls's sun bed, ready to apply the supposed soothing gel. Once the gel made contact to the girls skin and sat for around several seconds, their amused and curious expression due to the chilling sensation instantly contracted into one filled with terror as they started to feel numb

"W---what the fuck w--was th--th---at? UNGGHHHHHHHH HH---" she shrieked, yet Reiner quickly covered her mouth so she stopped screaming while staring sinisterly at the other girl

"E....rin....I think he dr---drugged us,"

"Welcome to the pack, ladies, we will have a great time after you two fully turned into my slut puppets," Reiner said triumphantly with his misogynistic nature oozes out like the real Reiner would, yet another conversion he managed to pull off for the day and he's far from over

---

"That's a very scalable approach, to be honest. Rather than installing these hidden trap doors and whatnot, just put them in the utilities or the amenities. But you did that in-house?"

"Yeah, will make shit easier if we can just takeover our amenities partner factory and do it right from the source, but this is good enough because we can make the takeover more targeted,"

"Sounds about right. It's a more sure success anyway because the concentration is not going to be diluted if for example I squeezed myself into a small 100ml gel tube or 10ml toothpaste. Imagine how many of us needed to effectively affect an entire industrial vat of soothing gel?"

"Yeah, not to mention the ego,"

---

Colin lodged off two huge lump of black sludge to the sauna heater to infect the entirety of the heater and its resulting steam. He didn't take into account the potency of the steam for a takeover in comparison to a whole sludge taking over an individual, resulting in several slightly numb yet still fully-human vessels not ripe yet for picking.

Aside from that, the two black sludge actually infused altogether when they turned into steam and resulted in the men taken over by the infected steam to be controlled by two non-dominant entities that might cancel out each other's influence over the human brain, enabling the possibility of these human to break-free from their subjugation

Faced with crisis of having bunch of idiots walking around with their mind fucked by half-arsed alien invader that might return to their original human state and ruined everything, Colin then decided to call Micah and George to help him out to fully convert these men.

A simple breeding session in the sauna later, not only these men reached point of no return of being human, the infusion of differing-origin sludges caused them to be stronger than the rest of their pack, and they returned the favor given by the Shredded Bros as they bend those jocks over and started fucking the shit out of their hole inside the steaming-hot, packed-to-the-brim sauna

---

"So out of the whole guests.....per your calculation, how many of them converted from using the amenities?"

"I say.....20-30%, but they are the more aggressive one for takeover as they tend to attack their roommate or just general public more compared to the one we hid in trap doors or room fixtures,"

"Maybe hiding them so secretly caused them to be more cautious?"

"Maybe, but I'm not reaching that kind of conclusion yet"

---

"Dude, what the fuck, taking that long is one thing, but the screaming is a bit too much, don't you think? Are you okay? What the fuck happened to you?"

"Uh.....oh.....well, you know---"

"It cannot be that good bro, be fucking for real,"

"Well, what if I show you how good it feels?"

"Bro, ewww fuck no. What's gotten into you, bro? If this is a prank, you better stop this homo BS, it ain't cool, y'know?"

"You really need to stop saying all those words without knowing the implication, bro. You make me aroused beyond belief with your obliviousness," he said as he let the towel around his waist dropped to the floor to reveal a bobbing hard-on that looked ready to breed at its 7.5 inches gorgeous length

"Stop it right there you gay ass motherfucker! I'm telling the others how freaky you are,"

Yet before Diego managed to do so, Jesse already caught up to him and grabbed him from behind. It didn't take long before Jesse somehow overpowered the much bigger Diego and before long, Diego's hole already seeded with the black, viscous invader that took control within minutes over his body. Feeling submissive and apologetic to his senior, it used Diego's body to worship "Jesse", much to "Jesse's" delight. They tussled across the room, exploring each others bodies until the two of them reach their climax and laughed it off with their bated breath as the mess they just did started to sink in to their mind. With yet another mischievous smirk, both men cleaned themselves up and they started texting their other friends to gather in their room for a "quick surprise" courtesy of the roommate-turned-couple

"You think they'll see it coming?"

"Nah, too dumb. Besides, we can definitely play it off a bit for a while before we revealed the whole thing to them. I'm going for Ricky by the way,"

"Then Jerome is mine? Sure thing. Ricky is smaller, so do work on Bill after you take Ricky down,"

"No problem,"

---

The three college girls just giggled when Bill excused himself to enter the elevator

He positioned himself to the back end of the otherwise empty elevator, but he knows pretty well that his objective resided inside of him and it is attainable to achieve. As for the girls, little did they know, danger literally breathed right on top of their neck as they're about to see the world from Bill's perspective even before they arrived on the first floor, if he's in the mood......

