#hacking your brain in real time

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[luna-azzurra]

5 Ways to Actually Get Writing Done Without Selling Your Soul (or Crying into Your Keyboard… Again)

» Set Specific Goals

Sitting down with the vague idea of “I’m gonna write something” is a trap. It’s like walking into a grocery store without a list—you’ll leave with five snacks, zero dinner, and a sense of moral failure. Set a goal. A real one. Like...

“I’m going to write 500 words.”

“I’m going to finally fix that scene where my MC argues like a confused raccoon.”

“I will name the horse in chapter 3 and stop calling it ‘Equine Placeholder.’”

Specific = focus. And when your brain knows the mission, it’s much less likely to yeet you into Instagram for 45 minutes.

» Make Your Writing Cave Cozy (But Not Too Cozy, You’re Still Supposed to Be Working)

You don’t need a Pinterest-worthy office to write, you just need a space where your brain doesn’t go, “Ah yes, this is where we rot.” That means:

Get rid of the chaos pile on your desk.

Turn off your phone notifications (no, you do not need to reply to that meme right now).

Put on music if it helps—lo-fi beats, rain sounds, dungeon ambiance, whatever makes your creative brain purr.

And listen, if your writing setup is literally “half my bed, one sad candle, and a playlist titled ‘angst in the moonlight’”—same. Make it work.

» Trick Yourself Into a Routine (Because Discipline is a Scam and We're Just Goblins With Deadlines)

Look, “routine” sounds boring and adult, but hear me out: it doesn’t have to be rigid. You don’t need to write at 5am with green juice in hand like a productivity cultist. You just need consistency.

Write after you brush your teeth.

Write before bed with your laptop balancing on your stomach like a raccoon with a diary.

Write for ten minutes during lunch, just to prove to yourself you’re still a writer.

The goal is to make writing so normal, your brain goes, “Oh, this again. I guess we’re doing this.” Momentum is magic.

» Use Productivity Hacks (Or: Outsmart Your Own Gremlin Brain)

Your brain? It’s crafty. It will try to distract you with snacks, existential dread, and seventeen Wikipedia tabs. So: outwit it.

Try the Pomodoro Technique:

25 minutes of writing.

5 minutes of pretending to stretch but actually scrolling.

Repeat until your story is slightly less of a hot mess.

Or time block. Or sprint with a friend. Or lie to yourself and say you’ll just write for five minutes—then trick yourself into staying because now you’re in the zone and your villain is being so deliciously cruel.

Whatever works. Bribe your brain. No shame here.

» Stop Editing Mid-Damn-Sentence

Nothing kills momentum faster than rewriting the same paragraph eleven times before moving on. This is your permission slip to write badly. Like, aggressively mediocre. Like, "this dialogue sounds like a soap opera performed by raccoons" badly. Because you can’t fix what you didn’t write. First drafts are for getting the clay on the table. You’ll sculpt it later. Probably while crying and muttering “why did I make this character so emotionally repressed.”

[shadow-pixelle]

I wonder if speedsters in the DCU get that ADHD buzzy thing where you end up in paralysis because you have so many things to do that you can't do any of them. That must be even more annoying when your brain runs at hyperspeed.

[sixeyesonathiel]

soldier satoru & nurse reader <3

it starts with a cough. not yours, not his, but the guy in the cot beside him—loud, hacking, dramatic. satoru barely notices it anymore. he's grown used to the chorus of war: the whine of distant mortars, the metallic clink of stretchers being wheeled past, the low moans of feverish men tangled in thin sheets. sometimes the wind pushes in through cracked windows, carrying with it the bitter scent of gunpowder and wet soil. sometimes, it’s just the stale, heavy air of waiting.

but then you walk in.

and suddenly, everything stills. not in silence, not quite, but in focus. it’s like the background noise takes a polite step back, just for a moment, to let the sight of you settle into his brain.

he's supposed to be asleep. or pretending to be. he has a routine for it: eyes half-lidded, an arm thrown dramatically over his forehead like he belongs onstage, a faint groan timed just right. it worked like a charm with every nurse before you. earned him extra blankets. sometimes dessert. once, even a pity letter home signed with a heart.

but then you happened.

you didn’t even blink at his performance. just came to a stop at the end of his cot, jotting something on your clipboard with the smooth, steady ease of someone too tired to be impressed. “private gojo,” you said flatly, “if you’re dying, at least wait until after i finish this shift. i don’t have time to clean up a dramatic corpse.”

he blinked.

and then he was gone.

he didn’t know it then, not really. just that your voice cut through the clamor in a way nothing else did. that your hands, when they pressed against the back of his neck to check for fever, didn’t flinch. they were cool. precise. careful in a way that made his pulse jump. like he might shatter if handled wrong. like he was something real, not just another body taking up a cot.

no one's ever treated him like that before.

he starts getting progressively worse. intentionally.

not in any life-threatening way—just enough. a button undone here, so you’ll fix it. a limp there, just to see you crouch, frowning, hands warm against his shin. once, he even faked a nosebleed with beet juice from the mess hall, just to see if you’d touch his face.

“you’re limping on the wrong leg, dumbass,” you murmur one afternoon, barely glancing up from your chart. your brows don’t even lift, but the corner of your mouth twitches.

“no i’m not,” he counters, switching legs mid-step with zero shame. “i’m ambidextrous.”

“that’s not what that means.”

“sure it is. look it up.”

“i’m going to hit you with this clipboard.”

he grins, soft and lopsided, a lock of silvery-white hair falling over one eye as he leans back on his cot, utterly pleased with himself. she’s so mean, he thinks, nearly giddy. he might be in love.

“you are the worst patient here,” you mutter another morning, tugging his blanket up far too tight, knuckles brushing against his chest in a way that makes his breath catch. the corners of your mouth twitch like you're trying not to smile.

“and yet,” he drawls, his voice low, playful, teasing, “you keep coming back. makes a man wonder.”

your sigh is exaggerated, practiced, but your fingers brush his wrist as you check his pulse—a beat too long. he doesn’t move. just watches your profile, the way your lashes flutter when you read, the way a strand of hair slips loose from your bun and clings to your cheek. he wants to tuck it behind your ear but knows better.

he notices everything.

the soft whistle in your nose when you’re concentrating. the way your lips part when you’re thinking. the little nicks on your knuckles from a day too long, a blade too dull. how, by the end of each shift, you smell faintly of antiseptic and mint and something warm he can't name. how your shoulders sag just a little more with each hour that passes, but your voice never wavers.

her kindness is blinding, he thinks one night, lying on his side and watching you from across the ward. you kneel beside a boy no older than fifteen, whispering something low as you bandage a wound that’s far too wide for his body. your hands don’t shake. but when the kid vomits beside the cot, you gag. audibly. eyes watering, face turning green.

“you okay there, florence nightingale?” he calls, lips twitching, voice slurred with sleep and stifled laughter.

“do not talk to me right now unless you want puke on your boots,” you bite back, a hand clamped dramatically over your mouth. your other hand is still stroking the boy’s hair.

you’re all thorns and sunshine. it’s disorienting. it’s you.

he's not used to kindness that doesn't want something. not used to someone who sees him, really sees him, and still rolls their eyes instead of looking away. you treat him like he’s not special. it makes him want to be.

“you ever think about running away?” he asks late one evening. the air smells of iodine and gunpowder. there’s a new hole in the ceiling and a bird nest in the rafters. your shadow is cast long over him as you tape gauze across his ribs. his breath hitches when your fingers graze his skin.

“every day,” you reply, your tone flat. then you glance up, eyes catching his—steadily, quietly. “but someone has to keep you from dying of man-flu.”

he winces theatrically, pushing his lower lip out in a pout. “it was a real fever. you said so yourself.”

“you microwaved the thermometer.”

“resourcefulness is a survival skill.”

“idiocy is not.”

your eyes crinkle. just barely.

he thinks he’s in love.

no—he knows it.

and maybe, if the sky doesn’t fall, if this godforsaken war ends, if the world lets them both live—he’ll tell you.

maybe.

if you haven’t already figured it out from the way he only fakes injuries when you are on shift.

[blairenqs]

୨୧ HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT ✧ SPENCER REID

───── IN WHICH 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆, 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 !

𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝖿!𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝓍 𝒻! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝟣.𝟥𝖪 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿���, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻, 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ♡ ⎯⎯ 𝖠𝖱𝖢𝖧𝒾𝖵𝖤

IT WAS A RAINY EARLY MORNING, the worst kind of morning when you had an early briefing at the bau.

you sat at the round conference table, cold hands collecting warmth from the steaming hot cup of coffee.

across the table, jj and garcia were deep in conversation about some celebrity drama you could care less about in the moment, quite literally just wanting to be swallowed by your fluffy blankets.

their voices were a comforting background as you waited for your brain to catch up with the rest of you.

it was too early—so painfully early, and you were already debating a second cup of coffee when morgan walked in.

and there it was—that familiar gleam in his eye that immediately set off warning bells. he looked far too happy for this hour of the day, and that smirk plastered on his face had trouble written all over it.

he made his way to the rounded table and clapped his hands once, the sharp sound startling you as it echoed through the room and drew everyone’s attention. —READ MORE!

