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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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royharperwifey · 17 days ago

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-–☆⁂☕︎Hacked☕︎⁂☆–--

Credits: I got this lovely idea from @sobbingscripter go give her some love on her fics. Part 2

[yearning!tim] [slow burn] [mlw] [x reader] [fluff] [cutesy!tim] [sequel?] [plot twist?] [damian wayne cameo] [reader has glasses] [tim has glasses] [I repeat TIMMY BOY WEARS GLASSES]

Tim is currently very high on energy drinks, trying to hack into Black Mask's mainframe. He is sure that he is behind the recent kidnapping, but he just can't prove it, yet.

He types in the encryption code into the Bat computer and before he can notice and fix his stupid caffeine induced typo, he clicks enter and he is met with a catalogue of photos.

At first, he sees screenshots from a lab website. Sionis working with chemicals? Then, he scrolls through and sees a photo of you. A young woman with at least 16 fries in your mouth, grinning at your friend.

Huh?

Tim closes the laptop and decides that he needs sleep. He's hallucinating and he needs desperate sleep.

After one of Alfred's soothing cups of 'sleepy tea' — that he's almost 75% sure has ground up and dissolved sleeping pills — Tim is out like a light.

The next morning, Time climbs back onto the Bat computer and nearly spits out his fresh croissant when he sees that you were not a hallucination of a pretty girl as he previously thought.

He scrolls through the camera roll, candid photos of the same young woman. Birthday videos, 0.5 photos, videos your friends took of you having a crashout about engineering homework. You were so cute with your messy hair and glasses gone askew on your face.

Tim threw the thought in the trash along with his croissant wrapper and continued his work from last night. He needed to get a grip. He types in the encryption code a second time, correctly and gets the same cellphone. Yours. He decides to dig a little deeper, but gets pretty distracted.

You're struggling with a homework question and asked many of your friends for help. Tim decides, you know, while he is in your phone, he'll just.. help you along. So, he types out a message, screenshots it and sent it yo your gallery.

>>—♡—>

"Oh my gosh. Look!" You say as you read the random Maths help that popped up in your gallery in a folder called 'Maths for pretty girls'.

>>—♡—>

That's how it started. You knew you'd been hacked but by a completely helpful guy. First it was Maths. It was the only reason that Tim hadn't un-hacked you, yet. Or, at least that's what he tells himself. In truth, he actually found your weird videos cute and the way you would send thank you pictures to him from the most unflattering angle known to man, captioned 'thank you mysterious elf'.

Tim despised being an elf but he supposed if a pretty girl called him that, he didn't mind.

>>—♡—>

After a month of Tim helping you with Maths, he decided to send a silly photo of himself, back. Was he dead on his feet? Yes. Was he on another caffeine high? Yes. Should he have gone to bed and left the Bat computer alone? Yes. Did he? No. But my goodness did he look damn good in blue light glasses, in a white t-shirt, messy dark hair as he leaned back in that gaming chair? Yes. Yes, he did.

Your jaw practically dropped when you saw that the guy helping you with your Maths problems was not only a nerd, but an attractive nerd. The universe was on your side.

You didn't respond because it was like 12am and you were half-asleep.

The next morning when Tim saw that he not only sent a picture of sleep deprived Tim to you, but he didn't get a single response. He was left on read.

He just sulked the whole morning and pretended he didn't jump when you added a picture of your outfit of the day to a shared album. He reached for his phone so fast, Bruce looked at him funny.

It was a cute dress. A dress. You looked so beautiful. The dress wasn't even revealing. it was flowey, had tulips on it. You had an adorable smile and your hair was down.

Tim decided to copy you. And not just in the 'oh I'll send an outfit of the day, too', way. He bought a similar dress and did the same exact thing. It made you laugh.

Days passed and you did the same, even adding a picture of you brushing your teeth to the album and so did he. And then Tim did something he was 89% sure was not his greatest idea.

He sent a photo of his phone number. On his bicep. Stupid? Yes. Cliche? Maybe. Effective? 100% you took a second to ogle his bicep before texting him.

The first thing he said was to meet up for coffee. You agreed. Did this mean that Tim was going to un-hack your phone? No. Did this mean he was going to start adding photos of random updates to the album, and calling Timmy and Me, a Project? No.

>>—♡—>

The coffee date made you a little nervous. This man looked good from all angles, even a crappy one where the only lighting was a computer screen while he was dead on his feet. And the first impression he had of you was 0.5 pictures and crashing out over engineering homework.

Tim thought the opposite. He thought that you were so pretty and confident and he was just a weirdo with an energy drink addiction and an atrocity of a sleep schedule.

"Why in Father's name are you dressed like that?" Damian asked as he stood at the doorway of Tim's room. Tim was wearing a Red Robin t-shirt, jeans and his yellow converse.

"Why? Is- Is there something wrong with it?" Tim was panicking. Maybe you didn't like Red Robin. Now his dreams of you getting all excited when he told you were crushed by Damian's tone.

"The colours are off. The red doesn't go well with your bright shoes. You don't want to scare off the girl."

Time froze. "How do you know I'm going in a date?"

"Because unless you're getting ready to play Binky The Clown at a Garfield Character Look Alike contest, you're not winning any points. Let alone with a female. They are complex species, Drake." Damian said.

"You got rejected, didn't you?"

"Shut up and change your shoes. Or very least the shirt. Perhaps the dress will match." With that parting sentence, Damian left. Dammit, he knew.

"I am not a cross-dresser, I swear!" Tim calls.

"No need to be ashamed, Drake. Grayson can do the splits without castrating himself and you like to wear dresses. We all have our things." Damian retorted, making Tim groan and flop down on the bed.

>>—♡—>

When Tim arrived to the cafe, he was not wearing a dress, nor the outfit from before. He wore a simple white tshirt, a pair of black jeans and his black converse. Who can go wrong with monochromatic? Colour doesn't look good on everyone.

That rule doesn't apply to you, apparently. You were so pretty. In a lilac dress, white socks that had frills on the tops paired with little black heels, and a pink cardigan. Your hair was down on your shoulders and your glasses hung low on your freckled face as you read a book in the corner. Tim puts his glasses on to make sure he isn't dreaming. Youre so beautiful. Did he even brush his hair.

He runs to his car and spends an extra 5 minutes fixing his hair. He then walks in like nothing happened and sits down in front of you.

"Hey, stalker." You say.

"Hey, gorgeous." WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?? Tim doesn't talk like that?? He is having an existential crisis right now.

"I- I mean. Hi. You're really pretty." He blabbers.

"Thanks. You're not too bad yourself. I like your glasses." You compliment. His brain short circuits.

"Me too. I mean, thanks. I like yours too. Nice eyes, by the way, where did you get them- I MEAN your necklace- chest. Dress." He lets out a gargling noise of embarrassment and buries his face in his hands. He wants the earth to swallow him right around now.

Then you laugh. At first, he's thinking 'oh my gosh, this girl is laughing at me'. And then, he's like, 'oh my gosh, this girl is laughing. She has such a pretty laugh. And it's directed at me.'

Tim looks up at you, a small smile on his face as he tries to calm the blushing down.

"So, what are you reading?" He asks.

>>—♡—>

A full 2 hours, about 3 hot chocolates and maybe a croissant or two later, the two of you finally bid goodbye. He watches you walk to a car. A very fancy car with someone in the front. His blood runs cold.

He's seen that guy before. That's.. Sionis' right hand. Shit.

>>—♡—>

"Of course she had to work with him. Of course." Tim whines once he gets home.