[centrally-unplanned]

I don't really have anything big to add to Scott's Curtis Yarvin call-out that isn't really already in the post, which is just something someone had to write "for the record". Curtis Yarvin is, of course, an absolute joke of a thinker - but Scott was the person to write this post because he likes the joke. I respect that, a lot, because writing - even nonfiction writing - is primarily entertainment, and you really shouldn't delude yourself otherwise. I don't like Curtis Yarvin, I find his prose insufferable, but there are people like Yarvin who I enjoy who bat about as well on the accuracy scoreboards - The Last Psychiatrist is my own Yarvin-like, someone with impeccable prose who never cared about proving any of their points beyond what was needed for the punchline. Reading a hater who can't see that is like listening to someone's opinion on anime who thinks finding 2D girls hot is Fake News; they aren't capable of "getting it" enough for their opinion to register.

Scott gets it, Scott likes Yarvin, he has read his duct-tape edifice on how you can do "Dictatorship - but Good This Time!" with joy and attention. Which is why he is the best-positioned to call him out for being an absolute sell-out who has contradicted virtually everything he ever wrote in his glory days. Which he obviously has, but someone making the case with citations is valuable proof for your instincts.

Tracing Woodgrains noted that the framing of "selling out" is not cynical enough, that all of Yarvin's contextual caveats and exhortations for apolitical excellence were just a smokescreen, a pretextual shield against criticisms from the liberals as he smuggled populist authoritarianism through the door. To me, this debate is a distinction without a difference because they buy into the idea that 2000's Yarvin was serious at all to begin with. You think the guy writing headlines like these:

Was trying to maximize his odds of building a new political movement? Of course not - he was writing coolboy headlines to set you up for his edgy zinger punchlines about how slavery was good. I am sure he dreamed, like all writers did, but he was far too intelligent to ever think those dreams would really go anywhere in the real. Dude was blogging on the internet. This was a hobby, for fun, and for influence amoung bloggers. And what made it fun was all the complicated rules and nth-level steps to make the system bespoke - if you just said "kill everyone who opposes you" you don't have a blog, you have a tweet. Everything was in service of making good posts.

And then reality decided to punk itself and a cultural wave of conspiracy-brained charlatans took over the American Right and were happy to smash any square peg into the gaping maw of it round, sucking void of aggrieved, performative destruction that didn't care enough to protest. Yarvin nearly missed it happening, running some fringe programming start-up for more than half a decade while the New Right cast about for slightly-less-embarrassing justifications for its illiberalism. But fate gave him a pass on that, this is his time; and now he has to, essentially, pretend he is part of a movement he is in fact tangential to.

You see how that isn't selling out or pretextual? The entire job has changed. None of this fits. Certainly, it is a form of selling out - but entertaining blog posts are not convictions one can really sell. Certainly, it is a form of latent authoritarianism - but entertaining blog posts aren't actual policy platforms one can really dog whistle. That applies far too much agency to any of this - Yarvin has no business being in the room in 2025. Mencius Moldbug isn't even here anymore.

You can really see that in his response to Scott's post, which Hanania neatly mocks. It is basic-bitch culture war anti-elite nonsense that contradicts itself on even a cursory Google check, because it is just barely-warmed-over leftovers from other New Right thinkers. There is no prose here, no effort, no joy. These tweets are 9-to-5. This is a new guy; one that just isn't nearly as fun.

[pollkien]

CURUFIN PROPAGANDA:

Sideeyeing the grass toucher

Called Orodreth stupid behind his back in the Lay of Leithian

#1 Eöl hater of all time

#1 Beren hater of all time also

Daddy’s most specialest boy. So special that both of his names are about his dad. This slut has absolutely no identity outside of his father and I think this is extremely appealing to some

“he alone showed in some degree the same temper and talents. He also resembled Fëanor very much in face.” I mean if you resemble the hottest elf ever you must also be hot.

Absolute cunt. Just a huge asshole. I love that for him

Actually in a draft, Fëanor called on Curufin and a few other of his most trusted servants to burn the ships at night <3

His only redeeming quality is when he told Eöl off that one time

Says the funniest line in all of Silm. “By the laws of the Eldar I may not slay you at this time” is incredible. He invented “Had It Not Been For the Laws of This Land”

Can usurp your heart ;)

Married! Canonically fucked! Unlike most other people here

This also means Curufin is a dilf.

Set evil in Celegorm’s heart <3

If his dad was so so hot Curufin must also be very hot

NOT racist! He was friends with Telchar and wrote much about the Dwarves and Khuzdul. #DiversityWin

Curufin the Crafty more like Curufin the Cunty

He schemes so hard. Do you like scheming boys? He is THE scheming boy for you.

Has a named weapon!