“alright guys,” he said, leaning forward against the table with an exaggerated flair that always meant he had a story to tell. “you’re not gonna believe what i just found out.”

garcia’s eyes lit up instantly, and she immediately turned towards him like a cat spotting a mouse. “ooh, morning gossip? don’t leave me hanging now!”

jj leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised in curiosity. even rossi looked intrigued, though he didn’t say anything, opting in to sip his coffee with an amused expression instead.

morgan’s eyes landed on you briefly, and for a second, his grin faltered. “uh… sorry kid,” he said with a shrug, almost like he genuinely meant it.

you frowned at his words, instantly suspicious. “sorry for what… what did you do?” morgan put a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “why do you always assume i did something?”

“because you always do,” you said dryly with a sigh, placing your now luke-warm cup down. emily chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “she’s got a point, derek.”

“okay, okay, fair,” he armpits, holding his hands up in mock surrender—then, his smirk returned as he leaned in closer. “but i’m telling you, i didn’t do anything this time. i just… observed something very interesting.”

garcia gasped dramatically, leaning forward with her hands up under her chin. “spill it already, or so help me—i’ll hack into your google account and leak your search history.”

morgan chuckled, clearly enjoying the anticipation. “alright—fine. here’s the deal, i was walking past reid earlier—”

“oh god,” you whispered with a groan, already dreading where this was going. “—and i just happened to glance over his shoulder while he was texting.”

“derek!” emily scolded, although there was no real offence behind her words.

“what? it’s not like i meant to!” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “but listen—this is where it gets good.”

rossi raised an eyebrow. “get on with it then, geez.”

morgan looked around the table, clearly enjoying the suspense he was building. “the contact name was ‘my love.’” garcia gasped so loudly you nearly flinched out of your seat. “oh my god!”

“and—” morgan continued, raising his voice to be heard over her exclamation, “—he wrote, ‘i love you.’ i saw it plain as day before he closed the app.”

jj’s eyes went wide as she turned to look at you, sympathy practically oozing from her expression. “oh no,” she whispered, her tone soft and full of concern.

you blinked, confused by the sudden emotional shift in energy of the room. “what? why are you guys looking at me like that?”

jj reached out like she wanted to engulf you in a hug. “sweetheart, i’m so sorry. we didn’t know he was… seeing someone.”

“what?” you said, your voice practically a shriek.

garcia scooted her seat closer to you, her face full of maternal concern. “it’s okay honey,” she said reassuringly. “we know how you feel about reid. and honestly? i don’t blame you, it makes sense. he’s sweet and smart, and who wouldn’t fall for that? but—” she gave your hand a little squeeze. “you deserve someone who’s going to feel the same way about you.”

your brain felt like it had been electrocuted. “wait—pen—no, you’ve got it all wrong. i don’t—”

“it’s okay to admit it,” emily interrupted, her voice empathizing. “we’ve all seen the way you look at him. there’s no shame in having feelings for someone.”

“i—what—no!” you stammered, your face growing hotter by the second. “you guys are completely off base!”

“denial is a river in egypt,” garcia said with an upside-down grin, nodding like she just dropped some profound wisdom.

morgan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. “hey—no judgment here. it’s tough when your crush is dating someone else. but you’ll bounce back, you’re strong.”

your mouth opened and closed, trying to form a response that would shut this entire conversation down without spilling the truth—because the truth was, spencer wasn’t dating someone else. he was dating you.

he had been for months.

you barely had time to gather your scrambled thoughts before the door to the conference room swung open, and in walked spencer, the man of the hour—coffee in one hand and his bag slung over his shoulder.

he looked as endearingly disheveled as ever, looking the same as you left him in the morning—his tie slightly crooked, his hair falling into his eyes—and your heart did the stupid fluttery thing it always did when he was around.

“morning,” he greeted, his voice soft as he glanced around the room. then, his gaze landed on you, you who looked as if you had just seen a ghost, and his brow furrowed slightly. “what’s going on?”

everyone froze—their eyes darting to you.

“nothing!” garcia shrieked, far too loudly.

“yeah, nothing alright,” morgan repeated, though his smirk said otherwise.

spencer tilted his head—clearly unconvinced, but before he could push again, the door opened, and hotch strode in with his usual workaholic presence.

“let’s get started,” hotch said, not sparing a glance to the lingering awkwardness that seems to be in the air today.

the briefing began, thankfully putting an end to the antagonizing conversation. but throughout the meeting—you could feel spencer’s eyes on you, his gaze filled with a quiet concern.

when the briefing ended, the team quickly separated to gather their essentials for the flight. you hung back, pretending to check something in your bag, but really just waiting for the room to empty. as the last of them walked out, spencer approached..

“you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with the familiar worried tone.

you barely had time to answer before his arms slipped around you, pulling you into a hug. it was gentle and comforting, but when you relaxed against his embrace, his grip tightened, his warmth seeping into you.

you laughed softly, resting your forehead against his chest. “spence, someone might walk in.”

“i don’t care,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your hair. “you seemed tense earlier. did something happen?”

you hesitated, not sure how to even explain the bizarre situation— so instead, you tilted your head up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

his eyes widened in surprise, but they softened almost immediately. “what was that for, love?” he asked, his voice warm with curiosity.

“i’ll tell you about it at home,” you said quietly, brushing a hand over his tie to straighten it. he sighed but didn’t let go, his forehead resting against yours. “you promise?”

“i promise,” you whispered with one last kiss to his nose, smiling up at him.

he finally loosened his hold reluctantly, letting you pull away, though his hands lingered on your waist.

his sheepish smile was so full of affection it made your chest ache in the best way possible. as you grabbed your bag and headed towards the door, he followed close behind, his hand brushing against yours as you walked.

whatever misunderstanding the team had, it could wait. for now, you and spencer had each other, and you suppose you can handle the ‘broken heart’ allegations for a little while longer.

𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

© blairenqs 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

✧ 𝑓. tysm for 200 followers !! 🥹🫶 i’m so grateful oh m gee <3 i’m currently on spring break and i have no social life whatsoever & i was in the trenches of depression but this made my whole month. THANK YOUU ! spencer brainrotting my way thru life 🕺

𓂃ㅤ 𝓉𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ୨୧ @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @lcvealwayss @viennasolace ♡ thank you so much for joining !

[obeymeluv]

Getting Kidnapped was Not on the List [Lilia x Reader]

Mentioned this forever ago, but the idea is you get kidnapped by some crusty, stubborn 'ye olde fae' that thinks humans are gross. The boys come to save you :)

I'm not kidding when I say 'ye old fae'. I had A LOT of fun looking up fae names and doing generators. Same fae in all three pieces, btw.

Warning for violence because Pepaw hurts the enemy.

Not proofread because it's three AM and I have to be up in about 6 hours for work >w<

**Malleus and Sebek to follow at a later date. Could only get Lilia out before I have to go to bed :/. May be able to get Malleus and Sebek out by 3/13 or 3/14**

You didn't always go alone on your weekly grocery trips into town but you'd started to put your foot down. This was your fifth time going alone and it was nice to be by yourself for a bit. For all the things you couldn't control--the overblots, having no magic, a sneeze away from your dorm collapsing--you had total autonomy at the store. Ruggie taught you how to budget in Twisted Wonderland, sharing every coupon and ethical hack he knew. Azul usually picked up a few odds and ends with larger orders to give you some wiggle room (and he got a discount, being a business).

Armed with sturdy bags from Sam's and a buss pass from Crowley, earrings from Lilia and a necklace from Malleus, you felt like you could handle anything in the city. It's like you had people with you anyways! Sure, you didn't have magic but you had all the training and safety tips from your world and that was enough.

You were wrong. Very wrong.

You never expected the older man to turn into something else. Or to disappear from the city as soon as you stepped out of the automatic doors of the grocery store.

He was a fae, and he'd made some kind of portal deep into the forest. Despite the dangerous squeeze of your heart, you hoped it was the same forest around the school. You were cursing yourself for not paying more attention to the trees on campus.

Were these the same ones? Were you somewhere totally different?

Where WERE you? And why?

The bags drop to the ground, your hands going slack with surprise. You feel fruit bouncing around your feet and something hit your toe but you don't dare look away. Liquid sloshes as the bread bag gives a pathetic wheeze. Eggshells crack. You're shocked that the fae isn't impossibly tall like Malleus but that doesn't make him any less fearsome.

