#hacker!reader

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi my love!!

Just wanted to bless you with this image of our man.

Why do I see a Bodyguard!Bucky x Hacker!reader pairing.

Like reader is a high class goverment employee and a military grade hacker, and she has the most valuable asset to a mission.

But girly is only into computers and not guns.

So how is she gonna protect herself?

Bucky, of course!

Sam’s says to Bucky that he’s gotta a job for him.

What’s the job?

To protect reader, of course!

🤭🤭🤭🤭

A stupid lil idea of mine, tehehe.

(Also, I love you!!! 🫶🏽🫶🏽💖💖)

The Bodyguard and The Hacker » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Female Reader

Summary: Sam has a job for Bucky and that’s to protect you while you’re doing your job.

Warnings: Fluff, language, pet names

A/N: @amathslutsguidetofandom I imagined this as a regular mission for Bucky so I hope you enjoy what I came up with🥰🤭

Written on my phone I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

“I have a job for you.” Sam says, walking up to Bucky.

“What is it?” Bucky asks.

“You’re going to be a bodyguard for Y/N tonight.” He tells him.

“The new hacker girl?” He asks.

“Yes.” He says.

“Ok.” He says.

Later that evening, there was an event going on at a company. Your job is to get information from them, but secretively.

“I need to get to the main office at the end of the hall to the right.” You whispered to Bucky.

Bucky nodded and guided you through the crowd of people. He would give anyone the death glare if they so much as looked at you. You took a right down the hallway and went straight to the main office with Bucky following behind you.

“This shouldn’t take long.” You say.

Bucky nodded and stood guard at the door. You got on the computer and put your hacking skills to work and pulled up the file you needed. You put the flash drive in the computer and the file transferred to the flash drive within 5 minutes. You disconnected it from the computer and shut the computer off.

“Here you go.” You say, handing the flash drive to Bucky.

Bucky put the flash drive in his pocket. He poked his head out of the office, making sure the coast is clear which it was. Bucky let you walk out first and he followed behind you. You two thought you were in the clear, but you weren’t. An employee seen you guys.

“Hey!” The employee shouts at you guys. “You two aren’t supposed to be in here!” He says.

The employee was about to grab your arm, but Bucky gently pushed you behind him. He pulled his gun out from his jacket pocket and pointed it at him.

“If you so much as touch her, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.” Bucky practically growls. “Do you understand?” He asks.

The employee gulped and nodded before running away in fear. Bucky put his gun away before turning to face you.

“Are you ok?” Bucky asks.

“I’m fine.” You smiled. “Thank you, Bucky.” You say.

“You’re welcome, doll.” He smiles. “Let’s get this flash drive to Sam.” He says.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[fromthechaoticmind]

A Snippet - Chapter 6

In all honesty - thank you for your patience. This chapter will be dropping next week, and will probably be the only one for this month due to Drabbles.

When we hit June I'll have to ability to focus more on this story again!

🐦‍⬛ (The Choices We Make Master List)

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Chapter 1: Ghost In the Machine

The hum of the fluorescent lights in "Byte Me" IT Solutions was a monotonous drone against the backdrop of Gotham's usual cacophony. Rain lashed against the grimy window, each drop a tiny percussionist drumming out a rhythm of misery. Inside, however, misery was a bit more… organized.

I sighed, wrestling with a particularly stubborn strain of ransomware. "CryptoLocker v. 7.3," the diagnostic screen read. A digital venereal disease, if you asked me. Another day, another infected grandma's laptop filled with pictures of her grandkids and a crippling fear that hackers were going to steal her identity.

"Still at it?" My coworker, Mark, sidled over, clutching a lukewarm mug of something vaguely resembling coffee. Mark was a good guy, perpetually optimistic despite working in one of Gotham's less-than-glamorous neighborhoods. Bless his heart.

"You know it," I replied, jabbing at the keyboard. "Think I've finally managed to corner the bastard. Just gotta… there!" The screen flashed a success message. "One less victim of the digital plague."

Mark nodded, then his eyes drifted to the hulking metal beast in the corner, a Frankensteinian creation of salvaged parts and mismatched wiring. "How's the behemoth coming along?"

I followed his gaze. My pet project. My escape. "Slowly but surely. Got the cooling system optimized today. Almost ready to fire it up."

"Planning anything special with it?" Mark asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity. "You've been collecting scraps for months. It's gotta be more than just a souped-up gaming rig."

I shrugged, a deliberately vague gesture. "You could say I'm planning something… big. Something Byte Me isn't equipped to handle."

Mark chuckled. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure you'll make it sing. You've got a knack for that sort of thing." He wandered off, whistling a jaunty tune that died a slow, agonizing death against the backdrop of the Gotham rain.

He had no idea just how much of a knack.

Mark bid me one final goodbye before pulling out an umbrella and disappearing into the night. No doubt he stops at Nero’s pizzeria before going home to his wife and kids. You watched through the shop window before he disappeared around the corner. Then, you locked the door and reached for the light switch. The fluorescent lights flickered a final, dying gasp before plunging the shop into darkness. I waited a beat, the city's distant sirens a mournful choir. Then, I flipped the hidden switch behind the breaker box, illuminating a small, secluded corner of the shop.

Rain hammered against the grimy windowpanes of my "office," a repurposed storage room tucked away in the forgotten bowels of the shop. The rhythmic drumming was almost hypnotic, a bleak lullaby for a city perpetually on the verge of collapse. I ignored it, fingers flying across the keyboard, the green glow of the monitor painting my face in an unsettling light. Outside, the city's distant sirens formed a mournful choir. Here, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.

"Almost there," I muttered, the words barely audible above the whirring of the ancient server rack humming in the corner. It was a Frankensteinian creation, cobbled together from spare parts and salvaged tech, but it packed enough processing power to crack even the most stubborn encryption algorithms. Laptops with custom OSes, encrypted hard drives, and a tangle of wires snaked across the desk. This was Ghostwire Solutions, my little side hustle. My… outlet.

Tonight's victim, or client – depending on how you looked at it – was a low-level goon. One was a two-bit thug named "Knuckles" Malone; the other, a twitchy character smelling of desperation, Frankie "Fingers" Falcone. Malone's burner phone, or Falcone's data chip containing an encrypted message, was now on the screen in front of me, a jumble of characters that would make most people's eyes glaze over. For me, it was a puzzle. A challenging, if morally questionable, puzzle.

My service, "Ghostwire Solutions," was discreet, to say the least. No flashy neon signs, no online presence, just word-of-mouth referrals whispered in dimly lit back alleys. I was a ghost, a digital shadow flitting through the city's underbelly, connecting people. That's how I liked to justify it anyway. I cracked my knuckles and went to work. My fingers danced across the keyboard, feeding the encrypted text into a series of custom-built algorithms, each designed to exploit a specific vulnerability. Hours melted away, marked only by the rhythmic tapping of keys and the soft hum of the custom-built rig in the corner, its processing power gnawing away at the digital lock.

The encryption finally buckled. A cascade of decrypted data flooded the screen. I scanned through it, a jumbled mess of texts, voicemails, location data, or a simple message detailing a meeting point and time. Mostly dull stuff about late payments and turf wars, the mundane reality of Gotham's criminal element. I extracted the relevant information.

"Alright, Frankie," I muttered to myself, copying the decrypted message onto a clean file. "Just connecting people. That's all I'm doing."

I packaged the data into a neat little file, added a hefty markup to my initial quote, and sent it off via an encrypted channel. Within minutes, the agreed-upon sum, a few hundred cold, hard dollars, landed in my untraceable digital wallet. I saved the file to a new data chip and packaged it up. Another job done. Another night closer to sanity's breaking point.

"Just connecting people," I repeated, the phrase tasting like ash in my mouth. The lie tasted even worse. I knew what I was doing. I was enabling crime. I was greasing the wheels of Gotham's underbelly. But bills had to be paid. It was a convenient lie, a way to sleep at night knowing I was profiting from the chaos. But tonight, it felt particularly hollow. And honestly, did it really matter? Gotham was already drowning in darkness. What was one more drop?

Gotham was a broken city, a machine grinding down its inhabitants. The system was rigged, the rich got richer, and the poor fought over scraps. I wasn't exactly helping to fix things. But I wasn't making it worse, right? I was just a cog in the machine, a necessary evil. I was good at what I did, damn good. I could see patterns where others saw chaos. I could exploit vulnerabilities, both in code and in the systems of power that held Gotham hostage. It was a skill, a talent, and in this city, unique talents were currency. I was efficient and discreet. But every decrypted message, every bypassed firewall, chipped away at something inside me. It hollowed me out, leaving me a ghost in my own life, a wire connecting the darkness.

I leaned back in my creaky chair, the rain still pounding against the window. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and melancholy. Another night, another decryption, another small victory against the futility of existence in Gotham. The flicker of conscience, that annoying little spark that refused to be extinguished, flared again. Was I really making a difference? Or was I just another parasite feeding off the city's decay?

I closed my eyes, trying to silence the questions. Tomorrow, there would be another encryption to crack, another connection to make. And I would be ready, Ghostwire ready to disappear into the digital ether, another ghost in the machine, until the next signal came. As I waited for the morning, for the return of the fluorescent lights and the mundane reality of "Byte Me" IT Solutions, I wondered if one day, the darkness I trafficked in would finally claim me completely. Because in Gotham, survival was a code all its own, and I was fluent in its language. And frankly, some days, that didn't seem like such a bad deal. For now, that was enough.