"Master Timothy, perhaps she is simply an associate of the man whom was driving her. Henchmen have families." Alfred consoles as he swaps out Tim's energy drink with tea.

"But I've seen that car before. The plates match up with a car that goes in and out of Sionis's estate on the daily. See, there's the car." The young man points to the screen as a car rolls into the driveway, the plates match up.

"Oh, dear." Alfred murmurs.

"Shall I let master Bruce know of this?"

"No, don't. I'll dig deeper. Be inconspicuous."

>>—♡—>

"You know, putting on a trenchcoat and sunglasses is not inconspicuous." Damian whispers in irritation.

"Shut up." Tim whacks his head.

"Sleep with one eye open tonight, Drake." Damian warns.

"Shh." Tim shushes as you walk past the cafe they are hiding at. You walk into a makeup shop.

"What girl goes shopping alone?" Damian whispers.

"Shut up." Tim says again, "Lots of girls go shopping alone."

"They don't even go to the bathroom with any less than a group. I wonder what they need that many girls for?"

"To compare chest sizes?"

"Disgusting. Point is- girls go nowhere alone, let alone shopping."

"Oh hey, Tim." You wave.

Damian looks up at you, muttering something about Tim's taste in women not being completely abysmal.

"Hey." Tim smiles.

"What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?"

"We came to spy on you." Damian says.

"What?" Tim acts oblivious. "No, we didn't."

"Right." You say, quite unconvinced. "Why spy on me? I'm just buying makeup."

"Why are you with Roman Sionis?" Damian asks. "I have no recollection of him working with females." He adds factually.

"I don't work with him." The words nearly make Tim leap with joy that you aren't working with him.

"Why were you in an out of his estate, then?" Tim asks once he has successfully stopped himself from leaping.

"I'm.. like his ward or whatever."

"What."

If I get 150 likes on this I will make a part 2

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johnslittlespoon · 1 year ago

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morning reblog + snippet <3 need to get in the habit of doing this but somehow once the chapter is actually posted i get nervous despite sharing bits and pieces the whole time i'm writing lol?? silly!

sappy but waking up to the ao3 comment emails had me giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair this morning, i rly do tear up reading them, i'm so so thankful for every interaction on this fic and ik i repeat myself every time i post a new chapter but i just. appreciate the love so much and i'm so grateful for the patience i've been shown as i navigate a proper long fic for the first time!! wowie

idk what i did to deserve stumbling into a fandom so kind and sweet and supportive and INSANELY creative and talented (simultaneously thanking barry and hating him for getting me attached to that precious little lieutenant and then ripping him away just as fast fml), i genuinely feel so lucky to have something to be excited about every day and as much as i love writing this fic, i can't wait to be done so i can lock in and pour over all my friends' fics and give back so much love :')))

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man)

Ch. 5/8 – 'I Count My Time In Dog Years'

[WC: 27K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Requited Unrequited Love]

John Egan loves like a dog.

[AO3 LINK]

#dog coded bucky fic #buckbucky #i swear every time i post a new chapter i disappear for at least 12 hours bc i get that nervous and yet i yap 24/7 here why #it's not like i expect bad responses or anything like no one's ever been anything but kind but i still feel so vulnerable hitting publish #i've been writing fic on and off for at least a decade now and i don't Think i used to get this much stage fright??#i think maybe i just haven't cared this much about a project like. ever. it's scary putting ur soul into something even fanfic #anyway hashtag imposter syndrome hashtag morning musings hashtag does anyone else confidently post their fics or are we all anxious xoxo #as always had to be sappy under the read more i just feel like i can't ever adequately express my thanks #like i'll never get over how thankful i am to have found passion thru this fandom when i did. i needed it then/now more than ever <3 #+ will always feel so lucky for the friends i've made here! genuinely never met so many mf cool people in a fandom n it makes my heart happ #nah bc if i get this sappy now i'm terrified for the fuckin dissertation i'm gonna be writing out at the end of this fic #sorry in advance hopefully y'all just smile and nod and move along it's probs gonna be disgusting xoxo #okay taking my tag privileges away and getting more writing done yippieeee insert dolphin and rainbows and sun pic #actually also. i've had my paypal hacked like 3 times this year (idk maybe i'm a dumb bitch but like i'm broke idk why they target me JSDGJ #so when i wake up to 10+ emails i immediately have flashbacks and think it's happened again and i'm gonna have to sit on call w support #and then turns out i've just forgotten i posted a fic before bed and instead i get to read cute comments and weep <3 yay

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immortaledd · 1 month ago

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TheatreGolf Comic - “Shut Eye”

“Kiss the brick! Kiss the brick!!” THESE ARE MY KISSES. TAKE IT LIKE A MAN! /J

Ughh I just need to sit down and right a 400 page fanfiction about the grotesque events that happen in Ruin’s past. I have SO much fan-lore and theories based off in-show implications, dude.

This being one of them,

Monty along with the rest of Ruin’s friends were often locked up in separate cells. This was to keep them apart in case they’d try to kill each other. If they were getting too violent in their cells, they could be forced offline for a time until they were needed. Say, a city raid or government involved battle.

Ruin has very limited free time when it comes to being a front-line solider, but when he gets a chance - and EVERY chance, he’d visit his friends and try to calm them. If they were ever force offline, he would try to soothe them before they dropped. He’d ramble or vent to the muffled and distorted screams around him - just to drown out his thoughts out loud in a place his Creator wouldn’t hear, and even show off little things he’d find to his friends when they were a bit more sentient.

The barriers in cells are closely related to those one cells in Steven Universe (because it’s the BEST CELL DESIGN EVER). It disrupts coding, burns through silicone, metal, and plastic…and is just downright agonizing to touch. It would take a lot of willpower for them to power through it, but most of them prioritize survival first. Except Monty - so he’d be the first to break out. Luckily for the Creator, Ruin’s little visits are keeping Monty at bay. Yay! [Fuck you. - Ruin]

Ruin considers trying to break down that barrier himself…whether by hacking or brute force. He’s never gotten a full conclusion, so he just toys with it like a vaccine. It hurts like hell, but anything to get a few inches closer to his zombie husband.

He has, in fact, caused himself numerous injuries for this. He literally loses a SECOND finger in this comic…great job, Ruin. Can’t wait to tell Creator.

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orellazalonia · 15 days ago

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Prank Wars

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes start as chaotic, bickering frenemies locked in a prank war filled with glitter bombs, insults, and grudging teamwork. What begins as rivalry evolves into a sharp-edged romance, complete with teasing, team gossip, and quiet moments that prove even the most combative hearts can find their match. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader)

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: Wanted to write something with a sort of friendly rivalry type vibe. I think it turned out to be a fun read. So, Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist

You weren’t sure how it started. Maybe it was the time you’d called Bucky a “grumpy vintage action figure” during sparring, or maybe it was when he’d scoffed at your taste in music loud enough for the entire compound to hear. Either way, it was clear from day one: you and Bucky Barnes didn’t get along… but also couldn’t seem to stay away from each other.

You were a field agent with a smart mouth, a tendency to disobey orders, and a deep love for chaos. Bucky was a stickler for rules (at least the ones he liked), a human grimace with vibranium arms and trauma to spare, and somehow you kept ending up on the same teams. That first year at the Tower had been nothing but sarcastic quips, mutual eye rolls, and explosive chemistry that was definitely not romantic. At all. Probably.