“Eöl, however, Curufin loved not at all. Curufin was aware of Eöl's resentment towards the Noldor, and that Eöl was using his friendship with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, which Curufin was jealous of, to stir up unfriendliness against them. Regardless, Eöl was still allowed to cross through East Beleriand, though a constant watch was placed on Nan Elmoth as they mistrusted his doings and goings.” No fucking way DUDE YOU ARE ALSO FRIENDS WITH THE DWARVES OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS

“In The Earliest Annals of Valinor, the translation of Curufin's name in to Old English is given as Cyrefinn Facensearo and defined as "[Curufin the Crafty, O.E. cyre 'choice', facen 'deceit, guile, wickedness' (a word of wholly bad meaning); searu 'skill, cunning' (also with bad meaning, 'plot, snare, treachery'); facensearu 'treachery'.]"” someone fuck this whore right now

Sorry i am now just reading his TG page “In relation to Celegorm, Christopher Tolkien notes that Curufin is "the more longheaded schemer, standing behind his brother and prompting him - it is clear ... that Celegorm has some authority — or is felt by Curufin to have some authority — that Curufin lacks"[23]:247 and that Curufin was "the wickeder (as he was certainly also the cleverer) of the brothers".” Oh my god.

He has quite the long TG page. Not propaganda just very surprising. Did you know his name shows up 30 times in the published Silm, 34 if you include the name index

Oh he is also divorced.

FINARFIN PROPAGANDA:

Certified grass toucher, as can be seen from the image

“He was of his mother’s kind in mind and body, having the golden hair of the Vanyar, their noble and gentle temper, and their love of the Valar. As well as he could he kept aloof from the strife of his brothers and their estrangement from the Valar, and he often sought peace among the Teleri, whose language he learned.” HE IS SO ADORABLE

Blonde!

Invented blonde Noldor probably

Likely divorced with Earwen. Come get your single dilfs

The fairest and wisest of heart 🥺🥺🥺

“But Finarfin spoke softly, as was his wont, and sought to calm the Noldor, persuading them to pause and ponder ere deeds were done that could not be undone” he just seems so cute

Turned back in the march like a good boy. King of Valinor. He deserves it

Led the Valinorean Noldor to war against Morgoth <3

Also his house is the fairest of the three houses. Fun fact. Wink judge

“In earlier texts Ingoldo was the mother-name of Fingolfin, whereas Finarfin's was Ingalaurë, given to him due his Vanyarin golden hair,[15] which was even more golden than the Vanyar” so so blond

[lordofthesoups]

IF WAR HAS BEEN DECLARED, WAR IT SHALL BE!

Yes i am gonna defend the man with his dogs out, I TOO HAVE SENSORY ISSUES ABOUT SOCKS I TOO WOULD NOT WEAR THEM IF I COULD! HE IS A GOD! HE CAN! GOOD FOR HIM! Plus i know its meant to be offputting but the pitter patter is very satisfying to me (this is purely sound design enjoyment but war is war). John however is putting aside any issues he might have to conform to society, booooo. Why would you do that.

Also Kayne is adhd on steroids, that man is pining about the place and has the emotional regulation to match. John just sulks and then gets pissed off and fights Arthur. Johns on a journey of self discovery sure but Kayne knows exactly who he is. Also wanting to bet his own life to end the world and make it anew in his own image of fucked up perfection, hot.

That man understands how cool organs are. They’re beautiful, he gets it.

You think Kaynes energy isnt sexy? You are missing out my friend. Did i mention his laugh, christ alive (he is, its kayne as of season 3). The sheer manic obsessive joy in his voice when he says artie. Hes not healthy, but by god he is sexy.

Once more: He Wants To Kill Azathoth, aka the creator of everything THE FUCKING CREATOR OF EVEN THE MOST POWERFUL FUCKING GODS. Can i make him and his goals any hotter, no. Hes a self centred twink but hes My self centered twink (who has definitely made out with at least a few of the other versions of himself hes killed) Also bonus propaganda: i was a nyarlathotep hater (hate is a strong word he was my lead favourite) before kayne LOOK AT ME NOW. Also would like to say that if mythos nyarl said that i would be on Azathoths side and i woulda been wanting to squash the guy, KAYNE???? KAYNE!!!!

He the manic pixie dreamgirl of all times. Itsa tumblr sexyman competition, is that not the point? Big guy can hug you? Damn hes only got two arms, do better. Actually big guy has no corporeal/ a limited corporeal form, dude that man has a brittish twinks arm!!!!! YOURE STILL STUCK WITH A TWINK! Do you think John would hug you with Arthur around without Arthur also in the hug, you are stuck with the twink, the twink is a package deal. May as well go for the one with the good looks and silly behaviour who can change form as he pleases. Also may i point you in the direction of non twinky kaynes, theres a few of them. I enjoy them a lot.

Also like why would you want a hug when a homoeroticly charged vivisection is on the table??? (well no you are but the point still stands) AND you might get live backing music

Malevolent Sexyman Tournament, Round 4

Arthur v Noel can be found here!