[chopper-mon]

CMND/CTRL | index

gum. that’s what they call him. or her, nobody really knows.

prologue

ch. 1 - engine no. 9

[apocalypse-shuffle]

Five times he finds himself falling for you w/ ALEC•H

SFW, 16+, mild profanity, canon typical sexual themes, 5+1 Things -chubby!reader & alt!reader/goth!reader

This follows an (altered) aftermath of the mission in S3E7: “The Gone Fishin’ Job”.

#TWO

After the run in with the militia you insist on coming over to see him, and he likes the fact that you stayed too much to deny you your request.

You fussed over him until he got you to stop freaking and then you two talked for hours. You’d even brought him get well soon cookies and that was the shit (and very kind of you he was very flattered).

You’d asked to stay over again to binge watch series like you used to in college until he felt better (he was only playing up his injuries a little bit, okay?) and so as the sky got darker you’d gone to change.

Alec had just about been holding his breath for you to walk back out in the same two piece set as last time.

What you’d come out in instead was way more intricate than the last time. The cami and shorts had really worked for you, don’t get him twisted, but this somehow managed to upstage it.

It was a black slip dress for Christ's sake. One that suited your figure nicely at that. The back of it just barely went over your behind and everything - not that he let his clocking of those observations get disrespectful of course.

Once the time came, you’d changed the bandages Eliot dressed him with and redressed the cuts scattered all over his person. After that Alec would admit to being almost too caught up by your heat pressed against him to keep up with your excited barrage of chatter about the newest issues of Hellblazer: City of Demons and Hellboy Sacrifice.

Almost.

They weren’t the comics he frequented but it was nice to know you still liked the same stuff, and nice to see how animated you got while helping him out as he engaged in the topic of discussion with you.

That familiarity was good. It was safe and uncharted all at once and Alec couldn’t help but to be drawn in by that feeling.

That sense that - finally - something new was brewing on the horizon that didn’t include loft explosions and Alec running for his damn life because he refused to not fight for the little guy anymore.

That was the old him.

He watches, smiling and with a nearly shocked brow raised, as you draw literary parallels like they’re second nature (as easy to you as writing code) and realizes that this was a new you too.

A new you he hopes to get more opportunities to relearn.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I didn’t specify what comics the Reader-Insert was talking about to un-generalize her too much; it’s just supposed to point out her and Alex’s juxtaposing similarities and show that she’s a lil alternative. Think PenPen before the BAU kind of - but black, obviously.

btw: there is basically nothing here but you can write a lil comment if you want to.

[the-whispers-of-death]

Stone who gets security cameras in his bedroom. Matter of fact, he has security cameras all around his house, and one day his cameras get hacked by a white hat hacker reader.

Stone gets a text from a random number he's never seen and the text just says

"you should get better security, I got in"

"BTW why do you have security cameras in your bedroom???"

Stone's freaking out and gets rid of all his security cameras and like a few weeks later he gets a few boxes at his door addressed to him

And it's 36 state of the art, high quality locks for his house and windows and shit as well as a box of cinnamon free chai

Which makes Stone panic even more

Hacker!reader keeps sending him care packages that relate to Stone's interests and Stone is like "HOW DOES THIS PERSON KNOW ALL OF THIS STUFF ABOUT ME"

Reader means well but he's making Stone's paranoia worse

-🪮

Stone in my head: I'm never getting security cameras for my house, nope, nope.

Hacker!Reader might want to run. Stone might be tech averse but he has friends who aren't tech averse and have ways of finding people.

But by the time they meet, Reader could probably endear Stone to him and make him not want to kill him for the violation of privacy. So there's that. After all, Reader did try and help him see that the security cameras weren't good.

[spinningspencer]

This has changed my brain chemistry

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.”

[deansbeer]

a quiet kind of forever ・ VHACKER. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ pinned library

SYNOPSIS. morning cuddles with a shirtless vinnie in his parents' backyard patio? yeah, you're definitely living the dream. his strong taut arms. seattle mornings. whispered confessions. a love story told in soft kisses and the scent of pine.

WARNING(S). fluff | kissing | fem!reader | domestic fluff | established relationship.

KARI NOTES. i haven't written for him in what feels like ages. i genuinely feel so bad. anyway! so this cute lil fic idea was based off this TIKTOK of him && poncho. i can't stress enough how good he looks. this was kept on repeat btw.

the morning sun filters through the trees surrounding vinnie's parents' home in seattle, casting dappled shadows across the back patio. you're wrapped in vinnie's arms, your body pressed against his as you both stand outside, enjoying the crisp air and each other's company.

vinnie's wearing black baggy sweatpants that hang low on his hips, showcasing the perfect v-line of his abdomen. he's shirtless, his tattooed skin on full display in the soft morning light. his black fitted cap sits backwards on his head, a few strands of curls peeking out from underneath. you can't help but admire how effortlessly handsome he looks, even in his casual attire.

your outfit is equally relaxed - a black cropped tank top that reveals a sliver of your midriff, paired with light gray baggy sweatpants and white socks. your hair is clipped back messily, still tousled from sleep. it's clear you both just rolled out of bed, drawn outside by the beautiful morning and the desire to be close to one another.

your hands rest loosely around vinnie's bare torso, fingers tracing idle patterns on his warm skin. his own hands are settled on your lower back, thumbs rubbing small circles just above the waistband of your sweatpants. the touch is gentle, almost absent-minded, but it sends little shivers of pleasure up your spine.

vinnie dips his head to the side, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. his lips trail down to your ear, where he nips playfully at your earlobe. you can feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, "you're so beautiful in the morning, you know that?"

you can't help the smile that spreads across your face, burying your chin deeper into his shoulder to hide your flushed cheeks. "shut up," you murmur, but there's no real protest in your voice.

he chuckles, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. "nah," he replies, placing another kiss just below your ear. "i love seeing you like this - all soft and sleepy and mine."

your heart swells at his words, and you press a kiss to his bare shoulder. your lips linger on his skin, savoring the warmth. "i love being here with you," you admit softly. "seeing where you grew up, meeting your family... it feels all so special."

vinnie's arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. "it is special," he agrees. "having you here, in my hometown... it's like two parts of my world coming together."

you lift your head to meet his gaze, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. sometimes it still amazes you how this boy, who seems so confident and carefree to the rest of the world, can be so vulnerable and open with you.

"i'm glad i'm here," you tell him, reaching up to cup his cheek. your thumb brushes over the light stubble on his chin, and he leans into your touch.

vinnie turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, then grins mischievously. "me too. although, i gotta say, i'm a little worried about leaving you alone with my mom. who knows what embarrassing stories she'll tell you."

you laugh, shaking your head. "oh, i'm counting on those stories. i need all the dirt i can get on little vinnie hacker."

he groans dramatically, but the smile never leaves his face. "i knew this was a mistake. you and my mom are going to team up against me, aren't you?"

"absolutely," you confirm with a nod. "it's my solemn duty as your girlfriend to collect as many embarrassing childhood stories as possible."

vinnie's eyes soften at the word 'girlfriend', and he leans in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. when he pulls back, he's smiling that smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. "well, as long as you still like me after hearing all those stories, i guess i can't complain too much."

you pretend to consider this, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "hmm, i don't know. what if i find out you were, like, a total goof in middle school? that might be a deal-breaker."

vinnie laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet morning air. "baby, i hate to break it to you, but i was definitely a goof in middle school. probably still am, if we're being honest."

you grin, sliding your hands up his back to rest on his shoulder blades. the movement brings your bodies even closer together, and you feel vinnie's breath hitch slightly. "good thing i like goofs, then," you tease.

vinnie's eyes darken a bit as he looks at you, his gaze dropping to your lips. "oh yeah? how much do you like them?"

you lean in, your lips barely brushing against his as you speak. "why don't you find out?"

before you can close the distance, vinnie suddenly spins you around, pulling your back against his chest. his arms wrap around your waist, and he rests his chin on your shoulder. "nuh-uh," he says, his voice playful. "you can't distract me that easily. we're out here to enjoy the morning, remember?"

you laugh, leaning back into his embrace. "fine, fine. i guess the view is pretty nice."

and it is. from the back patio, you can see the lush green of the surrounding trees, their leaves rustling gently in the morning breeze. the sky is a clear, pale blue, with just a few wispy clouds drifting lazily overhead. it's peaceful in a way that's different from the constant buzz of activity you're used to in california.

vinnie hums in agreement, his chest vibrating against your back. "it is," he says, "but i think my view is better."

you roll your eyes, even though he can't see it. "that was cheesy, even for you."

"you love it," he retorts, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

you don't bother denying it, because you both know it's true. instead, you lean your head back against his shoulder, closing your eyes and just breathing in the moment. the fresh morning air, the warmth of vinnie's body against yours, the quiet chirping of birds in the distance — it all combines to create a perfect, peaceful bubble that you wish you could stay in forever.

vinnie seems to be thinking along the same lines. "we should do this more often," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "just... be together. no phones, no cameras, no schedules. just us."

you nod, reaching down to lace your fingers with his where they rest on your stomach. "i'd like that," you agree softly. "although i'm not sure how we'd manage it with your crazy schedule."

he sighs, nuzzling into your neck. "we'll figure it out," he says with determination. "i'll make time. you're worth it."

your heart swells with affection, and you turn in his arms to face him again. "you're a pretty awesome boyfriend," you tell him, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

vinnie grins, that cocky, charming smile that first caught your attention all those months ago. "i know," he says with a wink.

you laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "and goofy, too," you tease.