Still, he never missed a mission with you. He’d grumble, complain, and occasionally fake gag when assigned to your squad, but he always showed up, and you always had each other’s backs. That didn’t mean peace. Oh, no. It meant war. Pranks, to be specific.

It began with the coffee incident. You’d woken up earlier than usual and decided to be kind for once. So, you brewed Bucky’s preferred dark roast before heading to the gym. But when you returned, your favorite mug (“World’s Okayest Agent”) was full of lukewarm decaf. A tiny sticky note on the handle read: Thanks for the bean water. I upgraded it. -B.

You were fuming. You didn’t say anything. You simply retaliated.

The next morning, Bucky found his boots filled with glitter. Not just glitter, iridescent, microfine, impossible-to-wash-out glitter that puffed into the air with each step like a magical dust trail from hell. You heard him curse halfway across the compound and smiled, eating your breakfast yogurt.

From there, it escalated. Your shampoo was swapped with syrup. His knife belt mysteriously vanished and reappeared glued to the ceiling. Your favorite hoodie went missing and was later found on Alpine who now refused to give it back. You switched his phone settings to speak and only read in French. He hacked your earpiece during a mission so it played 90s boyband music every time you tried to speak. Natasha bet twenty bucks on who would snap first. Clint started recording everything for “training purposes” (a.k.a. blackmail).

Still, you and Bucky kept a strict code: no permanent damage, nothing during missions, and no involving civilians. The rest was fair game.

There was an unspoken tension that came with it though. The kind of energy that lingered in the way you stood just a little too close during briefings, or the way Bucky always made sure you had your favorite protein bar stashed in the quinjet after tough missions. You could argue like enemies, scheme like tricksters, and still be the first ones to bandage each other’s wounds in silence.

And maybe that’s why, one night, when your newest plan involved rewiring his door sensors to trigger a confetti cannon… you hesitated.

You stood there, crouched in the hallway, wires in hand with your face lit by the soft glow of your tablet screen. Something was off. A quiet hum in the air. Your instincts itched. You weren’t alone.

“Don’t move,” came a voice behind you, calm, smug, and too close.

You sighed. “That’s what you said last time, and then I ended up zip-tied to a barstool with Steve giving me a lecture about boundaries.”

Bucky stepped into your peripheral vision, arms crossed. “Because you tried to saran-wrap my motorcycle.”

“It was a creative deterrent.”

He leaned down. “And this is… what? Revenge? Retaliation? Or are you just obsessed with me?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “What can I say? I love a fixer-upper.”

His eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement. He reached past you slowly and disconnected a wire before you could stop him. The door made a sad little beep as the trap disarmed. You stared at him, defeated.

“I was going to use that for the hallway next week,” You muttered.

He leaned in even closer, his voice lower. “Try harder.”

And just like that, he walked off. You were still crouched in the hallway, flushed, stunned, and already plotting.

The war wasn’t over. It was just getting good.

During your next mission, you weren’t sure what set off the alarm in your head. It wasn’t anything loud or dramatic, just a moment. A brief flicker of tension in the air during an otherwise routine mission.

You and Bucky were assigned to a low-level extraction. Some simple, easy to navigate warehouse but you were both grumbling the whole time, because being sent on “babysitting detail”, as you’d called it, meant no time for new pranks. He’d called you “bored and dangerous,” and you’d called him “paranoid and constipated,” because that’s what you two did. Banter was the language. Biting, sarcastic, familiar.

But then, something shifted.

You’d split up to secure the area. You were in the northwest wing, scanning crates for the target intel when your comm crackled, static. No voice, just dead silence.

“Barnes?” You tried, tapping your earpiece. “Buck, come in.”

No answer.

That was fine. Annoying, but fine. He’d probably gone off comm on purpose to mess with you even if that went against the “rules”. You rolled your eyes, muttered something unspeakable, and kept moving. But then, the overhead lights flickered, and a strange smell reached your nose, smoke. Not fire. Something burning.

You pulled your weapon and turned the corner just in time to see two unknowns in black body armor dragging a third figure toward the loading dock. Bucky. His arms limp. One eye half-open, dazed. Blood at his temple.

You didn’t think. You moved.

It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t graceful. It was fast, brutal, and angry. You’d never felt this kind of burn before. Like someone had tried to mess with your territory. You fired two rounds, took a pipe to the ribs, wrestled one attacker to the ground, and jabbed a shock baton straight into the other’s side.

By the time you got to Bucky, he was already regaining consciousness, his voice a ragged growl.

“’M fine,” He muttered, trying to sit up.

“You look like hell,” You snapped, crouching beside him. “What happened?”

He blinked at you, blood still dripping down his cheek. “Trap. One of them said your name.”

That made you freeze.

“What?”

“They weren’t after me,” He said, grimacing. “They were using me to draw you out.”

Your mouth went dry. The adrenaline started wearing off, and something unfamiliar twisted in your gut.

They weren’t random mercs. They were targeting you.

You didn’t know what you were more pissed about, the fact that they almost got away with it, or that Bucky had taken a hit meant for you.

Back at the Tower, you didn’t speak to him for a full hour. Not because you were mad at him but because you didn’t know what to do with the feeling that had sunk under your skin like lead.

You sat by his med bay cot with your arms folded, pretending to be annoyed when really, your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Bucky murmured, glancing at you from the bed.

You scowled. “You’re lucky I didn’t punch you. Running off like that without backup.”

“I had backup. You found me.”

“Not the point.”

He gave you a long look. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached into your jacket pocket and wordlessly handed him a folded sheet of paper.

He frowned and unfolded it. A crude drawing of a scoreboard. At the bottom, you’d scribbled:

Injured in the line of duty (for dumb reasons): You – 7 Me – 5 Bonus point for catching me off guard. Bastard.

For the first time that day, he actually smiled. Not his usual smirk, but something a little softer, quieter.

“Does this mean the prank war’s on hold?” He asked.

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed again. “Not a chance.”

And then, after a beat:

“…But maybe we cool it with the glitter bombs for a week.”

And so it did. The prank war didn’t end after the warehouse incident. It just… slowed. Morphed into something quieter. The jokes were still there like dry comments and sarcastic smiles but the glitter bombs were replaced by things like Bucky bringing you an ice pack before you asked. You, in turn, dropped by the training room with his favorite protein shake the day after his stitches came out.

And of course, everyone noticed.

Natasha cornered you in the gym a week later, twirling a throwing knife with deliberate laziness as you wiped sweat from your brow.

“So,” She said, nonchalant. “You and Barnes done setting the Tower on fire yet?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

She arched an eyebrow. “I mean the tension. The bickering. The very specific brand of foreplay that involves booby-trapping his bedroom door.”

You tossed the towel over your shoulder and rolled your eyes. “It’s not foreplay. It’s war.”

Nat gave you a slow, knowing smirk. “Sure. That’s why you look like someone kicked your puppy every time he gets hurt now.”

You didn’t respond because she wasn’t wrong.

It wasn’t that you liked Bucky Barnes. He was infuriating, overly serious, deeply confusing, and didn’t know how to share snacks. But he was also reliable, frustratingly observant, and lately, the look he gave you when you smiled, like you were the only one in the room, made your brain short-circuit.

You thought about it again later that night when Steve roped the two of you into a debrief on a rooftop overlooking the city. The mission had been a success, barely. You’d both walked away with bruises, dust in your hair, and a couple of near-death moments. Typical.

Steve cleared his throat when neither of you said anything.

“So, I just wanted to say… the teamwork is improving. Kind of.”