Faes come in all shapes and sizes, after all.

This one sheds his middle-aged appearance; beard disappearing completely as tied-back blonde hair darkens to chestnut. The wrinkles firm up into smooth skin but there's no youthful bounce or fullness like Lilia has. It's just unblemished skin and high cheekbones with a firm brow. He doesn't have freckles but there's a hint of a scar peeking beneath his shirt, running over his shoulder and almost touching his neck. His lips are thin and his teeth are sharp.

Very sharp.

He's probably the first fae you've seen with teeth like Floyd or Jade. You're not sure what his real eye color is; he's trying to make you uncomfortable by staring at you with shiny, dark eyes. All at once his irises flare a burning red and it kicks your brain back into gear.

You think of bending down to grab something frozen, something you can throw, but the unhuman noise coming out of his throat tells you not to.

There's an icy feeling slithering all over your back, almost to the point of making it spasm. It's like a warning. If you take your eyes off of him, you're dead.

All you can do is keep your eyes on him, blindly reaching for your phone. You hold it up so you can see it out of the corner of your eye, not daring to break its gaze.

You call him, your most-recent contact. He'll know what to do!

----

He dusted, mopped, finished the laundry, did a bit of homework, and made some snacks for the boys. Lilia felt like he'd earned a bit of gaming time. He'd just settled into his gaming chair with a snack when you called. "A call from my beloved! To wh--"

"Lilia! I need your help!" the sheer panic in your voice had him on alert. He'd been the cause of such a tone many years ago and he couldn't fathom something doing the same to you. "Stay on the phone with me, okay? Don't leave me!"

"Where are you?" Lilia jumped out of his gaming chair fast enough for it to fly back against the wall. Maybe put a crack in it. "What's going on?"

His eyes dart around the room, looking for quick things to grab. Things that would make a decent weapon. For a moment, all he sees are knickknacks and things that prove he's gone soft and sentimental. It's almost enough to make him sneer, his old self shaking his head in disappointment at the unpreparedness of it all.

"Would that be Vanrouge? I hope so. But if not, getting rid of another nasty human is never a bad thing."

That spurns him to action and something tickles his brain; Lilia practically rips apart the grand chest in his closet to look for his old gear. He feels like he's heard that voice before. Especially the 'nasty human' part. It was once a misguided sentiment he shared but that voice, the inflection and hiss on nasty, was like a blast from the past.

Lilia shoves himself into the black long-sleeved underlayer, fishing blindly for the chainmail vest he felt seconds ago. He's halfway into enchanted pants--lots of pockets for lots of weapons--when it hits him.

"Elm? Elm Leafdance?"

"You remember me? I'm touched." his laugh was as dry and cruel as he remembered.

"Hard to forget the man who tried to kill my son." Lilia hisses into the phone, stomping into his old boots. These were enchanted, too. There's a beat of silence between them, Lilia standing still to listen for any hint of sound on the other line.

"Seems you still have a habit of picking up these dirty things." Elm tuts. "I couldn't end that one, but I'll get this one."

Quicker than humans could ever perceive, Lilia had broken the false bottom in one of his desk drawers and grabbed various daggers. He punches through the hidden panel in the grand drawer to grab bags of powders. Teleporting into the storage room cuts off some rumbly, squeaking sound that makes his stomach drop.

"Lilia!" Sevens, he hopes he never hears anyone scream like that again! He breaks the glamor over his magearm, strapping it to his back. Hardly anyone in Diasomnia gave the random slab of polished wood a second glance, assuming it was an expander piece for the dining table.

"I'm coming!" Lilia shouts.

He always tells you to grab your earrings when you go somewhere without them, and when he focuses he can feel the weight in his ears. And something stabbing at him. There's a lingering, burning pain that's starting to build. Lilia shuts all of that out as he calls back to the enchantment and feels himself being pulled to wherever you are.

When a fae gives you a gift, it's a connection as much as a blessing.

Elm has a good six inches on him but Lilia is unconcerned, staring up at him sharply. His glamor is totally gone, cheekbones high and face more angular than his boyish appearance. It's impossible to get his bangs to behave after Malleus burned them but his hair is still as long and wild as ever. The untamed reserves of magic he possesses have dwindled with age and time, now dimmed with control, but still flare with disgust as if to challenge Elm on its own.

"Where are they?" he growls, magearm at the ready.

"Behind you." Elm grins, all vicious teeth. Lilia risks a glance over his shoulder and he's in absolute shock. He doesn't even feel the kick to the chest, letting his body skid back to where you are. You're tangled in giant roots that remind him that Elm's talents are solely for earth and grass. It's almost as if a tree is trying to grow around you.

Trying to consume you.

He can see one arm sticking out and the hand is slack. Lilia rolls, dodging another kick as his hands scramble for purchase. He hears a blade rip out of a sheath, staking into the earth where he'd once been. The roots are moving in real time, thickening and twisting. It's a lattice-like pattern that allows him glimpses of you and he finds one of your eyes.

It's a blank look and he can only hope that you're unconscious. Hoping for paralysis would be too cruel. You're human and you have no magic so this root is feeding on your very life essence. Possibly trying to crush you at the same time.

Lilia takes a slice to the back and spins with pure rage, magearm causing a small ditch.

From then on, it's an honest battle. Elm has the advantage, given his power is from earth and grass, but Lilia remembers him being assigned to the court and lacking in battle skills. He was more of a scholar type with staunch beliefs in fae purity. Lilia has the upper hand in terms of actual battle experience and the fact that he hasn't seen Elm in over ten years. Even when he rescued Silver, it was with pure might and weaponry.

Elm doesn't know the kind of magic he can do now.

Elm thinks he'll have the upper hand with smaller weapons, overconfident with the one wound he gave Lilia, but it will not save him in the face of pure bloodlust. The only advantage he has is the fact that Lilia has to angle himself after a swing and leaves himself open from the side he swings on.

That won't do much to help him. Not as much as he thinks.

Lilia feels the grass trying to knot around his shoes, roots trying to grab him, but he rips himself free. Elm continues to dance around him, trying fruitlessly to slice him again. He counters with the magearm, using it as a shield and something to prop himself up as he launches a fire spell at the ground. Being connected to the grass and earth, this will throw Elm off and prevent him from seeding smaller magic into the ground to influence the battle.

As expected, Elm is stunned for a second. Lilia throws himself around the handle of the magearm, spinning his whole body so his foot connects solidly with Elm's face. It's enough to knock the fae on his back but he's not down for long. The two start flinging spells at each other and Lilia doesn't miss the way Elm tries to distance himself, or the way the he casts more spells when he tries to get close to his magearm.

Always a bit of a coward, that man.

Lilia's not worried about the magearm being taken from him. Someone like Elm could never wield it.

"You're not getting away from me again. It was a mistake to let you live the last time!" Lilia tilts his head to avoid a spray of razor-sharp leaves, sending a blast of fire his way. As expected, Elm counters with a water spell. Though weak, it creates steam that Lilia takes advantage of. He breaches the steam like Elm's worst nightmare, magearm in front of him like a shield. A dagger skips off the twisting vine design, almost knicking the tip of Lilia's ear as Elm falls back under the weight of Lilia and his weapon.

One arm pinned beneath him, Elm slashes frantically at the air with the dagger. He tries to squirm out from under the magearm but he can't. Lilia kneels on the magearm, tilting it with his body so the bladed edge digs into Elm.

With luck, he'll just split him in half.

As he stares down at the man who tried to take his boy, and now his lover, Lilia feels what little pity and understanding he had drain from him. He lets it go with no complaints. Lilia angles himself back, allowing the blade to rest against Elm's ribs instead of pressing into them.

There's light and disbelief in Elm's eyes. Lilia can see his mind racing, trying to figure out if anything's broken or how deep the wound is. Elm stays still, much like prey in the mouth of a predator. Lilia grabs Elm's wrist in one hand and his throat in the other. Elm lurches against him and Lilia wonders for a brief moment that if he just squeezed with no restraints, which one would break first?

Elm gasps and gurgles beneath him as Lilia leans forward, magearm once again digging into him. His wrist snaps first and once Lilia is confident Elm's hand cannot be raised against him, he grabs at the fae's throat with both hands and squeezes him.

He squeezes him like he tried to squeeze Silver. Lilia thinks of his poor boy in that sack, sobbing for his papa and not understanding why he was taken or why the man was being mean. He remembers the two, three hits Elm gave that sack after throwing Silver back in; it was before he realized Lilia had tracked him down and it's enough to make Lilia start punching him.

The tangle of roots at the edge of his vision starts to writhe and shrink. It cannot sustain itself without Elm.