"the goofiest," he agrees solemnly, before breaking into another grin.

you can't resist anymore. you rise up on your toes, pressing your lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss. vinnie responds immediately, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck as he deepens the kiss.

when you finally pull apart, you're both a little breathless. vinnie rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed and a content smile on his face. "i love you," he whispers, so quietly you almost miss it.

your heart skips a beat. it's not the first time he's said it, but it still sends a thrill through you every time. "i love you too," you whisper back, your fingers tracing the lines of the snake tattoo over his collarbone and neck.

vinnie opens his eyes, meeting your gaze with so much warmth and affection that it almost overwhelms you. "yeah?" he says, his voice soft and a little awed, as if he still can't quite believe it.

"yeah," you confirm, smiling up at him. "always."

he kisses you again, slow and deep, pouring all his feelings into it. when you break apart this time, you're both grinning like idiots.

"come on," vinnie says, taking your hand. "let's go inside. i think i smell mom making pancakes."

as you follow him back into the house, your hand in his, you can't help but feel grateful for this moment - for the chance to see this side of vinnie, to be a part of his world in a way that feels so intimate and so real. you know that moments like these — quiet, perfect, and filled with love — will always be worth it.

[f1rewr1t3r]

which characters would this be

"im telling you that girl/boy is trouble.. uh- where are you going"

"gonna go get into trouble"

[nottslove]

DICK PICS

Pairing: hacker!theo x spy!reader

3.7k words

Summary: unable to sleep after your boss puts pressure on you to catch the most wanted hacker in the country, you toss and turn until your phone lights up with a message from an unknown number. the stranger sounds oddly familiar, and before you know it, you begin to find comfort in this mysterious stranger and even begin to get a little...... vulnerable.

Warnings: QUITE LONG, 18+, smut under the cut, modern au, porn with minimal plot, voyeurism, somewhat stalking, exploitation, sexting, mutual masturbation, semi-public, dirty talk, cursing, not for minors.

Tags: @the-sylver-dragon, @clairesblouse @nottsstar

Author's note: preferable to read on camera first, but can be read as a standalone too.

HE had been watching you for weeks, watching you fail at your mission of hunting him down, over and over again.

After days and days of searching, you got a lead. Your boss had given you his name; Theodore Nott, Theo Nott for short.

You scoured the internet after that; checking every big, social media platform you'd ever heard of— Instagram, Tiktok, Twitter, Linked In, Facebook— all of which led you nowhere.

Little did you know, as you ransacked the online archives for any trace of him, he was watching you from his screen, with your special cameras of the highest quality, bought and installed in every room because of your dangerous profession.

A smirk on his lips as you typed his name into various search bars, over and over again.

"Enjoying the ride, pretty?" he muttered to himself, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. "I can give you something better to ride, and you'd enjoy it a whole lot more—"

He watched you grow frustrated; he watched you repeatedly bang your head on the nearest surface with every dead end you reached, he watched you throw things in frustrated after every phone call from your boss, after telling him you had made little to no progress.

He watched you skip sleep; he watched you skip meals, fall into quiet desperation, and suddenly... it wasn't so fun any more.

Being so close, yet so far.

It wasn't fun knowing he was the reason you kept reaching dead ends. It wasn't fun knowing he had been leading you on a wild goose chase the entire time, knowing very well he was redirecting you to the same 404 ERROR. Page not found message.

As he watched you on his screen, tossing and turning on your bed, unable to sleep, he suddenly had an idea to get you to relieve a bit of your stress.

He wasn't sure it would work; you were a smart one after all, and Theo knew that after observing you for months.

Still, it was worth a try.

Having been watching you for so long, it was only fair he had memorized your phone number, and his fingers dialed the digits naturally, as if he had done it for years.

And then, his breath hitched with nervousness, his fingers shaking, he sent you a message.

The past few weeks had been utter hell for you. Your boss had been calling you nonstop, asking if you'd gotten an update for him, and every time you explained that you'd reached a dead end, suffocating pressure surrounded you from all sides, closing in on you.

Yet again you found yourself in the same place, no idea, no clue who and where Theo Nott was. And your boss was getting impatient and restless.

So were you.

You hated this guy, for making himself so hard to find, for being so good at what he did that he was practically untraceable.

Hunting him had become something you did every day, and your entire routine was messed up.

It occupied your mind at all times. Any moment you spent not searching for him was considered wasted.

To the point where you were skipping meals and sleep to look for him. And you had a feeling you were close, so fucking close to catching the bastard.

You weren't.

Not even a little bit.

Not when you felt yourself grow closer and closer, only to reach the same dead end, the same bright, white page flashing in front of you, reading, Error code 404. Page not found.

It exasperated you, made your blood boil beyond control, feasted on your thoughts and sent you spiraling out of control.

And now, once again, like every night, you were awake at a time way past midnight, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Everything annoyed you; the ticking of the clock, the serenity outside, the rustling of the trees in the wind outside...

You wanted it to stop.

The next thing you knew was that your phone screen lit up beside you and a loud ping sounded, interrupting your restless thoughts.

You picked up the phone, noticing that the notification you received was from an unknown number.

Looking for me, pretty?

Reading it, your breath hitched as you stared at the screen, eyes furrowing and staring continuously at the message.

Instantly, your fingers flew across the keyboard as you typed out a message, turning on the bedside lamp beside you and propping yourself up on your pillows, leaning against the headboard of the bed.

Who's this? you typed back.

Answer my question first, doll

Perhaps it was sleep, or exhaustion, or something else, but your thoughts were most definitely clouded.

Normally, you would have blocked the number. But something, something told you to continue chatting to this mysterious person. He sounded so familiar, even though you were one hundred percent sure you had never come across him before.

Yes, you assumed it was a him. You couldn't explain it; it just felt like it was a him.

And the him sounded strangely.... attractive. Oh well, a little flirting wouldn't hurt... You could always block the number if things began to get a little freaky for you to handle.

You typed out your answer.

Maybe... Do you want me to look for you?

Yes. Fuck. I do

You stifled a gasp at his blatant response. He sounded desperate, wild, and you hadn't even seen this person's face.

Tell me your name then

Oh no, pretty. Not so fast.. It doesn't work that way

Disappointment flooded you as you looked at the screen, a sigh of defeat leaving you.

Until you saw the next messages.

You're not the only one asking questions here, doll. To get answers, you must be willing to give answers. Are you willing to do that?

Yes, you wrote.

Because screw it. You'd been overworking yourself like the only machine in a giant factory and you deserved a little time to just be yourself, even if you were talking to a stranger.

You were safe, you couldn't get hurt through the phone anyway. Besides, you had the world's best security system. Any intruder would be caught the moment they set foot even a mile within the radius of your mansion.

Throwing your job out of your mind, and your training, you let your guard down. You already knew everything about internet safety, you didn't need to be taught, like a goddamn child. You were no match for the stranger anyway, you could track him in minutes.

Good girl

The words sent a sudden jolt of surprise through you, and your stomach flipped.

My name is Laura. Will you tell me your name now?

You didn't tell him your real name, of course. Your co-worker's name was the first one that slipped into your head, and you typed that out without second thought.

Nice try, princess. Didn't know you'd be so good at lying

"Shit," you breathed, closing your eyes for a second, the feeling of dread coursing through you. Your heart stopped, and you knew you were fucked. Truly fucked.

He knew.

You couldn't even try to explain how the bastard knew.

How'd you know?

Because your real name is not Laura

How do you know that?

I just do. But I don't want your name I want something else

And then you'll tell me your name?

I'll give you my initials

You paused, your brows furrowing as you looked at his latest messages, trying to think of what to reply.

You were pretty sure you could use his initials to figure out who he was. Besides, a little bit of mystery was essential in order to enjoy life...

Fair enough. What do you want?

Right now? I just want to talk to you

Your lips curled up the slightest bit at the slightly sweet yet smooth reply from the other end of the phone.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, biting your lower lip, trying to figure out what to reply to that, when you saw the moving three dots again. He was typing...

My initials are T.N You can call me T

On seeing his initials, your heart stopped. You knew he sounded familiar, looked familiar, was familiar, but you were positive, absolutely positive you had never spoken to him before.

And then it hit you, where you had seen those initials before.

Realization flickered all over your features, and your breath hitched. It was so, so clear. You had spent the past couple of months searching for him.

How come you hadn't seen it before, the way had started the conversation with Missed me, Pretty? instead of a Hi or Hello, like any normal guy.

He was Theo Nott.

Theodore FUCKING Nott, the country's most notorious, wanted hacker.

How had he known, you had been looking for him? Should you play dumb? Or tell him the game was over?

Decision making had always come easy to you, but right now, you found yourself stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

If you told him you knew his full name, it might scare him away and make it harder for you to find him, and make your boss yell at you, overall making your life miserable.

If you played dumb... He could get bored.

And then an idea struck you.

What if you flirted? Used your powers of seduction to lure him out? To get him to fall for you?

That way, you could finally catch him, after asking him to meet you somewhere.

A slight smirk crossed your lips as you typed out your next message.

What if I want to call you... something else?

As Theo's eyes fell on the message, his eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. His heart rate picked up, and he could already feel the familiar hardness ache between his legs as he looked at your message.

Were you flirting with him? If you were, it was fucking hot.

The question had taken him off-guard, and he had no clue what to answer.

Like what?

Asshole, you wrote back a little smirk on your lips, toying with him.

I'd prefer you call me daddy, Theo wrote back, his own expression matching yours, as he flirted with you with smooth confidence.