Bucky grunted. You didn’t look up from your seat on the low concrete ledge.

“But,” Steve added, crossing his arms, “I’d also like to point out that the Tower can’t afford another prank incident involving electrical rewiring, sparklers, and… what was it last time? A taxidermy raccoon?”

You smiled faintly. “He started it.”

“She painted my arm pink,” Bucky said flatly, leaning beside you.

“It was fuchsia,” You corrected. “Tasteful fuchsia.”

Steve exhaled like a parent trying very hard not to ground both his kids.

“…Just- figure it out, okay?” He said, before leaving the rooftop with a muttered “I miss the days when people just punched each other.”

You sat in silence for a while, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.

“You okay?” Bucky asked after a beat.

You nodded, then tilted your head toward him. “You?”

He shrugged. “Tired. Still sore.”

You leaned back on your palms, glancing up at the stars. “Nat thinks we’re flirting.”

He scoffed. “Is that what this is?”

“God, I hope not. I’d hate to be attracted to someone who uses the phrase ‘back in my day.’”

He glanced sideways, something sharp flickering into something soft in his eyes. “You’d miss me.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

“…Yeah,” You admitted, barely above a whisper. “Maybe so.”

There was a pause. Just long enough to shift the air. Then, he bumped your shoulder with his.

“Don’t tell Clint. He’ll never shut up about it.”

You smirked, your voice quieter this time. “Don’t worry. This never happened.”

Things changed during your next mission together. It wasn’t supposed to be a high-stakes adventure. A simple recovery op in a half-abandoned research facility on the outskirts of Prague. The intel said light security and no hostiles. Which of course meant it immediately went sideways.

You were cornered behind a crumbling wall with Bucky beside you, bullets chewing up stone, and the mission blown to hell. Your heart thundered in your chest, breathing ragged, but your mind was laser-focused until you caught a glance at Bucky’s face.

Blood streamed down from his temple. Again. The same spot as last time. You hated how that made your stomach twist.

“I told you to watch your six,” You snapped, crouching low to reload.

“I did!” He snapped back.

You shoved a fresh mag into your weapon and glared at him. “You are a human disaster.”

“And you’re a walking magnet for trouble.”

“Funny, coming from the guy with five knives hidden in his boot and a death wish.”

Another round of gunfire rang out closer this time. You both ducked instinctively, his body shielding yours without a word as he pulled you into a room to hide. You froze, just for a second, with his shoulder brushing yours and the warm pressure of his hand steadying you behind your ribs.

Your eyes met. The world blurred around the edges.

Something cracked.

The space between you wasn’t wide, wasn’t safe. It had been pulled tighter and tighter through months of snark, bruises, bullet wounds, glitter bombs, and unspoken care. And now it felt like the only logical conclusion was combustion.

“This is insane,” You muttered, your voice barely audible over the chaos.

“Yeah,” He agreed, still close to you. “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

You looked at him, seeing the blood at his temple, the sharp lines of frustration, the flicker of something else entirely under his words. You saw everything that had gone unspoken.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or the fear. Or maybe you were just done pretending. But whatever the reason, you surged forward.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was frantic and rough and tasted like dirt, smoke, and months of unresolved tension. You grabbed the front of his suit; he pulled you closer like he’d been waiting for this since your first argument over coffee. The world was still burning around you, but for a second, it didn’t matter.

When you pulled back, breathless and stunned, he stared at you like he’d been hit by something harder than any punch he’d ever taken.

“That was…” He started.

“Shut up,” You said. “Don’t ruin it.”

He blinked, then huffed a laugh, the real kind. Warm and sharp and barely hidden behind years of practiced scowling. “Took you long enough.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? I kissed you.”

He smirked. “Right. That’s why my knees went weak.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushed despite the danger. “We still have to get out of here alive.”

Bucky’s smile softened just enough to make your chest ache. “Then let’s finish this. Fast. So I can do that again properly.”

You reloaded, nodded, and moved out together, side by side, like always.

Only now, everything had changed.

The Tower was quiet when you got back. Mission was technically successful with the intel secured, the bodies left behind, and the bruises already starting to bloom beneath your jacket. You showered, changed, limped a little too dramatically down the hall, and did the most responsible thing you could think of: you avoided Bucky Barnes.

You didn’t mean to. But after the kiss, your entire nervous system had gone haywire. You weren’t used to him being real with that warm, rough voice in your ear when he said he wanted to do it again. It’d been easier when he was just a rival, a nuisance, a sarcasm-laced headache wrapped in leather and trauma.

Now he was something else. Someone who kissed you like you were gravity itself.

So you hid.

He gave you a full twelve hours.

You were in the common room the next morning, pretending to read a mission report, but mostly just sipping lukewarm coffee and staring into the distance like a haunted Victorian widow. Until the door opened.

You didn’t need to look up. The energy shifted immediately. You felt him walk in, heard his boots heavy, and presence heavier. You took another slow sip of your coffee.

“You’re sulking,” He said from across the room.

“I’m not.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I avoid a lot of things,” You replied. “Dentists. Feelings. You’re not special.”

He stepped closer, the weight of him familiar now in a way that made your skin feel too tight. “So the kiss didn’t happen?”

You closed the file and set it aside, keeping your tone carefully casual. “Adrenaline makes people do weird things.”

“Right,” He said, voice dry. “So next time we’re in a life-or-death situation, I should expect you to confess your love to Steve or kiss a vending machine.”

You looked up sharply. “I don’t love anyone.”

He tilted his head. “Didn’t say you did.”

You hated him a little in that moment, not really, not at all but enough to scowl and mutter, “Why are you even here?”

“Because I don’t want that to be something we pretend didn’t happen.”

Your breath caught. He sat across from you, elbows on his knees, expression unusually open. Honest in a way that made your stomach twist.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” He began. “You drive me crazy. You’re reckless and loud and allergic to sitting still. But I’ve never met anyone who makes me laugh the way you do. Or who I’d trust to watch my back in a fight. Or who’d glue my knife belt to the ceiling and still patch me up afterward.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He leaned forward, gentler now. “I meant it. When I said I wanted to kiss you again.”

You stared at him. Then down at your coffee, then back at him.

“…This doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop putting glitter in your boots,” You said finally.

He smirked. “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

You hesitated. Then sighed and leaned across the table, grabbing his shirt collar and tugging him into a kiss, softer this time. Slower. No adrenaline, no smoke. Just you and him, in the quiet.

When you pulled back, you grinned faintly. “You really are kind of obsessed with me.”

He exhaled a laugh. “Yeah. I really am.”

BONUS:

By the end of the week, everyone knew.

You thought you were being subtle. A few quiet looks, the occasional shoulder bump in the hallway, a shared smirk during mission briefings. But Avengers Tower was a den of spies, assassins, super-soldiers, and gossip. You had no chance.

The first to say something out loud was Clint.

You walked into the kitchen one morning, bleary-eyed and in desperate need of caffeine, only to find Clint already there, sipping from his mug. He glanced up, looked from you to Bucky trailing in behind you with his usual scowl and morning hair, and just grinned.

“Oh,” He said, like a man who had just confirmed a winning bet. “You two finally stopped fake-hating each other?”

You reached past him for a mug, unbothered. “We still hate each other. Just with tongue now.”

Clint snorted so hard he spilled his coffee. “Jesus.”

Bucky, behind you, didn’t say a word, just patted Clint on the back as he passed, expression entirely neutral. Clint looked personally betrayed.