Elm's clothes darken with blood. He doesn't look conscious anymore. Lilia pauses, mid-punch, when that scar comes into view. Much like now, he and Elm resorted to grappling those many years ago. Lilia unsheathes the same dagger, tracing the near-fatal wound. The blade finishes it's path and Lilia sinks it deep into the hollow of his neck.

Elm doesn't make a sound but the wound gushes. Lilia slides his magearm off the man's body, overcome with rage and the desire to hurt him. Not just for Silver, but for you.

And perhaps for himself.

Back then he wasn't totally okay with letting him live but Lilia had convinced himself it was fine. He'd made his point and he was a different person for Malleus, Silver, and Sebek.

He stabs the knife into his chest over and over. Lilia vents his frustration and makes sure the threat is truly dead, listening to the bones crack under the jab of the blade. The roots fall to pieces and your bruised body looks like it's laying in a nest. Breathing heavily, Lilia drags his magearm over to look at you.

Most definitely unconscious and he hopes you don't wake up any time soon. The roots had created smaller feelers and he could see where they'd stabbed into you like needles to leech your lifeforce. You were littered with scratches and poke wounds. There were purplish-red marks where the roots had wound around you; you'll definitely need to be looked at. It'd be a miracle if nothing was broken.

When he realized you could be bleeding internally, Lilia made quick work of the corpse. Fae were tricky and fae who died in their natural element might be able to repair themselves. He sets up a summoning circle for Malleus but doesn't activate it until he's hacked Elm to pieces and doused the bits in various powders.

"We've been searching for you for--!" Malleus stops short, unconcerned that he hadn't fully formed in the summoning circle or that green flames hadn't totally cleared from his vision. He watched Lilia dig a deep pit with his magearm and toss meaty pieces in. There was a flurry of powder and a great, roaring fire that died after a few seconds. Grunting, Lilia smoothed the earth over the pit before salting, powdering, and burning it again. Before it could die this time, he grabbed armfuls of the roots and dropped them in the fire.

Malleus took the hint, helping Lilia grab every twig, seed, and bulb from around you. He sprinkled the bits into the fire as Lilia checked you carefully for any traces of the roots. You were slack in his arms but Lilia felt like you'd be okay. There was a bit of warmth in his ears so surely you still had some life in you.

"Will they be okay?" Lilia looks up at Malleus and can't help but laugh. The future king may be over six foot tall but he's still definitely a youngling. Malleus is looking at you like a nervous child.

"I think so." Lilia smiles. "Here, hold them a moment." Malleus accepts you gingerly, watching Lilia etch something into the ground around the fire and some nearby trees. Lilia takes you back, crowding Malleus' summoning circle with three bodies. He shifts you into one arm, shooting a ball of fire at one of the marked trees. The area hums with magic and explodes with fire; the heat kisses your faces but does little else since the summoning circle has taken them back to where Malleus last stood.

The future king of Briar Valley had been in his room when he was summoned. Likely writing to his grandmother or reading. Lilia hears a great commotion outside the door, motioning for Malleus to open it. Silver and Sebek burst into the room, tripping over each other physically and with questions. Lila shushes them calmly, saying he'll explain everything after you're in the infirmary.

They follow him silently, bursting with questions. Lilia isn't your guardian and the school doesn't give much allowance to partners, but he's allowed to sit in your room with you after a scan and some vitals were taken. He thinks he hears the nurses say you have a few fractures but they're being careful. You're fast asleep and unaware that you've been given fluids and vitamins.

It's possible that you'll need blood but they're unsure and they'll need to run some tests. Lilia tells the boys about Elm and isn't too surprised that Silver doesn't remember the incident. Mrs. Zigvolt did well to veil those memories. The somberness turns quite amusing when he recounts that Sebek refused to leave Silver alone for almost a whole month after, and had a mighty tantrum that Baur was impressed with.

Little Sebek had such an adamant grip on Lilia's dining table that each Zigvolt tried their hand at removing him. Hell, even Malleus tried! Only Baur came close, and it was at the risk of bringing said table leg home with them.

The boys leave to fetch you and Lilia some food, hoping it will wake you up, when the nurses begin to give them too many looks. Too many people in your room, Lilia could tell. He leans back in the chair, facing the door but staying at your side, and wonders if he should ask Mrs. Zigvolt to veil your memories, too.

How much would you even remember?

He's dozing, body sore from battle and beginning to bruise from the spells that weren't totally blocked. The wound in Lilia's back has healed itself but the pain is relatively fresh and makes him wince when he sags in the chair wrong. Snoring slightly, Lilia starts awake when you lurch in bed.

You're slurring and incoherent. You look like you're trying to swim through mud. He can't help but laugh when you try to pick your head up and fail. "Easy, beastie," Lilia soothes, leaning over you. He kisses your brow and you relax. "Easy."

"My eggs are going to rot," you look at him with sleepy eyes, like you're not totally awake. "I have to get them in the fridge. Can't eat rotten eggs." you're almost wailing now.

"If they rot, we'll just buy new ones." Lilia's petting your hair. He's trying to calm you so the nurses don't sedate you. They're hovering at the doorway.

"Is my list in my pocket?"

Probably not, no. Your clothes were as ripped and scratched as you!

"I think you lost it. We'll make another one when you wake up from your nap."

"Okay."

And just like that you're out again. If you could remember what you bought when you were taken, he most definitely needs to get Mrs. Zigvolt to the school. He doesn't want you going through night terrors and things like Silver did.

The boys return with food and Lilia accepts it happily. You don't rouse at the scent of food and that's just as well. Lilia eats like he's young again, only this time he's not burdened by rations or whatever they can find in the field. He shoos them off to their studies after some time, insistent on keeping watch. They're reluctant but he's content to keep his post.

The earrings glitter in your ear and he feels the warmth of you in his chest. Lilia sighs happily, pulling the sheets over you as he settles back in the chair to keep watch. He falls asleep an hour later, soothed by the heartbeat he can hear from your bed.

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Five

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Starting to realize I need to slow down, things are really getting complicated and I want everything to be included. Including proper warnings and important plot details and to really keep things more polished.

A/N: Also, going through the doubts on my writing, but we is gonna persevere, y’all. I’m going to take some time to focus on Obsessions.

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior, Kidnapping, Vomiting, Slight Stalking

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

After running Date’s life, Tim starts to investigate Reader full throttle. Before it was just something he did to relax between cases when he couldn’t shut off his brain. Now, he didn’t want to miss anything. Not a single detail. He’d also been having trouble digging up an information on reader’s small town.

Apparently, they weren’t up to date on their technology. Can’t hack computers for information if the computers don’t exist. Still, it was nice to find out about Reader’s childhood. (Making notes for Bruce to add certain flora and fauna to the Manor’s garden and looking up any restaurants in Gotham that he could possibly take Reader too. You know, as friends.) But, Tim was nothing if not stubborn.

Reader, having a bit of whiplash from Dick’s comforting and sudden departure starts trying to fill their time by hanging out with Cassandra, Duke, and/or Stephanie.

They also call back home informing Nana about the Date incident. Surprisingly enough, Nana was sympathetic. (Though Reader couldn’t help thinking she was using that condescending small town sarcasm. Maybe they’d just been in Gotham for too long?) Regardless, Nana lends a comforting ear and even talks about BFF and their older brother, Childhood Crush, to Reader in an attempt to distract them. Telling them what the two have been up to. (How much they miss you. They can’t wait for you to come home visit.)

Reader, however, is a tad more concerned with Younger Brother. Making sure to ask how he is fairing and if he could come visit them in Gotham for a bit. Just to give Nana and Grand Daddy a much needed break since their age is catching up with them. (Aren’t you so sweet? Caring so much for your real family.)

But, Nana brushes reader off. No need, he’s been hanging out with Childhood Crush and BFF. They’ve really taken him under their wing. (They’d make great a great partners. Don’t you think, dear?) It does arouse Reader’s suspicions, but when they call their Younger Brother, he sounds… fine… Said he was having more fun with BFF than Childhood Crush, but that’s a given. (BFF knows Reader best, and won’t let anything happen to him or Reader.) They’re probably overthinking things about things back home. (That pang of homesickness just doesn’t seem to go away.)

At school, however, things were changing.

Damian wasn’t lying to himself about scaring off Reader’s friends. A few started to avoid Reader suddenly. But, a few, mostly the wealthier ones, stayed close. Not at all bothered by Damian’s sudden campaign. Some even introducing Reader to their closer circles.

Reader’s happy to have more friends, but the loss of Date and Reader’s more down to earth friends weighed on them. Reader’s new group felt like an isolated bubble cage that encloses tightly around them (and wouldn’t let them go.)