In your dreams

For that to happen, I'd need to hear your voice

And then it was your turn to stare at the phone like it was some foreign object.

You took a deep breath, unable to figure out what to reply. Part of you wanted to send an audio message, but you despised the way you sounded on a recording— it was too... cheesy, too embarrassing.

You could call him, but at the same time, it was far too soon for that. You weren't ready.

I'll let you hear my voice on one condition... you wrote, furiously chewing on your lower lip as you dropped your phone on your thighs and rubbed your palms on the sheets, trying to stop them from getting clammy.

What do you want, princess?

I can't sleep. I need help... relaxing... You dropped the clue as it was, you didn't know if you were being too forward, or not; the lack of sleep had most definitely messed with your head.

He was losing his mind, seeing you respond to him with such brazen confidence.

His need for you grew, and as he muttered a "fuck it," to himself, he stopped beating around the bush and matched your energy, adrenaline fueling through him, the sheer desperation of seeing where this would go messing with his mind.

What, your fingers too small to do the trick?

Your jaw dropped slightly. You couldn't believe the audacity. A light blush coating your cheeks, you pressed your thighs together without realizing, unable to come to terms that he had just teased you.

You couldn't let him win.

More like my boyfriend has a small dick

Holy—

Theo couldn't believe his eyes. He had always associated you with innocence, obliviousness. Seeing you through the camera go about your daily life without suspecting you were being watched had made his dick hard, more times that he could count, but having you flirt with him? Interact with him in such a way? That was something else.

He was suddenly rock hard under his sweats, his dick heavy and hard as he tried to imagine what it would be like to watch you touch yourself whilst texting him.

His blood boiled at the mention of your boyfriend... He had seen the asshole many times at your place, and he always activated the alarm system or the sprinklers whenever he came to your place.

You of course, always thought there was a glitch in the system, never once suspecting that it was all orchestrated.

And you're telling me this... why?

One thing you knew was that men liked to have their egos stroked, and what better way to flatter Theo than to tell him he was better than your boyfriend?

This was a sure way to get him to fall for you.

Of course, you had no clue about how big he was, neither did you care. All you cared about was catching him and handing him over to your boss.

That was what you thought of, when you typed in your next reply.

Because I get the feeling that you're bigger

Theo's vision was suddenly botched, and before he knew it, his sweatpants and boxers were shoved down his thighs, past his knees and were pooled around his ankles.

His cock sprung out, with a resounding smack against his abs, which clenched as he wrapped his fist around his girth, thumb stretching out to swipe a bead of precum dripping from the tip and smearing it messily across the length.

Are you always such a slut? Thinking of getting off to a stranger's cock?

Afraid to answer my question, T? Maybe you're not big...

You knew very well what you were doing, spurring him on, aggravating him, getting him hooked on you, getting him so completely drunk to talking to you.

You want proof, Princess?

Well, I'm not opposed to it...

You stared at the screen, and the three typing dots, your breath hitched as you awaited his response.

And then, it flashed across the screen.

A picture of his dick.

Your mouth watered slightly, and the slickness between your thighs grew. You couldn't stop the heat that suddenly filled the room despite the AC being on.

"Fuck," you breathed, your eyes glued to the screen.

You hadn't been wrong. He was bigger than your boyfriend— waaaayyyy bigger.

That good enough for you, pretty? he wrote, heart pounding in his chest, confidence dripping from him.

He could see you through the camera in your bedroom, staring at the picture longer than necessary, your eyes wide and your pupils dilated.

Not quite... Got a little problem now, thanks to you

Oh? he replied, waiting for you to elaborate, waiting for your next message.

My panties are soaked

Just with one pic??? I knew it. You're such a fucking slut. So wet, and you haven't even been touched...

The way he degraded you made you whimper, and before you knew it, you had wriggled out of your tiny, satin shorts, leaving your lower half completely bare, save for your tiny panties.

Are you gonna help me out, or not?

She's such a minx, Theo thought, gaze darkening as his gaze fell on his computer screen, where you were all spread out on your bed like a fucking feast, wearing nothing but a satin camisole and a tiny pair of panties.

And then, he unleashed himself.

Whatever you're wearing right now, take it off.

If you weren't turned on, you wouldn't have listened, but you slid your camisole off as well as your panties, your nipples hardening as they stood, begging for attention the moment they made contact with the cool air.

Now what?

He took a while to type the next message, and you stared at the screen with bated breath, watching him type for what felt like a very long time.

And then, his message arrived, and as you read it, you let out a quiet whimper.

Touch yourself, pretty Make yourself feel good Put your hand around your neck, and squeeze slightly, imagine it's mine Then let your hands wander

Little did you know, his eyes watched you through the cameras in your bedroom, lying back on your bed wearing absolutely nothing...

"Fucking slut—" he muttered, as your fingers applied slight pressure on your neck, blocking your airway and slowing your breathing. "Who knew you'd have such a filthy mind?"

He watched your hands wander downwards, watched you tease your nipples, watched your fingers pinch the hardened nubs until they were stiff, aching peaks.

The thought was enough to fuel his arousal, enough to get his dick harder than it had ever been.

He fisted his hand around his girth, his grip tight as he tried to imagine spilling his load all over your pretty tits.

Okay, you wrote back, one hand on the phone, the other alternating between teasing both your tits, trying to give them equal attention.

Does that feel good?

Yes

Such a nasty fucking whore, aren't you? So fucking needy for attention, even from a fucking stranger

His words elicited another whimper from your lips, and the ache between your thighs deepened; you were aching for relief.

Your fingers slipped lower, down to your slick folds, your index finger gliding so easily across the puffy lips of your cunt, and as your nail grazed against your clit, another mewl left your lips.

I need more, you wrote to Theo, hoping, just hoping he would send you another picture of his junk.

That's my little slut, so damn needy Put a finger inside that greedy cunt, doll I bet you're soaked Got me so fucking hard for you, pretty

Prove it, you wrote, challenging him into giving you want you wanted; another picture.

You finally gave into the temptation and slid a finger inside your sopping folds, a low moan leaving your lips as you arched your back.

And then Theo sent another picture, his dick stood tall, and erect, slightly curved, the tip angry and red and glossy with precum that bubbled out and trailed lower to his balls in a thin, seductive line.

God, he was huge, and you knew, you somehow knew that he was a goddamn fuck machine; he could ruin you.

Use your fingers to get yourself off, baby Think of my cock inside you You'd be so fucking full

Don't think you'd fit, you replied back, biting your lip as you gave him a completely honest answer.

You're too big

Fuck doll, you're driving me fucking mental

And then you added another finger, bucking your hips into your hand, your juices trickling down your thighs and your fingers, curling around your wrist and to the mattress, making a goddamn mess everywhere.

You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the pleasure as your phone slipped from your fingers and landed somewhere on the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

You couldn't care enough to pick it up, your thoughts were completely clouded as you rode your fingers, arching your back and moaning like a bitch in heat, as your thumb pressed against your clit, your other hand teasing your nipples; pulling, pinching, groping, twisting, your eyes closed as you thought of his dick, filling you up and rearranging your internal organs.

"Fuuuuck," you groaned softly. "God, feels so good—"

And then, as you added a third finger into your sopping wet cunt, stretching yourself out more than you could handle, you curled your fingers until they reached that deep squishy space before you lost all control of yourself as your orgasm wrecked through you like a fast fucking freight train.

Your juices spilled everywhere, uncontrollably, drenching your sheets and your hands, the heady scent of your fluids mingling with your sweat and natural scent.

Then, you brought your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean.

Oh, you were so totally oblivious to the way Theo jerked off to the sight of you pleasuring yourself, his balls tightening to the thought of claiming you, filling you up with his cum until it was dripping out of you for days.

"Shiiiiit— gonna cum inside that pretty pussy one day, mark my words," he swore, dragging his fist faster up and down the length of his wet, sticky cock.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you cumming all over your hand, making a mess on your bed, pupils blown so wide that his irises were nearly engulfed.

And then, his quickened his pace, wrist flicking faster as he drew closer to his high, loud groans leaving his lips.

"That's right, make a mess— fucking slut— my messy slut, wanna feel you clamp down on my cock, gonna fucking come all over that pretty cunt..." he groaned, his words mere broken fragments that made better sense in his head than when spoken out loud.

And with a final growl tearing from his throat, he finally came, unloading a thick, hot stream of semen into his hand, his break coming out in sharp, ragged gasps, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon.

He didn't bother cleaning up as he picked up his phone, typing out a quick one-handed message to you.

Lick those fingers clean, pretty...

Already did ;)

Fuck, there's my filthy girl So fucking hot Bet you taste like honey

You didn't bother with putting your clothes back on, you merely covered yourself with the cool, Egyptian cotton sateen sheets, which you intended to change the next morning.

Wouldn't you like to know?

Feel better, pretty? He typed back, watching you adjust your pillows in a manner that suited your comfort better.

Much. I'm going to sleep now Have a nice night, asshole

You smiled to yourself as you wrote to him, flicking the switch of your bedside lamp, turning it off, waiting for Theo's response.

You too, princess.

Not so far away, Theo found himself grinning like an idiot as he looked at the screen.

Oh, he was so fucking whipped.

apologies for being missing in action lately.. have an essay due in three days and i've barely written half... hope you guys like this though. special thanks to @dearmisshoney for being the absolute sweetest and giving me the motivation and help to write this. not my best work. please comment, reblog and show me some love 🙈🙈

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[toughguymatt]

Keep Going

Pairing: bf!Vinnie x fem!reader Summary: Making out in Vinnie's bedroom gets interrupted. Warnings: Language. Petnames. Sexually suggestive? Second Person POV. A/N: Just a lil blurb to dip my toes in the water.