Later that day, Natasha cornered you in the elevator.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, and gaze sharp. You kept your eyes on the floor numbers.

Finally, she said, “I had fifty bucks on you being the one to kiss him first.”

You blinked. “There were bets?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Please. There were charts. Steve ran the bracket.”

“…Steve?!”

Speaking of Steve, he found you both in the training room a few days later, sparring in what could only be described as borderline flirt-fighting. You’d just knocked Bucky on his ass (with some help from gravity and a well-timed insult), and were grinning down at him when Steve cleared his throat.

Bucky didn’t move. “Don’t say it.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Steve said, holding up his hands. “I’m just impressed. You made it a whole six months before punching each other turned into making out.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the one who made us partners.”

He looked at you both, sweaty, bruised, smiling like idiots, then sighed. “You’re each other’s problem now. Don’t drag me into it.”

Sam was the worst. Every time you walked into a room, he’d do the voice.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the Tower’s resident enemies-to-lovers plotline.”

One time, you and Bucky entered the kitchen holding hands. Sam immediately stood and slow-clapped.

Bucky just turned around and walked back out.

Tony? He didn’t even blink. Just tossed you a keycard to one of the private Tower suites and said, “Soundproofed. You’re welcome. And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t ruin the common couch.”

And Bruce…

Bruce looked up from his tablet one afternoon and said casually, “So when’s the wedding?”

You choked on your water while Bucky left the room.

Eventually, you stopped pretending.

You still bickered like cats in a sack. You still pranked each other with glitter bombs, hair dye in shampoo bottles, or emotionally incriminating Spotify playlists over the Tower speakers. But now there were quiet moments too. An arm around your waist on late nights. Soft smiles when one of you thought the other wasn’t looking. Kisses stolen between missions, sometimes bloody, sometimes breathless.

The whole team may have seen it coming before either of you did. But in the end, no one could deny it:

You and Bucky were still frenemies.

Just… now with benefits, bruises, and a whole lot more trouble for anyone who got between you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fic #marvel fic #bucky x you #rivals to lovers #avengers!reader #avenger!reader

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sophiethewitch1 · 1 year ago

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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malsmind · 4 months ago

Text

➸ hacker!matt telling popular!reader about coding & hacking ❥

you and matt sit at his computer, the glow of the screen casting a soft light over his face. his fingers flying across the keyboard as he explains something about networks and firewalls.

“so, basically, if you know what you’re doing, you can find vulnerabilities in a system and exploit them,” he says, his voice full of excitement. “but, like, ethically, you use it to test security. penetration testing, you know?”

you hum, only half following along, more focused on the way he talks—his voice animated, hands moving as he types, the slight furrow in his brows when he’s focused. you shift slightly in his lap, and he tightens his arms around your waist, absentmindedly resting his chin on your shoulder.

“okay, look,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “i’ll show you something simple.” he pulls up a window full of code, and you squint at it, trying to make sense of the seemingly random letters, numbers, and symbols.

“this looks like gibberish,” you say, and he lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“it’s not! this—” he points to a specific line— “is a script i wrote to check for weak passwords in a database. like, if someone uses ‘password123,’ i can see it’s vulnerable.”

you raise an eyebrow. “so you can just hack into anything?”

he smirks. “technically? yeah. but i wouldn’t. it’s illegal.”

“right, because you’re such a law-abiding citizen,” you tease.

he rolls his eyes but grins, his hands settling on your waist. “i just think it’s cool. like, understanding how systems work, breaking them down, and figuring out how to make them stronger.”

you watch his screen as he types out a few commands, explaining what each one does. you’re still not fully grasping it, but you love hearing him talk, love how passionate he gets about this stuff.

“you’re kind of a nerd,” you say, resting your head against his.

he huffs. “and yet, here you are, sitting in my lap, listening to me ramble about hacking.”

you smile. “yeah, because i like you.”

his hands squeeze your waist, and he tilts his head slightly, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. “lucky me, then.”

you watch the lines of code scroll across the screen, feeling his warmth against you, the steady sound of his typing filling the room. you might not understand everything he’s saying, youprobably never will, it's just not your world. but you don’t mind. as long as it’s him talking, you’ll listen.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws <3

—

series link

taglist

—

@backwardshatnick @sturniolosymphony @sturns-mermaid @realzula @courta13 @sturnzzlovee @chrissweetheart @sturniolosymphony @sturniolo1trips @freshsturnzx @sturnslutz @rcklessheavn

#hacker!matt sturniolo #hacker!matt #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo x reader smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic #christopher owen sturniolo #malsmind 𖦹 #ERR0R C0DE 💚

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swanlakex · 6 months ago

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Hi there y’all! Thanks so much for your love recently! I’ve been sick lately, so I wrote a silly little thing. Hope u likes! Perchance I’ll do more…?

Stalker!Sam Monroe hehehehe…

Sam Monroe loves watching you through your window.

Well, not really your window- but the window of the house you babysit in. He watches you as you wash dishes, corral the screaming five year old, and set the table with food that always looks unreasonably good.

He didn’t mind his neighbors. They were nice people, always took out their trash on time, never too loud, and their two kids were pretty cute. Sam had never really paid them or their house any attention, though. That is- until you came along.

You, in your yoga pants and baby tees that always left a little strip of abdomen when you walked. It drove him crazy. He was just sitting by his bedroom window one sunny afternoon when he saw you. Immediately, he was intrigued. He grew even more intrigued when he watched you walk through his neighbor’s yard and tap in their door’s key code. He’s been sneaking glances since.

Really, he’s been sneaking a little bit more than glances. When you’re over, which is only twice a week, he sits at his window and watches you in the kitchen. He sees you load and unload the dishwasher. He sees you prep snacks and juices. But his favorite thing is watching you sing along to the music you play. Sam figured out how to hack into the neighbor’s Alexa, so now he can listen along with you. God, your music is hot. He thinks. Misfits? Pantera? Are you trying to impress me? He likes that you keep it a bit girly, too. With old school Taylor Swift and Paramore. He chuckles to himself when you play air-guitar or grab a spatula to use as a microphone. When you pick up the youngest kid and bounce her around to Flyleaf, Sam swears he can see stars.

You live close, too. He found this out on a late, cold night in January. The sun had already set, and you walked out the front door and down the street. It’s way too cold and dark for you to be walking home, Sam thought. Anything could happen to you. Sure, it was a nice neighborhood, but bad stuff happens to beautiful girls like you anywhere. So, he did what any worried guy would do. He put out his blunt, pulled a hoodie over his head, and followed you home. Not like that, of course. It was from a distance. He just wanted to keep you safe- make sure nothing happened to you. And it very well could’ve, too, considering you had no idea you were being followed home on a fifteen minute walk. You didn’t turn around even once. Good thing Sam was there. You’re lucky.

He wishes he knew your name- he knows how old you are, and where you go to school (thanks to that school sweatshirt you wear constantly). Obviously, Sam would never make a move. He’s not like that. He doesn’t really care about girls like that, they’re just bodies to him. And you? It’s the same thing. Just- a body he wants to protect. A body he wants to take care of.