Bruce has been pretty strict about who Reader spends time with since the gala. But, Reader, going stir crazy when Cass, Steph, and Duke, respectively, are to busy (have patrol and missions), decides to ask Barbara if they can hang out with her. (A stranger is better than nothing.)

Tim’s seems to be too busy with whatever he’s doing. (He’s technically spending time on Reader, rather than with Reader.) Reader loves Alfred, but they’re always helping him cook. Dick’s gone off on some errand in Buldhaven or Gotham (Reader can’t remember, they’re a bit annoyed by how finicky he can be with giving Reader attention.). Jason might actually choke reader if they suggest hanging out. And, Reader is still pissed at Damian for being a rude little shit (Plus, they suspect he has something to do with their friends leaving them. They just can’t prove it.)

Barbara agrees to bring Reader to work with her at the Gotham City Library. Fully expecting Reader to mostly stay to themselves or possibly sneak off. (As members of the family are prone to do.) She is pleasantly surprised that Reader actually tends to stay by her side. Of course, Reader goes and gets a few books to curl up with. But, they quietly chat with Barbara, occasionally assisting with task, and mostly just enjoy silent companionship.

Reader doesn’t expect Barbara to entertain them, they can entertain themselves. They just don’t want to be alone at the moment. (Reader hates being alone when they’re sad. Hate. Hate. Hates it.) Barbara finds the silent and soft companionship to be a balm for the soul, so to speak. There’s no pressure. No duty. Just companionship. (It’s eases her mind how Reader is willing to stay safe. They’re not being dramatic or doing something foolish. I can get used to this.)

After the day is over, Barbara reports how Reader behaved back to Bruce. (Didn’t wander, stayed close by, wasn’t rude or sarcastic. That Gala had to have been a fluke. It has to be those horrible friends of Reader’s corrupting them.) If anything, it builds a level of trust with Bruce that Reader can be cautious and they won’t have to worry about them leaving. (Running away. Ha!)

Bruce decides Reader deserves a little more trust. (He wants to spoil his child.) Giving them more leeway to spend time in Gotham. But, only with members of the family. Which would be fine, if they were available. There’s, unfortunately, been an Arkham Breakout.

The entire family is on high alert for the next few days, especially since Joker escaped this time. (Hell, no. The family isn’t risking it. They won’t allow it. If Joker does something to Reader he’s dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Batman won’t stop anyone for killing him this time if he dares.) The family prioritize his capture, even recruiting the Gotham Sirens and the Superfamily to get the job done. It’s probably the fastest Joker’s ever been caught. (Joker is definitely pissed over the matter. And, will be making it everyone’s problem next time he gets out. What are you protecting Batsy? What are you trying to hide from me? Are we not friends?

Reader gets a brief introduction to Clark Kent during this ordeal. Before, Reader had only seen Conner and Jon around the manor hanging out with Damian and Tim respectively. (Conner would always try to flirt, which annoyed Reader. And, Jon was avoid on principle of being near Damian. Though, Reader was nice if they caught him alone in the manor. Which was growing more frequent recently.)

Clark is charmed, surprised by the Reader having grown up in a Smalltown. For Reader, it’s nice to meet someone who understands the longing for simplicity. Though Clark personally felt like he had something bigger to achieve outside of his town. Still they appreciate each other’s mindset. (Clark also wouldn’t mind inviting Reader out to the Kent farm. It would be fun to annoy Bruce. Plus, Reader is clearly struggling in Gotham. He’s not wrong.)

With Joker locked up, the family relaxes… Somewhat. They still have the rest of the rouge gallery to catch and have to work overtime to do it. Hardly any of them are seen outside the Batcave, which Reader is eighty-four percent certain is in the library.

Reader spends a lot of time pacing the halls. Looking at the paintings and furniture. It’s lonely. It’s like living in a house that’s haunted by ghost you’re supposed to know, but don’t. (If I have to live in a house haunted by ghost, I’d rather be haunted by the ones that loved me. I wanna go home. I want Momma and Daddy. I hate being alone. I hate it here.)

Stephanie, however, having made plans with Reader, finally gets a chance to take them out into Gotham. It takes a nearly a week, but they do manage to get out into the city together. Stephanie showing Reader all her favorite sights, pointing out landmarks and fun things. It’s possibly the funnest day Reader’s had since coming to Gotham. Arcades, Ice Skating, food trucks, street performers, it’s all new and exciting.

Nothing good last in Reader’s life it seems.

In broad daylight, Reader is forcefully grabbed and thrown into the back of a truck.

There’s a massive down side to being Bruce Wayne’s child. You easily get taken hostage and held for ransom.

Stephanie is helpless. She can only watch it happen too far away to make it to Reader in time. The horror and fear on Reader’s face made her stomach turn violently.

She immediately called Barbara to start tracking the vehicle and the thugs, sending an alert out to the entire family.

Once done she couldn’t stop herself from letting the disgust and shame bubble from her gut out on to the pavement. Just the thought of Reader being hurt making her physically ill. (Give them back. How dare they take what’s mine? It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left them alone. They’re helpless without me.)

[fromrory]

You Should've Just Told Him !

POV:Wally West Pairing: Wally West x GN!Reader (with a fem!reader in mind tho) Tags: secret relationship, best friend’s sister, oblivious Dick Grayson, chaos upon discovery, fluff, established relationship Word count: ~1.2k Requested by: @simpingmyassoff Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: This is my frist time writing for Wally. . . Hope y'all like it (don't crucify me pls)

To be fair, it wasn’t Wally’s fault.

Things with you had just… happened. One night he stayed too long at the manor, the two of you talking into the early hours of the morning, laughing over mutual secondhand Bat Trauma™. Then another night. Then lunch. Then coffee. Then somehow you were in his hoodie and in his arms and he couldn’t imagine going a day without you.

It was supposed to be temporary. Quiet. Harmless.

But you were Dick Grayson’s sibling. And if Wally knew anything, it was that Dick would absolutely lose his mind if he found out.

So he kept it to himself.

Too bad Wally sucked at secrets.

“Dude, you’ve been smiling at your phone like an idiot for ten minutes,” Dick said, tossing a batarang into the air while they waited for burgers. “Who is she?”

Wally froze mid-scroll, then slowly locked his phone.

“No one.”

Dick raised a brow. “No one makes you text back that fast and grin like that.”

“She’s just…” Wally scratched his neck, avoiding eye contact. “She’s cool. Super smart. Funny. Gorgeous. I like her.”

Dick leaned in, suspicious. “You’re dating someone?”

“Maybe.”

“WHO?”

“Okay but like, you’re gonna freak out.”

“Why would I freak out?”

“Because... it’s... complicated.”

“Wally. You say that like I’m gonna find out it’s Harley Quinn or something.”

Wally snorted. “Definitely not Harley.”

Still, Wally refused to name you. And that drove Dick insane.

The next few days were a blur of detective-level obsession. Dick had names, theories, red string. He watched Wally’s every move, hacked into the Titans’ camera logs, tried to trace who he was texting so much. But your phone was under an alias and Wally had clearly learned something from hanging around the Bat-Family: no traces.

You, of course, were delighted.

“I’m just saying,” you said casually while painting your nails, “if this mystery girl is real, I think she deserves the world.”

“Don’t take his side,” Dick grumbled. “He’s hiding her. He’s hiding her from me.”

You just smiled into your cup.

A few days later, Wally and Dick were back at the manor, lounging on the couch mid-video game battle. Dick was winning. Wally was complaining.

“Your character’s rigged.”

“You chose him.”

“I thought he had lightning powers! This guy just throws knives.”

“You’re literally The Flash—”

Wally’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. Dick only glanced down by accident. But what he saw made his brain stall.

The lock screen lit up with:

✨My Perfect Problem💋 miss your face. also i stole your star wars shirt again. . . 💕

Dick blinked. Recognized the contact photo instantly. The name. The nickname.

That was you.

“...Wally.”

“Hmm?” Wally didn’t look up, busy button-mashing.

“WALLY.”

“WHAT?!”

Dick snatched the phone and held it up like it burned. “My sister?!”

Wally froze. The game was forgotten.

“I can explain—”

“YOU’RE DATING MY SISTER?”

“Technically—okay yes—but also, we were gonna tell you!”

“WHEN? ON YOUR WEDDING DAY?!”

You chose that moment to casually stroll into the room, eating a cookie.

“Oh,” you said with zero shame, “did he find out?”

“YOU KNEW?!”

“I’m in the relationship, Dick.”

Wally stood up, hands raised like he was dealing with a hostage negotiation. “Look, man, I wasn’t trying to hurt you! It just… happened. And she’s amazing, and it’s real, and I didn’t want to mess up our friendship—”

“By dating my sister?!”