His tattooed hands course against your lower back as you straddle him, fingers hidden beneath your shirt as the ceiling fan swirls above you. There’s no rush in the way he’s touching you, or in the way he’s kissing you. Vinnie's content with the softness of your tongue and the sweet breaths of pleasure that slip inside his mouth. 

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty. You know that, right?” He presses down against your hips, guiding the gentle friction between your clothed bodies.

“Vinnie…” Your skin is warm, tingling with the anticipation of more, but you can’t focus. You lift up, testing the back of your hand against the warmth of your cheeks.

Vinnie scratches at your thighs, his skin just as flushed as yours. “What is it, baby?” Your heart swells at the sight of him and your lower half aches. He looks so perfect underneath you, with half-lidded eyes and perfectly pink lips. “...You okay?” 

You shake your head from your thoughts and push a curled strand from his forehead. “Yeah, sorry. I just—” A faint call from behind Vinnie’s closed bedroom door interrupts you. You pout at your boyfriend. “I feel bad, Vinnie. She wants to come in.” 

“She’ll be fine.” Vinnie grips your hips once more, delicately urging you with his fingertips. “Let’s keep going.” 

Hera continues to cry.

“Vinnie.”

“Hera,” Vinnie warns. “Stop!” Hera meows even louder, scratching against the door wildly. Vinnie tosses his head back against the pillow. “Damnit. Cockblocked by my own cat.” 

“Don’t say that.” You drag two fingers against the scruff of his chin before sliding them down to his neck, connecting the distance between his moles. “She loves you.”

“I know,” Vinnie sighs. You and Hera were the two most important girls in his life. He couldn’t tell either of you “no” if he tried. “Can we,” he grabs your ass, “continue this later?” 

You gasp at the pressure of his hands and smack his chest. “You’re awful!” 

Vinnie smirks, still half-hard. “Yeah?” He bites at his bottom lip and pulls you closer against him, making sure you feel exactly what you’re missing out on. “Tell me how awful I am when I’m—” Hera yowls again and Vinnie rolls his eyes. “Oh my God.” 

You can’t help but giggle. 

“Okay, okay.” Vinnie relents. “Let me fuckin’ let her in.”

[malsmind]

ok would hacker matt ever grow the beard?

oh yes he would.

⤷ eating pussy. slight edging. dirty talk. pet names. unprotected sex. creampie. matt’s sexy ass beard.

it was…unusual. especially for matt. you were away with your family on holiday during a college break, so you haven’t seen matt for at least a few weeks. he definitely has seen you. of course he has. with knowing that he was watching, you even set your phone up for him, all nice, and angling just perfect so he can watch, so he knows that you know.

but when you came back, when matt was already waiting for you on the parking lot infront of your dorm complex, and he looked…very different. not bad different, but…different. he stood up straight from being leaned against his car, walking towards you with a smile.

“hey.” he greeted softly, going to pull you into a hug, but you stopped him.

your hand was up infront of his chest, keeping him from stepping closer as your eyes roamed over his face—his facial hair—with a slight frown on your face.

“what’s all this?” you asked, finger swirling in the air, pointing the the outgrown beard that sat there.

“what?” matt asked, returning the same frown you were sending his way, his fingers ruffling trough the fine hairs on his face.

it wasn’t anything unusual, not normally, but for matt, it was. he’s always kept his beard trimmed, maybe letting it grow out to a certain point, but never this much. you took a step closer, closing the distance between you two to give him a kiss. after all, you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in weeks. he kissed you back. still confused, but never turning down the feeling of your soft lips on his. when you pulled back to look at him again, your face kept the same expression.

“feels weird with that full thing on your face. scratching the fuck outta me.” you mumbled, bending down to grab your bags and starting to walk your way to the entrance of your dorm building.

matt stopped you, taking the heavier bag right out of your hands before following you towards the door. “you don’t like it?”

you didn’t answer his question until your keys turned, unlocking the door. “it’s not bad.” you shrugged, continuing to make your way to the dorm room you’d surprisingly missed a lot while being on holiday.

when you finally put your handbag down, kicking your shoes off and throwing your jacket over the chair, your body flopped down on the bed. you sighed, relaxing into the mattress as you watched matt put the big duffle bag loaded with your clothes down on the floor next to your bed. he sat down beside you on the bed, taking his shoes off before laying down with you. the both of you laid there in a comfortable silence for a moment, your body stretching to relieve some tension in your muscles from the long car ride. when you turned to lay on your side, matt was already looking at you, his usual empty expression making your heart skip a beat.

when he used to look at you like that before you had admitted your feelings to each other, it would make you feel disappointed sometimes. because, even though he kept entertaining the game you played, making his own rules and starting to fire back, you were almost one hundred percent certain that he had no interest in you. but now—now it had a different meaning. there was something behind that cold gaze, something that made your breath catch in your throat. you knew he loved you. and that’s what mattered now.

“i missed you.” you whispered, fingers grazing his hand.

he didn’t say it back, didn’t have to. you knew he’d missed you too. the screenshots you couldn’t resist taking when he texted you how he wished you were here with him were more than enough. he moved his hand when your fingertips brushed over it, placing it on top of yours, interlocking your fingers with his own.

“do you want me to shave the beard?”

the question caught you off guard. he sounded almost…insecure? maybe. maybe you just caught it the wrong way. either way, you shook your head no. it did look incredibly attractive on him.

you couldn’t help the way your mind played with the little thoughts of just how beneficial this beard could be. without another word, you closed the space between you two, pressing your lips to his in a slow, testing kiss. the feeling of his beard scratching your cheeks and chin was new, but not unpleasant. for whatever reason, it seemed to make it more intense.

his lips moved with yours in that quiet, steady way you hadn’t realized you missed so much until now. there was no rush—just the slow, building heat that came with being apart too long. your fingers crept up to his jaw, grazing the scratchy texture of his beard again, and this time, you didn’t hide the shiver it sent down your spine. matt felt it. you knew he did.

he pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing just a little, reading you like he always did when things started getting heavy. “you like it,” he said lowly, not a question—an observation, one laced with quiet amusement.

you didn’t answer right away. just looked at him, pupils already blown wider, your breathing picking up. then you nodded, slowly. “it feels… different. good.”

that was all he needed.

he shifted his body lower without a word, pressing a lingering kiss to your stomach before tugging down your pants and underwear in one fluid motion. he didn’t say anything, but you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he noticed just how wet you already were. his beard brushed your inner thigh as he kissed it, soft at first, then rougher as he moved closer to where you needed him most. the first swipe of his tongue made your back arch off the bed—but it was the burn of the coarse hair dragging across your sensitive skin that made you moan, your fingers tightening around the sheets.

“fuck, matt…” you breathed out, your legs twitching slightly from how overstimulating it already was.

he didn’t respond, didn’t stop—he doubled down, eating you out with a purpose, tongue firm and steady, beard rubbing mercilessly with every movement of his mouth. the friction was overwhelming in the best way. maddening. he was soaking it in—your reaction, the way your hips pushed into his face, your fists tightening in the sheets.

you were close. embarrassingly close. your thighs were trembling, and your stomach clenched tight as the orgasm built fast, all-consuming.

“don’t stop,” you begged, voice breaking around the edges. “don’t—”

but he did.

he pulled back suddenly, lips glistening, chest heaving slightly, and that cold look was back—but now it was charged, feral, barely restrained. your eyes met his, lips parted, heart racing, and you were about to curse him out until he pushed up, pulling his hoodie off and leaning over you in one smooth motion.

“turn over,” he said, his voice rough, already undoing his jeans.

you didn’t argue. didn’t need to. you shifted onto your stomach, bracing your arms against the mattress. he climbed over you, fitting himself behind you like it was second nature—because it was now. it always had been. he lined himself up, slid in slow but deep, and groaned against your neck the moment he bottomed out. his beard scratched at your skin again, but this time at a different angle—along the base of your neck, your shoulder, your jaw as he moved. he kept his face there the entire time, buried against your skin, breathing hard, whispering things you couldn’t fully make out through the haze of sensation. his thrusts were slow at first—dragging, drawn out—like he wanted to make you feel every inch of him, every inch of what you’d both missed while you were gone.

“missed you,” he mumbled against your skin, lips brushing the spot just beneath your ear.

you clenched around him hard at the sound of it, overwhelmed with the heat, the intensity, the intimacy of it all. his beard scratched you again as he pressed kisses along your jaw. you weren’t even fully thinking when you said it, the words spilling out between soft gasps and sharp breaths. you just couldn’t help yourself.

“so you missed me, huh?” you mumbled into the pillow, voice laced with a kind of teasing that only came when you felt like you had the upper hand. “actually said it out loud this time.”

for half a second, you swore matt stilled. just barely. his breath hot against your skin. you could almost hear the shift in his head—how your tone flipped something inside him. how that tiny bit of cockiness in your voice was exactly the wrong move if you wanted to keep things gentle.

because then he moved.

deeper. harder. without warning.

your mouth fell open in a choked moan, your whole body jolting forward from the force of it. “matt—” you gasped, trying to catch your breath, but he didn’t let up.