A body he wants to know everything about…

#sam monroe #fem reader #hayden christensen

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forsaken-headcanons · 22 days ago

Note

Yoo was the person to make this ask:

https://www.tumblr.com/forsaken-headcanons/781859721592373248/the-yksteldehs-skin-has-his-own-version-of-1x?source=share

I kept on having ideas for the other survivors so I made it into an au kind of

I call it nekasroF

ertcepS - actually a good guy, they originally trapped the survivors there because they're all evil in some way, but added the Killers because they want to see if they can get the survivors to work together and become good through the power of friendship or sm

booN - no clue what to do for them tbh. Thinking they'd hate snacks and stuff (might give them an eating disorder but i dont want to offend anyone so maybe not) the friendship with 666 tseuG wasn't that great and ended alot sooner than cannon forsaken

7n700 - was actually a normal guy at first, he was a pretty good dad too. After his son ddikl00c went missing, he decided to learn code and eventually started hacking and causing mayhem to distract himself from his grief.

emiT-owT - probably the sanest one there. Had beef with ezruA, like haramA and the other cult leaders probably had to make sure they didn't kill each other, until nawpS needed a sacrifice that is. After that they just handed emiT-owT a knife and let them go crazy

yksteldehS - was originally Telamon (i like to think that no matter what universe theyre from Telamon is morally grey before seperating the good and the evil from himself), and decided to be extra good to even out the evil done by his co-workers and did the whole separating into shedletsky and 1x1x1x1 deal, but fucked up and instead of removing his hatred he removed everything but his hatred. Causing him to be evil.

ecnahC - least evil of the gang tbh, only really did bad things because they had no other option. Grew up poor, gambles in hopes of winning big and helping his family instead of doing it for the adrenaline rush. Poor aim, they don't have alot experience with a gun before nekasroF, but they know enough to use it. Worked in the Mafia for a bit, but ended up leaving because it was too stressful. Idk what to do for their lore with itrapped tho, might do a follow up or something with it once their lore gets reworked.

7331 tseuG - idk how to turn this guy evil he's just that good of a guy, might make it to where he was taken to one of the guest camps when he was young and like murdered his way out of it but other than that I have no idea ToT

toillE - little greedy bastard. loves pizza, like to an unhealthy degree. He barely heals anyone, only giving pizza out if you're like one hit away from death (if you get to him before he eats it all that is) also doesn't have a grudge with 7n700 because he think their hacker shenanigans are funny

namredliuB - discourages creativity, only wears his work uniform cause self expression is bad. Probably stole his blueprints from a how to build book.

rakkesuD - doesn't rhyme, only uses magic for his own gain. etc

hpaT - not paranoid, only really covers his face and stuff because he blows shit up for fun and didn't want to go to jail. Fucking HATES namredliuB, exploding stuff is how he expresses himself so they don't get along. namredliuB doesn't know why hpaT hates him.

Killer time!! I only have ideas for 1x and c00lkidd so here are those two

ddikl00c - actually a preteen, currently in his "too cool to be into playing" phase. Still has his provision, but knows somthing is wrong with it. Everything's too uncanny and stuff. Realizes immediately that he just killed a bunch of people and tries to pretend that everything's fine until the ertcepS resets his memory to try to help.

x1x1x1x - everything but yksteldehS's hatred, only really kills because hes competitive and wants to win. Doesn't hate yksteldehS but still wants to defeat him because of honor or somthing

ertcepS really said "with the power of friendship!!" and tried putting them all into a get-along shirt I'm sobbing

side note emiT-owT's lore going from gut wrenching doomed yaoi to just "OH FINALLY I CAN KILL THIS BASTARD" is too funny

#forsaken headcanons #roblox forsaken #forsaken roblox #forsaken #the spectre forsaken #noob forsaken #elliot forsaken #007n7 forsaken #two time forsaken #chance forsaken #shedletsky forsaken #guest 1337 forsaken #builderman forsaken #dusekkar forsaken #taph forsaken #c00lkidd forsaken #1x1x1x1 forsaken #mod taph 💥

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sylviewrites · 3 months ago

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LADS | Readers' Choice Poll Results

Which Type of Reader do you want to see the most with the Love and Deepspace Men?

The audience chose: 　　 Zayne · Rafayel · Xavier · Sylus · Caleb

Currently working on:

៵ ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆ Zayne · Digital Love.

៵ ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆ Sylus · Crimson Codes.

Zayne

Mischievous & Free Spirited Gamer! Reader

　　　　 Digital Love

[Name] never really knew what to do with her life. She was always losing interest from any kind of job, or subject, she was focusing on.

But the one thing she never lost interest of?

Gaming.

And maybe that's everything that she needed. Along with her pretty little face and her personality, and the fact that she was chronically online and knew the do's and dont's, she got to experience the life of a quick uprising streamer.

And a certain Cardiologist from the Akso Hospital was experiencing her ascension with her, too. Even if it was as a fan behind the screen.

🥇 Mischievous and Free-spirited — Gamer Streamer Reader = 85 votes.

🥈 Reserved and Thoughtful — Artist Reader = 66 votes.

🥉 Chivalrous and Bold — Captain Hunter Reader = 54 votes.

Elegant and Sophisticated — Estate Manager Reader = 51 votes.

Rafayel

Soft Spoken & Resilient Assassin! Reader

　　　 Shell Daggers

Pain has become his own aphrodisiac, a sensation that clouds his mind like a fog of desire, consuming and burning him until he is nothing but ash amongst the very sand of a desert.

Rafayel thrived in agony.

So he didn't know what to do when the brittle and bleeding wounds of the past, have started healing under the hands of a monster. [Name] was supposed to be his enemy, the very person who he should be at least three cities away from, but he found that he was unable to look away, finding the similarities between them disheartening and unpleasant, not understanding the sudden surge of absolute longing.

Why does he always have to fall in love with the ones who want to kill him?

🥇 Soft Spoken and Resilient — Assassin! Reader = 79 votes.

🥈 Calm and Witty — Poet! Reader = 68 votes.

🥉 Jaded and Adventurous — Bodyguard! Reader = 42 votes.

Passionate and Spontaneous — Superstar! Reader = 38 votes.

Xavier

Caring & Mature Hunter Partner! Reader

　　　 Light in Doubt

Xavier knew everything about her the moment he met her.

From how she ordered her morning coffee, to how she scratched the nape of her neck everytime she felt awkward.

He knew continuing following her was wrong, but when she flashed him a smile, he knew deep in his heart there was no going back from that.

[Name] was far to important to him, and never in his life did he want to be a normal hunter so much before.

Because she lived in the light, and he lived in the shadows.

🥇 Caring and Mature — Hunter Partner! Reader = 69 votes.

🥈 Reliable and Flirtatious — Private Investigator! Reader = 46 votes.

🥉 Sarcastic and Protective — Lemurian Author! Reader = 23 votes.

Fierce and Ambitious — Vigilante! Reader = 18 votes.

Sylus

Genius & Strategic Hacker! Reader

　　　　Crimson Codes

[Name] [Last Name] had nothing at all. She was a careful woman with a sharp mind, but living the life of a informant for the shady part of Linkon City was never something that she wanted.

It was unfortunate that she was way too good in her job, because by hacking into the Onychinus Archives, she managed to draw the attention of the Onychinus Leader himself.

Sylus was intrigued by the skills of the person who managed to hack into the multilayered shielded archives of his organisation. He thought he could pay a visit to this worthy opponent, but he quickly drew a clean end when he realised that all evidence of their snooping have been completely erased.

Enter: Sylus Qin as he chases a opportunity that will lock the deal for him for the rest of his life.

🥇 Genius and Strategic — Hacker! Reader = 127 votes.

🥈 Smart and Optimistic — Doctor! Reader = 125 votes.

🥉 Sultry and Seductive — Secret Agent! Reader = 96 votes.

Rebellious and Unpredictable — N109 Zone Leader! Reader = 90 votes.