“Dude! She’s your cool sister!”

“I only have one!!”

You sat on the arm of the couch, entirely unbothered.

“I mean, if it makes you feel better, I’m the one who kissed him first.”

“That makes it worse!”

“I also kicked his ass at Mario Kart on our first date.”

Wally pointed, proud. “She really did. Blue shelled me at the finish line. It was kind of hot.”

“WALLY.”

Dick looked between the two of you—Wally, flushed and trying to appear calm, and you, smugly sipping your drink like you hadn’t just detonated a bomb in his world.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“This is... so much worse than when Damian found a girlfriend.”

Wally tried again, gently. “Dick. Look. I love her. I really do.”

Dick narrowed his eyes.

“You’d better.”

A beat.

“Also if you hurt her I will break both your kneecaps.”

“That’s fair.”

“And if I hear you’ve done anything weird in my house—”

“We haven’t! Except for that one time—”

“WALLY.”

“Right! Shutting up now.”

Later that night, after Dick stormed off to “go train until I forget this conversation ever happened,” Wally turned to you, exhausted but grinning.

“Well,” he said, pulling you into his lap, “that went... about as well as expected.”

You laughed into his neck. “Told you he’d scream.”

“I thought I’d get more than five words in before he threatened to maim me.”

“To be fair, that was restraint. For Dick.”

Wally pressed a kiss to your temple and sighed. “So… you still think we should’ve soft-launched?”

You snorted. “Wally, we hid this for three months. At this point, that was the soft launch.”

He smiled, holding you close.

“Guess we’re hard launched now.”

[glowettee]

✧・゜: summer study tips for when motivation is low :・゜✧:・゜✧

hey lovelies! ✨

can we just acknowledge how hard it is to focus on studying when the sun is shining, everyone's posting beach pics, and your brain is basically melting from the heat? summer studying feels almost criminal sometimes (like, isn't this when we're supposed to be recharging?), but even if you're taking summer classes, prepping for fall semester, or studying for standardized tests, i've got some helpful tips to help you stay on track without missing out on summer magic.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ why summer motivation hits different ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

let's be honest about why summer studying feels so much harder:

your body literally craves sunlight and outdoor time

everyone else seems to be living their best vacation life

the heat makes focusing genuinely more difficult

your brain is trained to associate summer with freedom

seasonal rhythms are real, and summer is naturally more active and social

knowing this isn't just you being "lazy" is the first step! your brain isn't broken, it's just responding to both biological and social cues that say "put down the textbook and go outside!"

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ create a summer-friendly study schedule ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

the key is working with summer energy, not against it:

𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴: use the hottest part of the day (usually 12-3pm) when you'd be inside anyway for your deepest focus work

𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤: if possible, wake up earlier and study when it's cooler and quieter, bonus points for studying outside with birds chirping!

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴: aim for 45-minute focused blocks instead of marathon 3-hour sessions (your summer brain will thank you)

𝘵𝘩𝘦 2:1 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰: for every hour of studying, give yourself 30 minutes of true summer enjoyment as a reward

𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺: designate one day each week as completely study-free to recharge

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ summer-proof your study environment ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

your environment makes all the difference:

𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘰𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘴: study near a fan or air conditioning with a cold drink nearby

𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘴: find a shaded patio, park bench, or beach setup where you can enjoy nature while studying

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤: bring summer into your study space with fresh flowers, lemon water, and natural light

𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱 𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯: try different iced coffee spots to keep your environment fresh and interesting

𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨: face away from windows showing beautiful weather when you need deep focus

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ motivation hacks that actually work ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

when your motivation is hiding under a beach umbrella:

𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴: everything's more fun with friends! find a study buddy and make it social

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴: "tropical tuesday" or "fruity friday" with matching snacks and music

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴: ice cream after finishing a chapter, swimming after completing practice problems

𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴: create a summer-themed progress tracker (fill in a popsicle for each completed study session)

𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰𝘴: find summer study ambience videos that make you feel less alone

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ summer-specific study methods ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

adapt your approach to match the season:

𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴: listen to recorded lectures or educational podcasts while walking outside

𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘴: 25 minutes of study, 5 minutes of dangling feet in water (or any summer treat)

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯: apply a layer of understanding before exposing yourself to exam questions

𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘴: spread out colorful mind maps on a blanket instead of linear notes

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ be gentle with yourself ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

most importantly, release the guilt:

summer studying doesn't have to be all-or-nothing

progress > perfection (especially during summer)

your brain literally works differently in hot weather

memories matter too, make sure you're creating some

rest is productive, it's preparing you for future focus

remember that balance looks different in each season. summer might be when you study a little less but live a little more, and that's completely okay. your worth isn't tied to your productivity, especially when the sun is shining and calling your name.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[sombrashe]

Hi

I just read the namgyu fic you posted and it's incredible 🫶❤️

Would you write something like that with Jun-ho or Dae-ho like he is taking out his frustration out on her or on her throat

suffocation ∿ dae-ho x reader & jun-ho x reader

smut

content x fem!reader for daeho & x gn!reader for junho, angry daeho & junho, bratty!reader, "crybaby"reader, reader has a vagina in daehos, rough smut, use of pussy, pussy slapping, throat fucking, overstimulation, not edited

notes im so glad people are enjoying that fic because honestly i got worried i didn't make it horny enough somehow 😭 / also i'm sorry but you can really tell who my fav is lol

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ long post ⋯��๑┈•✦

it takes a lot for this man to get frustrated in his day-to-day life and it's nearly impossible for him to get frustrated with you. that is of course if you didn't know about this one secret hack.

“I love you.”

“Heard.”

“... Heard …”

your ears perk up at the sudden change in tone. harshness sleeping into his every syllable. rolling your eyes you go back to scrolling on your phone. you had a dream that he cheated and despite knowing it isn’t real you need to be alone for a little to get over it. you may have been a little rude, and despite the unsettled feeling stuck deep in your brain stem you go to apologize. looking up he’s staring at you, honestly, it threw you off and you blanked. opening and closing your mouth you try to formulate something as simple as a sound. he doesn't look at you like this often, deep dark eyes piercing your very cerebrum. suddenly the room feels cold despite the shallow fever settling right under your skin. you learned real early on that doe eyes and a puffed-out bottom lip will get you nowhere with him when he has this look. nothing short of begging would get you even a chance to be heard. you never beg, it would go against the feeling deep in your abdomen.

“Come here, please.”

you're frozen in place. you can't seem to make yourself move. you don't want to piss him off further but for once you're not sure how severe your punishment will be. god, what if he doesn't let me cum for like a week, wtf… asshole. actually, let me calm down. standing, you obediently slot yourself against his side. he very gently grabs at the back of your neck and guides you in your room. pressing a single kiss to the crown of your head he bends you over the bed. smothering you he shoves your head further into the comforter. you don't fight until you feel a sharp sting. gasping, you attempt to remove yourself from his grip. another sharp sting and your voice is muffled. letting go of your neck you spring up and rub at your butt. frowning up at him you start to speak. he places two fingers in your mouth and you gag at the sudden intrusion. keeping your head in place with fingers gripping your chin he continues teasing you. pressing down on the back of your tongue he watches as tears prick the corners of your eyes. the gag that follows is brazzy and he coos at you. pulling his fingers out of your mouth a thin line of spit connects them to your bottom lip.

“Get on the bed for me. Ah, not like that. You know better.”

stripping for him you make a show of it. the hope that it will help lessen your punishment dies out halfway through the striptease. crawling into the bed he coaxes you on your back. one large hand splays itself across your thigh as he holds your leg open.

“Hold the other one. More.”

when you’re sure you can't feel any more embarrassed he brings his free hand down.

“Dae-ho!”

he shushes you and does it again. it’s not as painful as you thought it would be. a third slap and you actually start to feel it. you clit throbs every time his hand connects with your pussy. whining out you slap a hand over your mouth. he raises his hand again and again and again. you lost count somewhere when the pain morphed into pleasure. your eye starts witching and you don’t know how much more you can take. oh. holy fuck. he plunges two fingers into you and massages that gummy spot right inside of you. biting down on your cheek, you taste blood. ripping the feeling from you he goes back to slapping long fingers against your clit. you feel so empty and your pussy clenches around air. he smiles down at you so sweetly as he rubs soft circles against your clit. breathing heavily, your noises are muffled behind flesh. he spends a few minutes rewarding you, your pussy warm under his touch. slapping his hand down he listens as his fingers connect with your spread hole. your soaking pussy glistens as he smears your slick. the sob that rips its way out of your throat is violent. a gasp, sob and choke all in one with a nice gag to go along with it. he looks down at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Doing okay, rabbit?”

you furrow your eyebrows in silent protest. it would take a lot more than that to- huh. he leans down and takes one sensitive nipple in his mouth. arching your back he continues slapping your pussy until those harsh sobs start to take over again. he listens intently as you sob below his touch. your attitude drains out of you. your tears stream down to tickle your ears. panting your eyes unfocus and lazily blink. he switches nipples and your hips buck into the next slap. jesus christ. you were quickly becoming overstimulated. every feeling was too much and it rips a hole in your chest that was temporarily filled by the next slap.