“say it again,” he said low against your ear, voice suddenly sharp and dangerous in that way that always made your stomach flip. his pace didn’t slow, not even a little. if anything, it got rougher, more deliberate. punishing.

you tried to hold on—your pride, your breath, your voice—but all of it crumbled when he fucked you into the mattress like that. relentless. every drag of his hips bruising, every thrust pulling a wrecked sound from your throat.

“thought so,” he scoffed, beard scratching your neck as he kissed your shoulder again—messy and hot, lips dragging open across sweat-slick skin. “all that attitude… n’ you can’t even fuckin’ answer.”

your fingers clawed at the sheets, legs trembling from how fast everything unraveled. any thoughts of control, of teasing him, of being smug? gone. completely gone.

he had you—right where he always wanted you. and you didn’t even want to fight it anymore. you didn’t even realize you’d started shaking until matt slowed down, until the rhythm turned from harsh and rough into something deliberate, coaxing. his hand found yours, fingers threading tight like he was anchoring you—like he needed you just as much.

“y’wanna come f’me, baby?” he whispered against your skin, his other hand reaching around to toy with your clit.

your body jerked back into his when his fingertips started rubbing tight, slow circles on the sensitive nub. “please..”

your little whimper made him double his efforts. but not in a rough way. he held you trough it, talked you trough it. his lips placing soft, comforting kisses along your shoulder as your orgasm washed over you, legs fighting not to give out. matt was quick to follow, burying his face in your neck. his groan—desperate from how long it’s been since he had you like this—send a shiver up your spine.

your breath hitched against the pillow as he filled you up. the room felt too quiet now, save for the sound of your breathing, the quiet thump of your heartbeat in your ears. he didn’t speak, didn’t pull away either. just stayed like that—his body pressed to yours, face buried in the back your neck, beard still scratching faintly against your skin with every breath he took. you thought maybe that was it. the quiet end to something chaotic. but then he mumbled, so softly you almost missed it.

“i don’t just miss you when you’re gone.”

you blinked, his words sinking in like a slow burn through your chest. you turned your head slightly, catching the profile of his face against your skin—soft, honest in a way you didn’t expect. he pulled out gently, arms still around you as he rolled to his side, keeping you close like he wasn’t ready to let go. you didn’t push him away. didn’t say anything right away either.

just lay there, still flushed and wrecked, your fingers brushing lightly across the curve of his shoulder.

“i know,” you whispered after a moment. “you don’t really hide it well anymore.”

matt huffed something between a scoff and a laugh, but it was tired. content. the kind of sound that only happened when his walls finally slipped. and they had—at least a little.

you curled in closer, letting your body melt into his, eyes drifting closed against the thrum of his heartbeat. you could think about the chaos later. the hacking, the watching, the lines you both blurred to get here. but for now—this moment?

you were his.

and he was yours.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Chapter 3: Denial and Discovery

Warning: This man manhandling you 🫠🥵😵

Ever since you woke up that chilly Tuesday morning, you felt something was off. The sirens outside were more prevalent than usual, the garbage man haven’t arrived as usual, and your wifi was gone. You assumed it was just another disastrous day in the world’s most dangerous city, but you soon learned that it’s much more than that. On your way to work, you had a chance to discover city’s chaos.

The bus, packed with the usual Tuesday morning crowd, lurched to a sudden, screeching halt. The abrupt stop sent you flying forward, your forehead connecting with the unyielding plastic of the seat in front. A collective groan, a symphony of commuter misery, rippled through the vehicle. "What the hell?" someone grumbled, their voice laced with frustration. The driver's voice, usually a monotonous drone, crackled with an unusual urgency over the intercom. "Folks, looks like we've got some kind of…system-wide malfunction. The city's going haywire. All the systems are down. We're stuck here for now.”

Your gut clenched. This wasn't just a momentary lapse in the city's technological infrastructure. This was something far more deliberate, more insidious. This was the kind of meticulously orchestrated digital disruption you'd only witnessed in dystopian movies. The kind that…well, the kind you knew how to do. But it was the kind of thing you would never actually do. The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You had to get to Byte Me. Mark would be panicking. You pushed my way off the bus, joining the throng of frustrated commuters spilling onto the street. The city was a mess. Traffic lights blinked erratically, causing gridlock. Digital billboards flashed static. Even the automatic doors of shops seemed possessed, shuddering open and closed at random.

Each malfunctioning piece of tech was a nail in the coffin of your apprehension. This was bad. Really bad.

Reaching Byte Me, you fumbled with the keys, your hands shaking. The bell above the door jingled as you pushed it open. "Mark?" You called out, half expecting him to be buried under a mountain of frantic customers.

The shop was empty.

You phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number. I answered it hesitantly.

"Hello?"

A woman's voice, thick with tears and choked with sobs, filled your ear. "(Y/N)? It's… it's Mark's wife, Sarah. He… he was in a car accident. The traffic lights… they weren't working… he lost control and crashed. He’s at Gotham General. He won’t be coming to work…for a while…" The sentence hung in the air, a devastating blow that stole the breath from your lungs.

The phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering onto the counter, the sound echoing the shattering of your world. Mark. Mark was in the hospital, possibly fighting for his life, because of this digital chaos. The abstract fear you'd been wrestling with, the intellectual understanding of the disaster unfolding, suddenly solidified into a cold, heavy weight in your chest, a crushing burden of guilt and dread. This wasn't just a city-wide malfunction; it was personal. And you had a terrible feeling that you might be somehow responsible.

The rest of the day dissolved into a chaotic, indistinct haze. Byte Me, usually a sanctuary of quiet tinkering and the comforting hum of electronics, transformed into a pressure cooker, the air thick with anxiety and the frenetic energy of a digital emergency. The phone rang incessantly, a relentless chorus of distress calls that grated on your already frayed nerves. Each one was a desperate plea, a frantic cry for help to fix a broken link in the collapsing digital chain that held Gotham together. Small businesses, unable to process payments, teetered on the brink of ruin. Homes were left vulnerable, their smart security systems rendered useless, turning safe havens into potential targets. People were losing their livelihoods, their ability to provide for their families ripped away in an instant.

You worked until your fingers were raw, the tips stinging from constant typing and re-wiring. Your eyes burned, gritty and bloodshot, from staring at the flickering screens for hours on end. You felt like a lone sailor desperately trying to stem a raging tide with a leaky bucket, the sheer volume of the problem overwhelming you. Guilt, cold and heavy, gnawed at you from the inside out. Were you somehow involved in this catastrophe? Was Whispernet somehow responsible for the city’s collapse? Did one of your informants misused your services?

Hours after closing, the streetlights flickering outside cast long, distorted shadows across the shop. You hunched over my monitor, navigating the dark web, chasing whispers and rumors. The air hung thick with unease, a premonition you couldn't shake.

Hours after closing, the streetlights outside cast long, distorted shadows across the shop floor, turning familiar tools and equipment into menacing silhouettes. The only light came from the glow of your monitor, illuminating the obsessive concentration etched on your face. You hunched over your keyboard, navigating the serpentine pathways of the dark web, chasing whispers and rumors, hunting for any clue that could explain the digital apocalypse unfolding around you. The air hung thick with unease, heavy with an unspoken dread. It was more than just the stress of the day; it was a premonition, a dark feeling deep in your gut that you couldn't shake off. Something even worse was coming

Crack!

The sound ripped through the silence, making me jump. The front door had been forced open with one hit.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Thugs. Gotham was overrun with them, especially after a night like this. You scrambled behind the counter, your hand closing around the familiar grip of the baseball bat you kept for emergencies.

"Hello?" you called out, your voice trembling. "I have a bat, and I'm not afraid to use it!" Liar. You were terrified.

The figure moved closer, a hulking silhouette framed by the flickering neon sign outside, casting long, distorted shadows across the already cluttered shop. Panic seized you. You swung blindly, aiming for where Iyou thought the head might be.

The bat connected with… something solid. A grunt, more of surprise than pain. Then, a swift, strong movement, and the bat was ripped from your grasp. The force nearly threw you off balance. Old Bessie clattered to the floor, abandoned and useless.

You stumbled back, fear paralyzing me. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The figure stepped fully into the dim light filtering from the single working fluorescent tube overhead, and your breath hitched in your throat. It wasn't a thug. Not exactly.

Red Hood.

He was real. Standing right there, in your shop. You'd seen him on the news, read the talks online, heard the rumors swirling through the underworld. A vigilante, some said. A merciless killer, others claimed. Either way, he was a myth made flesh, a nightmare walking into your reality. And he looked pissed.

“We need to talk."

He was a figure sculpted from shadows and anger. His presence filled the room, a palpable threat that sent a shiver down your spine despite the layers of firewalls you usually hid behind.

He growled, his voice distorted by the helmet's modulator. "These attacks, their comms are routed through your system. You're behind this, aren't you?"

"I run a service," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "People use it. I don't control what they say." My mind raced. Deny. Deny everything. That was my only hope. "I just… I fix computers. Broken screens, fried motherboards, viruses… that's it.”

Jason’s mask didn’t betray his emotions, but his body language screamed disbelief. He took a step closer, and I could feel the heat radiating from his armored suit. The air crackled with unspoken threat. "Don't play coy with me. You built this. You know who's using it." The modulated voice was menacing. "You gonna tell me willingly, or am I gonna have to… persuade you?"

He was wrong, but denial felt futile.

Your carefully constructed wall of denial crumbled. "Okay! Okay, I… I do some… freelance work. Security consulting mostly. Some… less legal stuff too. Pentesting, vulnerability assessments… stuff like that. But I swear, I didn't… I didn't unleash any virus!"