Caleb

Cheerful & Kind University Student! Reader

　　 Coffee with Cinnamon

Popular. Kind. Loving. Strong.

Those were the things that described [Name] if someone was to ask about her. She was a simple girl who wanted to study Philosophy, drawn in the words of wisdom written by her ancestors.

But everything changed when sister died in a freak accident.

Full of grief and uncertainty, [Name] isolated herself from the rest of the world, until a kind and caring man found her amidst a breakdown, and the paths of her future became forever altered.

🥇 Cheerful and Kind — University Student! Reader = 116 votes.

🥈 Stoic and Gentle — Fleet Soldier! Reader = 98 votes.

🥉 Brave and Timid — Baker! Reader = 92 votes.

Determined and Guarded — Street Fighter! Reader = 64 votes.

　　　　 ───────────────────────────

　　　　　　　Please do not steal my ideas.

　　　　　　　　　　　Thank you.

　　　　 ───────────────────────────

ᅠᅠ

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beautyinafruitfulworld · 11 days ago

Note

*Marco received a text on his phone in at 4:00 AM. It was from the hacker from several days ago. The message reads: 'Infiltrate the burnt ruins of Hope's Peak Academy, locate the ruins of the main Future Foundation, and locate any functioning computers. Download every bit of data off that computer and deliver them to these coordinates. Do not tell anyone about what you're doing or I'll leak your secrets to Morden.' A scary individual to have already obtained secrets of the Regular Army and threaten to sell them to Morden. Better to play it safe and do as he says for now.* @human-monodam

Since the days when the hacker fell silent, the Sparrowhawk Operations Base has been reconstructed with the electrical wiring and computer systems strengthened through extensive electrician work, thorough reprogramming, and stronger antivirus coding. Although the global virus issue remains a significant problem, it seems to have subsided somewhat. During the reconstruction of the destroyed Sparrowhawk Operations Base, Marco's team revealed their findings related to the fateful incident with T1M. However, Marco deliberately chose to remain quiet about being contacted by the creator of the H4CK 1MP5, fully aware that defying the hacker's wishes could jeopardise the entire Regular Army and his allies.

While the rest of his team and their accompanying scientist and peacekeeper allies is deployed to the battlefield to administer antivirus vaccines and combat the global hacking issue, Marco strangely chooses to stay behind. He somehow convinces his teammates that the Regular Army bases need him more than anyone else at that moment.

In the Joint Military Operations Headquarters, Marco is in one of the offices late at night, conducting research on H4CK 1MP5 and its creator, PH15H3R, while updating the computer systems. His phone unexpectedly buzzes, flashing briefly to indicate he has received a notification. He lets out a heavy sigh, stops typing, and picks up the cellphone, examining the message and carefully reading the text sent by the hacker. His brow furrows at the mention of Morden, but he decides to play along with what the hacker wants. He swiftly types a response:

[Got it. I'll retrieve the data and send it to the provided coordinates ASAP.]

He lets out a soft hum before gently placing his phone next to his laptop and proceeding to search for the location of Hope's Peak Academy.

#iron eclipse au #marco rossi

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elluminis · 2 months ago

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Batfam Fic Recs

The only fandom that I’ve read more fics for than One Piece is DC Comics, mainly centered on the batfam. And I have…a quite frankly obscene amount of bookmarks. So, here’s a list of my recommendations, organized (to the best of my ability) by relationship, with crossovers at the bottom. I have several more, so honestly you might see another list soon! Fics marked with a ❤️ are some of my all-time favorites!

Batfamily-Centered:

More Precious Than Gold by Drag0nst0rm (G)

In which Bruce is a dragon who hoards children, rather than treasure.

Batfam v. America by antebunny (T) ❤️

The batkids play a game of microaggression bingo at a gala :)

College Disaster by Tanaletheia (T)

In which Steph’s stats professor offers up a hilariously off-mark presentation, she invites Jason along for the ride, and the rest of the family enjoys from afar.

Send to All by kerosceene (T)

Because of course the batfam would have a sex pollen release form.

Loading and Aspect Ratio by JUBE514 (M)

The quintessential batfam wing fic!

Batfamily & Justice League:

‘Cause you mean more than anything (YOTP) by LovesFrogs (G)

In which the Justice League hears Batman refer to Robin as his “partner,” and some very incorrect assumptions are made. This series goes off the rails quickly in the best possible way :)

We’re Adopted?!? by schrijverr (G)

In which the batkids (namely Jason) enjoy being little shits.

Code Bat by Listentothelittlebird (G-T) ❤️

In which the bats leave the nest to come into their own, but always have a family to fall back on.

Jason Todd’s terrible, horrible, no-good very bad Week by slenderboo (T)

The title’s a pretty good summary lmao. Jason accidentally gets himself captured by the Justice League while Batman is off planet…

Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent:

there ain’t no star that shines by amosanguis (E)

In which Bruce insists on being Clark’s fake date to his high school reunion. The fake dating AU that we all wanted!

Dick Grayson-Centered:

Bludhaven Police Department by Lady_of_Lorule (G)

Or, how Sgt. Amy Rohrbach learns about Dick’s double life :)

Multilingual by Lady_of_Lorule (G)

In which the members of Young Justice try to figure out exactly how many languages Robin can speak.

touch starved by envysparkler (T)

In which Dick Grayson could really use a hug.

Dick Grayson/Wally West:

As Invisible as the True Stars at Daybreak by LovesFrogs (G)

Wally knows that something is off with Nightwing, but nobody else will listen to him…

Jason Todd-Centered:

Firewall by ashenice (T)

In which Jason is very cagey about protecting his identity as the Red Hood, but his brothers are determined to get through his prickly exterior and at least convince him to show them how to unlock his helmet.

Jason Todd & Tim Drake:

Brother Wanted by Vamillepudding (G)

In which Tim decides the solution to his loneliness is to hire an older brother.

charity by Valkirin (T)

Jason and Tim meet at a charity event as kids—Jason is normally annoyed to death by the other rich kids at these events, but Tim Drake listens to him from the start. I always adore some brotherly bonding, especially between these two :)

of crime lords and literature by adelfie (T)

In which Tim has his priorities straight, and asks a murderous Red Hood to help him with his English homework. The weirdest part is that it works.

Petals for Armor by SilverSkiesAtMidnight (T)

Trauma bonding, the fic!

phantom pain by envysparkler (T)

Sometimes, you need to walk a mile in somebody else’s shoes. And sometimes, you need to drop-kick your brother’s biological father.

Tim Drake-Centered:

cards on the table by wesslan (NR) ❤️

Tim Drake’s parents fled the country years ago, leaving him behind. But Tim is resourceful…using a combination of stalking, hacking, and good old-fashioned parlor tricks, he has a pretty steady gig going as a fortune teller, scamming the rich Gotham elites. It was going great…until he landed himself on the bats’ radar.

Into the Brighter Night by shoalsea (G)

Tim Drake is very good at coming up with plans. He is not very good at sharing them.

Little Overlooked Dreams by Lunette3002 (G)

An adorable de-aged Tim fic :)

wrong number by adelfie (G)

A feverish little Tim accidentally calls the Waynes rather than Mrs. Mac.