“Come on beautiful, use your words.”

“I’m sorry. Dae-ho. I am. I promise. Please. Please.”

he sighs and kisses your temple. a particularly harsh slap has you crying out.

“Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.”

his eyes brighten as he listens to your apology. he leisurely pushes three fingers into you. the moment his fingers are notched deep in you he speeds up. the few thrusts it does take you to cum are fast and rough. fingers massage that spot right inside you every time his fingers reach their hilt. when you do cum you’re shaking. covering your face, you smear snot and drool across your cheeks. you gush around his fingers and your essence pools in his palm.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you. So so much. Thank you, I love you.”

he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. reaching down you focus on his hand undoing his belt.

“Go ahead and relax.”

you shift and spread yourself open for him. your dripping hole is on full display making his cock jump in his briefs. climbing onto the bed he knocks the tip of his cock against your puffy clit. turning your head you gasp and shakily exhale as you attempt to relax. your hazy mind starts to form a thought but it immediately slips away as he slides his cock into your feverish pussy.

junho doesn't go out of his way to take his frustration out on you. he just knows how eager you are to help him. your soft expressions and gentle smiles always make it difficult for him to get upset with you. so when something pushes him over the edge and your wonder amazing boyfriend-pleaser self is sitting curled up on the couch you bet your ass he’s dragging you onto your knees. he loves watching as your expression changes from anger at losing your phone, to confusion as he lifts you to your feet, to understanding as he pushes you down. he loves how devoted you are, taking the initiative and undoing his belt for him. your way of seeing how rough he’ll be. oh how well you knew him because not even three seconds after you’ve touched his belt is he growing and shoving his pants down for you. you start to relax, your mouth starts to passively make saliva as your thighs squish together. he absolutely adores the way your eyes crinkle as he slaps his cock against your cheek.

“Open up for me, angel. A little wider. Just like that, good job.”

he slides the tip of his cock in your mouth and you whine at not being able to tease him a little.

“Don't worry. I’ll still get off in your mouth. How’s that sound, huh? Good? Damn, I always forget how tight your throat is like this.”

he bottoms out without giving you much time to prepare and the stretch is uncomfortable. you close your nails into your palms and try your hardest to relax your throat. breathing is impossible and so you're stuck crying as your body struggles. salt burns your waterline and you rock back in protest. he cups your head in his hands, hair puffing around his fingers. curling your toes, you whine and gag softly around his shaft. he keeps his thrusts shallow and any air that you can gather is filled with him. blinking up at him, your cheeks puff out. he bends over slightly and fucks your throat, his pelvis squishing your nose with every deep thrust. your gags are frequent and they vibrate against his cock. he lets up after a few minutes and goes back to slow thrusts. you can feel your nose start running with as much frequency as your eyes when he starts fucking your throat again. the intermission between slow, gentle thrusts and deep, rough thrusts becomes shorter and shorter until he doesn't let up. his cock is so far down your throat you can’t even swallow without him showing. rocking your hips against the air you close your eyes and relax into his thrusts.

“You feel perfect, angel. So tight. You want me to cum in you?”

you squeeze at his thigh and hum as best as you can. he nods and with blurry vision you take in his disheveled look. whisps of hair sticking to his slick forehead, deep eyes squeezed shut, and a beautiful shade of red covering his neck. closing your eyes again, you sniffle and gag. the feeling of your throat constricting pushes him over the edge and he cums down your throat. letting go of your head he finishes on your face and hair as you gag and cough up cum. he stands above you breathing heavily. his eyes closed and his hand finishing himself off with abandon. when he finally comes back to it your coughs have downgraded to raspy breathing. mumbling he goes about the house half naked and collects a few things. coming back he hands you a cup full of water and an empty mug. taking the glass you chug the water until it’s empty. he busies himself by wiping down your hair and face with a damp towel. he finishes with a deep kiss and you have to cut it short as you're still out of breath.

[dxrlingluv]

Hermes x Modern Reader pls! Gn is fine but can reader be like totally Gen Z coded?

If I’m stuck here with you

A/N : Oh well. Hermes getting the view of what the future would be like with the help of the Reader? Count me in. Hermes art is from Zieru!

WARNING : Mordern!Reader, Hermes doesn’t know how to get back to his own time. Generally Platonic.

Word Count : 2k

The first sign that your Tuesday was about to go completely off the rails wasn't the ominous rumble of thunder from a cloudless sky (you lived in a city, weird weather was basically a bi-weekly subscription). No, it was the fact that there was a dude. In your living room. A dude who definitely did not have a key, and whose fashion sense screamed "lost my way to a Renaissance Faire, but make it ✨divine✨."

You were mid-scroll on TikTok, a half-eaten bag of spicy chips balanced precariously on your chest, your brain pleasantly numb from a curated stream of capybara videos and questionable life hacks. One minute, it was a golden retriever struggling with a lime, the next, a faint shimmer of gold light near your IKEA Kallax shelf, and then him.

He was tall, lean, and exuded an aura of someone who probably thought "running errands" meant literally running. His chiton (you vaguely remembered the term from a history class you mostly slept through) was an impractical shade of white, edged with gold, and he had these little winged sandals. Like, actual wings. On his shoes. And a staff thingy – a caduceus, your brain helpfully supplied, probably from the same dusty mental archive as "chiton."

You blinked. The capybara video was still playing silently on your phone.

"Uh," you started, eloquently. "Did my landlord finally decide to hire a really extra singing telegram to tell me my rent's overdue? 'Cause my guy, the gold lamé is a choice, but the message could've been an email."

The man turned, his movements fluid and impossibly fast, like a hummingbird on an espresso bender. His eyes, a startling shade of gold, widened slightly as they took in your state: pajama pants with a questionable stain, an oversized band t-shirt, and the aforementioned chip situation.

"A... singing telegram?" he repeated, his voice smooth and melodic, like wind chimes but with more bass. He had a slight accent you couldn't quite place, but it definitely wasn't from around here. "I am Hermes, messenger of the gods, son of Zeus, herald of Olympus!" He struck a pose, staff held aloft. It would have been impressive if he wasn't standing next to your wilting houseplant, Bartholomew.

You slowly sat up, chips cascading onto your duvet. "Okay, werk. And I'm Y/N, purveyor of lukewarm takes and existential dread, child of... well, my parents. We good?" You paused. "Wait, Hermes? Like, the Hermes? Greek mythology Hermes? Bro, are you for real?"

He frowned, a slight furrow appearing between his perfectly sculpted brows. "You address a god, mortal. And yes, the Hermes. Though I confess, this realm is... unfamiliar. One moment, I was delivering a decree to Hades—a rather tedious affair, he’s been so broody since Persephone started her ‘self-care season’ topside—and the next, a blinding flash, and… this." He gestured vaguely at your collection of Funko Pops. "Is this a new wing of the Underworld? It's surprisingly... cluttered. And smells faintly of artificial cheese."

"Rude," you muttered, brushing chip dust off your shirt. "This is my humble abode. My crib. My legally-distinct-from-a-cardboard-box apartment. And you're telling me you, like, actually yeeted yourself from ancient Greece into my living room?"

Hermes tilted his head. "Yeeted?"

"Teleported. Poofed. Arrived unannounced like my Aunt Carol when she smells free food."

"Ah. Then yes, I suppose I 'yeeted'." A faint smile played on his lips, and you had to admit, even if he was completely delulu, the guy had charisma. Like, an unhealthy amount of it. The kind of rizz that could convince you to invest in beachfront property on Mars.

"No cap?" you pressed, narrowing your eyes.

"Have you not seen my cap, mortal?" Hermes said, looking genuinely confused while tapping his winged cap. “Though I have seen some... interesting headwear in my travels through the ages.”

"It means 'no lie,' my dude. For real?"

"For real," he confirmed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I am as bewildered as you are, perhaps more so. This… technology." He gestured to your phone, which was now showing a makeup tutorial. "It glows. Does it contain an oracle?"

"Nah, fam," you said, picking up your phone. "It contains crippling social anxiety, cat videos, and the definitely not useless knowledge of humanity, mostly used for arguing with strangers. Same diff as an oracle, basically." You swiped away the tutorial. "So, you're a god. A literal, actual god. From the myths. Currently chilling in my less-than-mythical apartment."