"What kind of 'less legal stuff'?" He pressed, his tone unrelenting.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling like a jagged stone. "Information gathering… a little… hacking. Corporate espionage, mostly. Helping companies stay ahead of the competition. But nothing that would destabilize a whole city! I swear! I wouldn't even know how to do something like that."

Before he could respond, the front windows of Byte Me exploded inwards, showering us in shards of glass. Gunfire ripped through the air.

"Maroni's boys!" Red Hood roared, grabbing you roughly by the arm. He shoved you down, covering your body with his. The weight of his armored form was surprisingly comforting, a small shield against the hail of bullets that peppered the walls and shattered what was left of the electronics around us.

"Stay down!" he yelled over the din, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air. Without waiting for a response, he scrambled to his feet, a dark, armored behemoth against the backdrop of destruction. He returned fire with a deafening roar of gunfire, his pistols barking with a ferocity that matched the assailants. Brass casings rained down around us, glinting in the dim light.

He was fast, brutal, and efficient. But the shooters were relentless. You had to get out of here.

He hauled you up like a paper doll, pulling you to your feet. "Move! We gotta go!"

He didn't have to tell you twice. Together, you sprinted out the back of the shop, through the alleyway, bullets chipping chunks out of the brick walls around you. You stumbled and fell, scraping your knees on the pavement. Red Hood pulled you up again, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the urgency of the situation.

You burst onto the street, and you saw it – his motorcycle, a sleek, black machine that looked like it belonged more on a racetrack than in Gotham's grimy streets.

“Oh no no no… I’m not getting on-”

Before you could finish that, his hands encircled your waist. He practically threw you onto the bike, settling you behind him. "Hold on tight!" He ordered, revving the engine.

"Wait! I can't just…"

His response was a snarl. "Shut up and hold on!"

And then you were moving, tearing through the streets, the roar of the engine drowning out the sounds of the chase. The wind whipped through my hair, carrying with it the scent of burning rubber and fear.

Two cars peeled out from the broken storefront of Byte Me, their headlights cutting through the night. Maroni's men. They were gaining on you.

Red Hood weaved through traffic with reckless abandon, narrowly avoiding collisions. Cars honked and swerved, their drivers enraged and terrified. He was skilled, you had to give him that. But the cars were relentless, gaining on us with every turn.

Then, you heard a sickening thud beneath the bike. An explosion ripped through the night, a blinding flash and a deafening roar. You were lifted off the ground, momentarily weightless, before crashing back down hard.

You tumbled off the bike, skidding across the ground towards the edge of the elevated highway. The impact stole your breath and sent waves of pain radiating through your body. You clawed at the ground, desperate to stop your slide. Below, a churning, black abyss.

The last thing you saw was Red Hood’s figure silhouetted against the flickering city lights before you plunged into the icy waters of Gotham Harbor.

The shock stole your breath, a physical blow that amplified the panic rising in your chest. You flailed, arms and legs thrashing uselessly, trying to orient yourself in the disorienting darkness. But the current was a relentless force, a churning, icy hand pulling you further and further under. Your lungs burned with the desperate need for air, a searing pain that intensified with each passing second. Your vision blurred, the city lights above dissolving into hazy, distorted shapes. The despair began to creep in, a cold and suffocating blanket threatening to extinguish your will to fight.

Just as you were about to succumb to the darkness, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, a sudden and unexpected salvation. The grip was firm, unyielding, hauling you upwards against the relentless pull of the water. You gasped for air, choking and sputtering, the frigid water burning your throat and lungs. Coughing violently, you managed to focus, your eyes blurry but recognizing the familiar red of his jacket. Red Hood. He saved you.

He dragged you, half-conscious and shivering uncontrollably, through the treacherous waters. The current fought against us, threatening to pull us both back into the depths. He was silent, his movements driven by a fierce determination. We finally reached the grimy docks of the Bowery harbor, the rough wood scraping against your skin as he hauled you onto the slippery surface.

His helmet, usually a symbol of intimidating anonymity, was cracked, almost shattered, its polished surface now marred by deep fissures. He reached up, his gloved hand hesitating for a moment, before pulling it off, revealing… a face. A surprisingly… appealing face, despite the harsh lines etched by the jagged scar that bisected his eyebrow. Rugged. Intense.

"Come on," he grunted, his voice rough but laced with a surprising urgency. He pulled a dark hood over his head, obscuring his face once more, but not erasing the image that had been briefly revealed. "We gotta move.”

He was injured. You could see him grimacing with every step, his movements stiff and labored. He favored one leg, his weight unevenly distributed. You limped through the deserted docks, the silence broken only by the lapping of waves against the pilings and your own ragged, gasping breathing. The air hung heavy with the scent of salt and decay, a familiar aroma in this forgotten corner of Gotham.

Finally, you reached it – a towering structure that loomed over the Bowery like a gothic sentinel. The Belfry.

He pushed open a heavy steel door, the hinges groaning in protest, and ushered me inside. The interior was surprisingly clean and high-tech, a stark and unexpected contrast to the grimy, decaying exterior. Banks of monitors glowed with complex data, casting an eerie light on the polished surfaces. The air hummed with the muted thrum of sophisticated technology.

And then you saw them – Nightwing, Batgirl, and Red Robin – all staring at us, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern. The weight of their gazes settled upon you, adding to the chill that already permeated your bones.

Jason was in worse shape than when he left, sporting numerous bruises and cuts that were rapidly blooming into angry purple welts. And then there was you, soaking wet, shivering, and looking utterly out of place.

You shrunk back, trying to blend into the wall, wishing you could disappear into the shadows. The guilt and fear were a heavy weight in your stomach.

Red Hood launched into a terse explanation, cutting you sideways glances every now and then. He recounted the events leading up to your near-drowning, painting you as a potential suspect but also acknowledging the lack of direct involvement.

When he finished, Babs spoke first, her voice calm and measured. "So, you think she's involved in the attacks, but you're not sure."

"She's got the skills, that's for sure!" said Jason with a pointed glare at you.

"And she’s been shot at by the Maronis," Tim added thoughtfully, his gaze sharp and analytical. "That suggests she's either involved in something they want, or she's become a liability to them.”

"She could be a target, or a useful pawn. Either way, we can't just let her go," Dick finished, his blue eyes filled with a concern that felt surprisingly genuine. He was assessing you, trying to gauge your intentions, your capabilities.

"So, what are you saying?" Jason asked, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance. He shifted his weight, his muscles tense.

"What we're saying," Babs said, turning to you with a serious expression, "is that until we know for sure what's going on, and until it's safe for you to leave, you're staying here. At the Belfry."

"Oh…" was the only thing you managed to choke out, the word barely audible above the pounding of your heart. You were still trying to process everything that had happened in the past few hours - the attack, the fall, Jason rescuing you, and now, this. So, you were stuck with a bunch of superheroes who thought you were a criminal. At least Red Hood hadn't broken your legs over this. Yet.

[malereadermaniac]

૮ • ﻌ - ა Trends - Vinnie Hacker x Male Reader

Plot: Boyfriend Headcannons with Vinnie - more specifically doing TikTok trends together ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ

Note: Icl I've never seen this man's vids but holy shit is he hot

Warnings: m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI Some nsfw mentions but no smut! Entertainment purposes! Doesn't reflect real life!

Boyfriend!Vinnie who's incredibly chuffed at the fact that the whole world knows that the two of you are dating! You two are like the it couple on TikTok. Both your comments and his are filled with either people gushing over the two of you or gay men jokingly commenting things along the lines of 'guess I'm sleeping on the highway tn'.

Boyfriend!Vinnie who liked that you weren't super online. Sure, you had all the usual social apps but you weren't exactly one to post. But now? Vinnie loves how much you post. His fame kinda rubbed off on you! So you had to give in to the demands of fans to post more.

Boyfriend!Vinnie who significantly reduced the amount of thirst traps he would post since the two of you became official. But on the other hand, Vinnie is the typa guy who encourages you to post thrist traps! He not only wants to enjoy the videos of you looking fuckin' hot, but he also wants other people to see how hot his boyf is!

Boyfriend!Vinnie who literally reposts your TikToks. He might as well be a fan.

Boyfriend!Vinnie whose fans constantly ask to see you on streams. It's funny really. As soon as it became public knowledge that you were dating the streamer, his fans slowly stopped asking him to strip or show off his muscles and instead ask to see you.

Boyfriend!Vinnie who fucking LOVES doing couple TikToks with you! He's sending you every couple trend that comes up on his FYP and (not so) subtly begging you to do them together. And holy shit do the fans EAT it up. And you also really enjoy them too...

Boyfriend!Vinnie who snapped a selfie of him smirking as you lean over him and bend out of the car window to order at a drive-through; your ass looking extra thick in your baggy jeans and your back arching perfectly. That picture was not only posted on TikTok but also on Instagram... The caption on the picture was the usual trend caption of 'he wanted to order'. But the caption Vinnie added to the post? 'Jealous?'

Boyfriend!Vinnie who was more than happy to copy your pose in a snap you sent him; flexing his huge bicep and showing off his tattoos. The blonde hit the repost button so fast when he saw that you posted it as a TikTok. A smile crept onto Vinnie's face as he read your thirsty 'BOOM SHAKALAKA YES GAWD' caption. But his favourite part of the post was your cute attempt at flexing your own bicep; which no matter how built you were, was nowhere near as beefy as your boyfriend's.