A Meditation on Railroading by eggmacguffin (T) ❤️

I debated on which category this fic belonged in, but I think it fits best here. This fic made me sob, for a few reasons. It’s an incredibly well-written portrayal of abuse, but as somebody who’s been gaslit by somebody I should have been able to trust? I saw myself in Tim here. And it hurt, but it was also so cathartic. I joke about fics changing my brain chemistry, but this one unironically had an impact on my mental health and how I viewed myself. So uh…good shit :)

a study by bernard dowd by cv_angels (T)

In which Bernard has figured out that Tim is a superhero, but he’s a little off base on which one…

Ain’t No Compass, Ain’t No Map by ebjameston (T)

Theo the CPS agent is doing his damndest, but for some reason the Red Hood wants to be granted legal custody over Tim Drake?

Banshee in a Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee) (T) ❤️

Tim was five when he died for the first time. Basically, what happens when you give a passively suicidal character the inability to die?

Date Roulette by AlyTyler (T)

An AU in which Jack Drake dies earlier, and Janet Drake discovers the wonders of bisexuality. Much to Tim’s dismay, she keeps dating people that he knows! Basically crack, but absolutely hilarious.

if you get lost (you can always be found) by corvidspectre (T)

What can I say, I love a good trans!Tim fic!!

I’ll Stand By You by TaraLaurel (T)

Tim is living on the streets after his parents kicked him out, when two not-strangers save him from getting his face punched in. A Tim joins the batfam early AU, with all of that good queer angst :)

Obedience by Sohotthateveryonedied (T)

Ella Enchanted, the fic! In which something is very wrong with Tim.

Off-Brand Bat by raven_of_hydecastle (G-T)

Tim commits identity theft, the series!

On the Way Home by ignesfatuis (T)

In which Tim is secretly a wolf-shifter, for better or for worse. I love a good supernatural AU, and I also love some good Tim angst. So…basically a perfect storm for me!

Rebellious teenagers don’t get coffee by Ididloveyou_once (T)

I was debating whether to put this under “Batfamily-centered” or here, but I ultimately decided it’s more of a “Tim and his brothers” fic than a “batboys” fic. Anyway, Tim throws a party while his parents are out, and Dick and Jason jump into big brother mode.

Settle Our Bones by batmoniker, justbeyondstars, & motleyfam (T)

In which Tim is forcibly assimilated into the batfamily early (and Jack and Janet Drake are, unsurprisingly, jackasses).

Shutterbug by goldkirk (G-T)

A classic for lovers of Tim Drake! Baby stalker Tim is forcibly adopted into the batfam early AU, the series :)

The Body Keeps the Score by StoriesAreMagic (T)

In which Tim is a metahuman with accelerated healing, and has parents who are very willing to take advantage of that. I love myself some Tim whump complete with Jack and Janet bashing :)

the capillaries in my eyes are bursting by Scarlet_Ribbons (T) ❤️

Maybe I just like to see Tim suffer? Because this is yet another fic where Tim is very much suffering.

Like a Hinge, Like a Wing by Ultrageekatlarge (M) ❤️

“The problem is that Tim’s spent the past month or so slowly getting murdered.”

This fic is so, so good. It’s absolutely horrifying—there are intimate descriptions of abuse and starvation, but good god is it well-written and incredibly compelling. I don’t think I’ve been on the edge of my seat quite like this with any other fic.

Tim Drake & Damian Wayne:

Trust fall by Ididloveyou_once (M) ❤️

Tim has an unexpected run in with his youngest brother at the Kent’s ranch. This fic is the one that made me love Damian—queer solidarity, the fic!

White Collar Crossovers:

Okay. Before I get into the fics. Please give these a chance! You don’t need to know much about White Collar—I sure as hell didn’t when I first started reading these crossovers, and now my third-most bookmarked fandom is White Collar. Solely because of the crossovers. All you really need to know is that Neal Caffrey, a nonviolent conman and prolific forger, was arrested for bond forgery and sentenced to four years in prison. He broke out towards the end of his sentence (because his girlfriend broke up with him) but upon being recaptured, he agreed to work as an FBI informant in exchange for work release. His handler is Peter Burke (married to the lovely Elizabeth “El” Burke), and the two frequently work alongside agents Diana Berrigan and Clinton Jones. There’s some good shit in here, I promise—there’s a reason why every other fic has a heart next to it :)

A Familiar Sound by dandelioness666 (G) ❤️

In which Dick!Neal runs into a kind Romani grandmother at an art gallery. This fic just…makes me feel warm, it’s absolutely gorgeous.

The Real Neal Caffrey by Squirrel806 (G) ❤️

This fic kills me every time, it’s so goddamn funny. In which “Neal Caffrey” is an identity donned by several members of the batfamily…at the same time.

blind (as a) bat by WhatTheHeckIsGoingOn (G-T)

In which Tim has prosopagnosia (face blindness) and has to temporarily take over Jason’s undercover gig as Neal Caffrey, all while hiding his face blindness from both the feds and his family.

Boy Serum by Amateum (T) ❤️

In which Dick!Neal gets hit with a spell that prevents him from telling lies—which is a bit inconvenient, especially when one is trying to successfully complete an undercover mission. Feat. identity porn, brotherly bonding, and some incredible action sequences!

Neal¹² by TheWitchBoy (T)

In which Neal is a role played by all members of the batfamily, to their eternal amusement and Peter’s eternal torment.

Nothing Can Shake This Family Tree by RandomReader13 (T) ❤️

This is actually two fics—both fantastic, but for two very different reasons. Dick!Neal is undercover (and trying to keep it that way) in NYC, Jason is catatonic following the attack from the Joker, and Tim is…trouble. I love this portrayal of Jason, and the author does an incredible job of getting across Dick’s fraying mental state. He’s under a lot of pressure, and by god can you feel it. 100% worth the read :)

State on behalf of Underaged Minors v. Wayne by Miss_Kitty (T)

This is an absolutely fascinating fic! I honestly don’t think I can say it any better than this excerpt:

“If they come looking for Batman, they can’t be allowed to find him,” Bruce tells this to every new child he takes under his cape. “If they get too close, all they will find is a man who hurts his children.”

The Unbreakable Caffreys ‘Verse by Miss_Kitty (T) ❤️

In which each member of the Wayne clan has another identity—a Caffrey, who exists separate and apart from the glitter and fame of Gotham, and settles instead around a mechanic’s shop in NYC. This is an absolutely brilliant idea, and the world building is incredible. A favorite of mine for a reason :)

What Makes a Gothamite by Dragonfly_Dream (T) ❤️

Almost every chapter is like one in a series of interconnected one-shots, exploring some creepy-ass Gotham-exclusive trait that Dick!Neal has brought over to NYC with him. A very fun read, especially if you love fucked up and sentient Gotham :)

While You Were Missing by caffeinatedbasil (T) ❤️

I know I talk about fics that altered my brain chemistry all the time, but this one had me legitimately sobbing every other chapter. Jason is undercover as Neal Caffrey, but a complication in the form of one Lian Harper comes running into his office one day. All of a sudden, Jason is a single parent, grieving a friend and a relationship that never was, all while doing his damndest to maintain his cover. Feat. a complex exploration of grief, batsiblings having each other’s backs, and all of the best angst of identity porn!

young, just us, and our muscle memory of double dutch by umanta (NR-T) ❤️

Oh look, another series of fics that altered my brain chemistry! In which Tim and Damian created the Neal Caffrey alias together, but Tim can’t stop running into members of Youn Justice. This has the fic that made me fall in love with Cissie King-Jones :)

anchor me (let me soar) by blueyeti (E)

This one is…literally just Birdflash smut that happens to be set in a WC crossover. But, some absolutely incredible smut! Basically, exhibitionism and bondage a la Birdflash :)

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