Boyfriend!Vinnie who couldn't stop watching your video with him doing the smudged lipstick trend. The same snippet of the Cigarettes After Sex song would replay over and over again but Vinnie couldn't care less. He focussed on every detail. He watched with pride as his big, veiny hand cupped your soft face. He chuckled to himself when he came into frame covered in lipstick marks. And holy shit Vinnie's ego would swell each time he saw how lovingly you looked into his eyes. All the man could think as he rewatched the video over and over was 'He's so pretty...'

Boyfriend!Vinnie who convinces you to let him post a TikTok of you both running into each other on the street and fake fighting. The fake fighting quickly turns into making out as the guitar riff of 'I don't wanna be me' by Type O Negative plays. People fucking ate that TikTok up; it became Vinnie's most-liked post almost overnight. The steamer was also very smug when he noticed that you'd changed your lock screen to a screengrab of the two of you making out from that video.

Boyfriend!Vinnie who took a whole day to be convinced to film one specific trend with you. You wanted to do a trend where you mouth off to Vinnie and tell him to make you shut up; prompting him to grab your mouth and squish your cheeks roughly. The thing is, Vinnie didn't wanna be so rough with you. Cute. You did convince him though! And the end product not only had viewers frothing at the mouth, but you also found it really hot. The way your boyfriend's veiny, tattooed hand looked so rough as it griped your face; it was hot~

Boyfriend!Vinnie who got a little annoyed when you called Tom Holland hot when the two of you were watching Spiderman. As 'punishment' you were put into a gentle headlock and forced to lie on Vinnie's chest for the rest of the movie. Which let's be real, that's more of a reward. Your boyfriend chuckled to himself when he saw that you took a short video of his muscular arm squishing your face and posted it with the caption 'Bottom Jail 'cause I called Tom Holland hot...' Vinnie then spent half an hour pissing himself with laughter as he read the comments on that video; people screaming at the information of you being the bottom, and other people replying that it was fucking obvious...

Boyfriend!Vinnie who posts a video of picking you up and putting you on the kitchen counter just to see your reaction. What your boyfriend didn't expect was for you to be so ready for him; a smile making its way onto your lips as your wrap your legs around Vinnie's waist and your arms around his neck. You go in for the kiss and who's Vinnie to deny you? You were abruptly stopped when you started to subtly grind into your boyfriend. Vinnie quickly broke the kiss and chortled "Babe I'm recording-!" not wanting at least 500k people to see how good you could be to Vinnie~ Safe to say you scolded the man quite a bit (which he left in the video)

Boyfriend!Vinnie who watches lovingly as you film a cute Get Ready with Me in the bathroom, only to get a strong urge to get in the video once you're done. You didn't mind it at first, just focusing on recording. But when Vinnie hugs you from behind, starts kissing on your neck, smirks to the camera? You can't exactly ignore him. The straw that broke the camel's back was when a mischievous look took over his eyes and next thing you knew, your boyfriend was giving you fake backshots and then quickly leaving the frame. You rolled your eyes and ended the video; shouting at your boyfriend but laughing with him at the same time. You still posted the video though...

Boyfriend!Vinnie who's more than happy to show off his strength not only to the camera but to you when you ask him to do a trend using Sabrina Carpenter's 'Slim Pickins'. As the audio played 'A boy who's jacked n kind, can't find his ass to save my life', you faked looking around as Vinnie stood behind you. As soon as the lyric ended, Vinnie had lifted you up and placed you on just ONE of his shoulders; holding you in place by wrapping his arm around your thighs. Holy shit this man is truly jacked.

Boyfriend!Vinnie who has the cutest and funniest reaction to the 'my current boyfriend' trend. You had told Vinnie that you were doing a 'never have I ever', but when you started the video with "Me and my current boyfriend are doing a..." anything else you said went in one ear and out the other. You held in a laugh as you saw your boyfriend's funny, confused and shocked face on your screen. But you had to break character when Vinnie quickly shot back with "Me and my ex-boyfriend are doing a fuckin' whatever- what did you just say? 'Me n my current boyfriend'? I will punch you in the dick" That reaction made you break out into a cackle. You had to apologise profusely after that one~

Boyfriend!Vinnie who didn't expect people to even thirst over your eyes and his when the two of you did the eye trend. It was cute n all but god damn were those comments filled with compliments on things as miniscule are your eye shape! People were saying that you and Vinnie were 'meant to be together 'cause your eye shapes are complimentary'. Like WHAT?! You didn't mind the compliments and affirmation though~

Boyfriend!Vinnie who's fifty-fifty on all of the attention the two of you receive, but one thing's for sure. And that's that Vinnie fucking loves you, and he loves that he gets to show off that you're his to anyone willing to watch.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

Five times he finds himself falling for you w/ ALEC•H

SFW, 16+ at best, mild profanity, canon typical (mild)sexual themes, 5+1 Things -chubby!reader

This depicts the mission referenced in “The Gone Fishin’ Job” (S3E7).

#ONE

It starts off the first night you stay over after you had to stay up doing research on an automotive company bigwig in Juarez with him.

Hardison knew the mission would take longer than their usual, plus he had to account for travel times and not getting caught by border patrol for their fake identities, so he called you in for some help.

While Eliot and Parker were out getting supplies, and Nate and Sophie were discussing (arguing) over the plan while meeting one of Sophie’s contacts that could get them into Mexico, you and Alec were making sure the path was clear for the rest of the team to do their thing.

The both of you had until noon tomorrow to prep everything and boy did y’all have y’all’s work cut out for you.

As such it takes hours for you two to comb through every international database, track down all public (and not so public) information you could find on your target, curate another list of identities for everyone, gather intel on escape routes out of Mexico, and a whole lot more. By the time you and Hardison had even made a dent in your itinerary it was 11am and by the time you’d passed out it was pushing two in the morning.

The team might not have known the exact scale of how much he had to do to prepare for a mission, but if anyone, you were definitely starting to learn.

You were a rival hacker he’d met years ago during his sophomore year of college, even had a little crush on for a time, but after graduation you’d jumped off the map and even he couldn’t find your chunky lil ass. On his third year with the team the feelers he’d put out for your digital signature pinged and all of a sudden you weren’t just a long lost friend.

He sent an encrypted message to you almost immediately and you’d responded with a winky face and a ‘Long time no see Alec.’ He’d been texting you on and off since then, even asking for your consultation on some things, but he hadn’t brought you in on the team until yesterday night (with Nate’s tentative forced cause they were backed against a wall approval).

Luckily you’d made it to his place at 5 am and you’d had the chance to catch up and work in relative peace since then.

Early the next morning, six or so hours before you had to debrief with the team, you guys ordered takeout then promptly passed out right afterwards.

When you woke up at five it wasn’t time for you to head to base (Nate’s apartment) yet so Alec decided to just make a place for you to sleep on his couch.

You’d gone to the bathroom to change while he got you a blanket and some pillows after changing into some pjs himself, and you don’t come out until he’s nearly finished making the couch up.

When you step into his living room in some cute satin shorts that don’t at all keep your thighs in check and a matching lace camisole he makes sure not to say anything while you’re walking to his couch. He’s too classy for that.

He does, admittedly, notice the way your thighs jiggle as you tiredly go about putting your computers in your bag, before hastily looking away as his face heats up.

Alec hadn’t seen you in this light in years.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

btw: there is basically nothing here but you can write a lil comment if you want to.

[elaineiswithyou-blog]

Hacker Reader x 141 Poly

TW: Stalking, Theft, Pervy Soap (but reader is kind of into it)

Credit to @beloveds-embrace for the inspo

I also tried to write gender neutral, many feedback would be much appreciated. 

Being recruited was the easy part. You had been caught up in all kinds of social justice from exposing corporations to government cover ups, however, you could only evade for so long.  Laswell had been looking for a hacker and given that your punishment was either jail or working for the military, it was a bit of an easy choice. 

The hard part was dealing with the team. Laswell and her wife were nice, welcoming even but you couldn’t quite say the same for the others. Price didn’t want a new team member, content with the three underlings who caused him enough trouble, and he didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t the best with technology. Ghost didn’t trust you. They were never supposed to physically meet you, a demand you had in your work contract to be remote and never seen, a silent player behind the camera. It made him burn with distrust and worry. Soap was, well, conflicted? He was excited to be getting a new team member, but never getting to see them did make his invisible dog ears and tail droop with a big pout on his face. Gaz was also conflicted but for different reasons. He thought it was nice to have a new coworker, especially one that could cover their digital tracks in the age of the internet, but the lack of contact and warmth from you made him feel slightly off put

So they did what any team would, work together to find you. It was hard and it took them a couple weeks, not wanting to trip any of your sensors or alarms given that you were already on high alert working with the military. Unfortunately for you, once these men put their minds on something it was too late. What they hadn’t expected to find was you. You were cute? A lot softer than what they were expecting given what little information Laswell and Price had given them. And thus began their little game, basically stalking you. Once they found you and figured a way into your system, they began watching you all the time. Little did they know you wanted them to. After figuring out what they were doing a week or two into knowing them, it was obvious they wanted your attention so you let them have it, slowly leading them right into the path you wanted. After letting them watch you, which you had to admit was more of a turn on then you expected, you set your next clue. A small security camera outside your flat. All your other cameras were inside but this one gave the boys just enough information to find out where you would be.

You weren’t surprised the next time you went out on your regularly scheduled grocery run to find that your underwear was gone, mostly like Johnny’s doing given the search history he hadn’t even bothered to try and hide. The next part was even easier, cut the video feeds and the boys would come fleeing, almost too predictably. “Hello boys,”