Hermes nodded, his golden eyes scanning your room with a mixture of curiosity and faint disdain. "Precisely. And you, Y/N, are my first point of contact in this… vibrant, yet perplexing era."

"Vibrant is one word for it," you snorted. "So, what's the tea, Hermes? Why are you here? Did Zeus get lost on his way to another 'swan-related incident' and send you to find him?"

Hermes winced. "Father's… avian escapades are a subject best avoided. As for my presence, I believe it to be an accident. A magical mishap, perhaps. Or maybe Loki’s pranking me across pantheons again. That guy owes me big time."

You processed this. A god. In your apartment. Because of a magical oopsie. Your Tuesday was officially off the leash and running wild in a field of pure, unadulterated chaos. And honestly? Low-key, you were kind of living for it.

"Okay, so, Mr. Messenger God," you began, swinging your legs off the bed. "First things first: wardrobe. No offense, but the chiton and winged kicks are a bit… much for a trip to the bodega. You're gonna get so many weird looks. People will think you're doing some avant-garde performance art."

Hermes looked down at his attire. "Is it not… fashionable?"

"Buddy, it's iconic, it's a serve, it's giving 'legendary artifact chic.' But for blending in? Not so much. Unless you're trying to start a new trend, in which case, go off, king." You rummaged through your closet, which was a chaotic explosion of band tees, thrift store finds, and at least three hoodies you'd "borrowed" indefinitely. "Right, let's see. You look like a medium? Or are gods, like, universally sized?"

He watched, bemused, as you pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. "These… simple garments?"

"Trust the process," you said, handing them over. "The bathroom's over there. Try not to smite my rubber ducky, he's emotionally fragile."

While Hermes was wrestling with the concept of denim, you frantically tidied up, shoving stray socks under the couch and stacking dirty mugs in the sink. If a god was going to be your unexpected roommate, even temporarily, the least you could do was make the place look less like a goblin's nest.

He emerged a few minutes later, looking… surprisingly normal. The modern clothes fit him well, though he looked slightly uncomfortable, tugging at the hem of the t-shirt. The winged sandals were still on, though. Baby steps.

"Okay, not bad," you said, circling him. "The shoes are still a statement piece, but we can work on that. You clean up nice, Speedy Gonzales."

"Speedy Gonzales?"

"Never mind. Pop culture reference. You'll pick it up. Or not. It's fine." You grabbed your keys. "Right, mission one: acquire sustenance that isn't artificially cheese-flavored. And maybe figure out how to un-yeet you back to Olympus before Zeus starts blaming me for his missing messenger."

The trip to the local grocery store was an experience. Hermes was fascinated by everything. Automatic doors: "Sorcery!", the sheer variety of packaged foods: "So many choices! Do mortals truly consume these brightly colored squares?", and the self-checkout: “A mechanical servant that demands tribute! Astounding!". You had to physically restrain him from trying to "liberate" a pineapple he claimed was "too majestic to be confined."

"Dude, chill," you hissed, pulling him towards the cereal aisle. "You can't just 'liberate' produce. That's called shoplifting. And trust me, the mortals who run this place? Way scarier than Hades on a bad day when it comes to their five-finger discount policy."

He looked genuinely contrite. "My apologies. Old habits. On Olympus, if one desires a golden apple, one simply… acquires it."

"Yeah, well, here, acquiring gets you a talking-to from a guy named Kevin who peaked in high school and takes his job way too seriously. Now, do you want Froot Loops or existential dread in a box, aka Raisin Bran?"

Back in your apartment, Hermes watched, captivated, as you made instant ramen. "You boil water… with lightning trapped in a metal box?" he asked, peering at your electric kettle.

"It's called electricity, my divine dude. Kind of our version of Zeus's party trick, but less likely to incinerate you." You handed him a bowl. "Slurp carefully. It's hotter than Hephaestus's forge."

He took a tentative bite, his eyes widening. "Remarkable! Such complex flavors from a desiccated brick and powder!"

"That's the magic of MSG, baby."

As the day wore on, you found yourself in the bizarre position of explaining modern life to an ancient god. You showed him how to use your laptop: "This glowing tablet… it shows me the world! And so many cats!", introduced him to the concept of memes: "So, these are… illustrated jokes? Often self-deprecating? Mortals are a curious species.", and even tried to explain TikTok trends, which mostly resulted in him looking utterly bewildered but gamely attempting a few dance moves with a grace that was frankly unfair.

"Your 'vibes'," he said at one point, after you'd used the term for the fifth time, "are they a form of emotional aura?"

"Basically, yeah. Like, your vibe right now is 'ancient deity trying to understand a modern gremlin.' It's a whole mood."

He chuckled, a genuine, warm sound. "And your vibe, Y/N, is… surprisingly patient and amusingly irreverent."

You felt a weird warmth spread through your chest. "Hey, someone's gotta keep the gods humble, right? Can't have you all thinking you're the main characters all the time." Though, you had to admit, Hermes had some serious main character energy.

Later, as dusk settled, painting your small apartment in hues of orange and purple, a comfortable silence fell between you. Hermes was staring out the window, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"This world is… loud," he said softly. "And fast. And filled with so many fleeting things. Yet, there's a certain… tenacity to it. To your kind."

"We're stubborn little weirdos, that's for sure," you agreed, leaning against the doorframe. "We make a lot of noise, collect too much stuff, and spend way too much time looking at glowing rectangles. But, y'know, we try."

He turned to you, a soft smile on his lips. "You, Y/N, are more than just 'trying.' You navigate this chaos with a strange sort of… grace. And an unending supply of peculiar phrases."

"It's a gift," you said with a shrug, though your cheeks felt a little warm. "So, any closer to figuring out how to get you back to your regularly scheduled god-duties? Or are you stuck being my platonic, mythological roommate for the foreseeable future?"

Hermes sighed, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair (how did he do that?). "I confess, the way back eludes me. The energies here are… different. Scrambled. It's like trying to find a specific whisper in a hurricane." He looked at you, his golden eyes surprisingly earnest. "But, if I am to be… stranded, for a time… I cannot think of a more… entertainingly perplexing guide than you."

You grinned. "Aw, Hermes, you old softie. Don't worry, we'll figure it out. Or we'll just teach you how to play Mario Kart and order pizza. Either way, it's gonna be an adventure." You paused. "Just, uh, try not to accidentally smite anyone, okay? The paperwork would be a nightmare."

He laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly in your small living room. "I shall endeavor to restrain my divine impulses, [Y/N]. For now, at least."

Maybe having a god crash on your couch wasn't the worst thing that could happen on a Tuesday. It was definitely going to make your next "what I did this summer" story a lot more interesting. And who knew? Maybe you'd even get him to ditch the winged sandals eventually. Or, better yet, get a matching pair. That would be a lewk.

No cap.

[ay-chuu]

DISCOVER. L, I, M, P, Say it.

!! (Self aware bsd boys)

WARNING! Obsessive behaviour in some and angst.

A/N: Sorry for any grammer mistake i made!!

Self aware!Dazai, Chuuya, Jouno, Fyodor, Ranpo, Sigma x Gn! Reader

You really was the most airheaded human, in Dazai's eyes. Because he learned everything about you in just few weeks, while you only knew him as a popular 2d... character? Dazai knew he didnt thought himself as a human but being a non human in different world with a canon fact hurted him. He's not gonna even talking about the... writer version himself in your life. He just wanted something really clearly over his life and it was YOU. You, who made him self aware by mistake. You who made him fell for someone really. You, who made him want to live for a little longer to know you...

"Cute." Chuuya thought. You were really looking cute trying to sew a plush version of him while looking at the manga's colored page to match his features. He hated it when you closed the page tho. Yes he could always try to put himself that is connected with his... other self's but manga was the easiest one since he was origannly from here. He wondered. What would you look like in here too? Would you have powers? Would you meet him? Would you be... his love interest? Well he was never gonna know the truth. The only truth that he know was he was falling- no. Already fallen in love with you.

Jouno hated how stupid and complicated this situation was. And he hated how he couldn't do anything, even a simple thing for you. He hated how pathetic this... no he was. He fallen for you, who was a REAL different version of human. Who was in another reality. He knew that you didn't even knew what you did to him. In your eyes, he was just a character that you enjoyed... reading. Ah he guessed that life was giving him a punishment because of his brutal actions for others. How brutal....

You really wondered that if your pc got a virus or something. Because everytime you try to search or write something there was a thing that made you remember fyodor. Like when you try to an essay for your study, your computer would always write "fyodor" that any word that starts with f. Or when you opened a website you would always see fyodor's manga version. But you thought you just freaked out because... what kind of virus would do that right? Wrong. You were wrong for thinking you were wrong. Fyodor, who hacked all of your system would always make you remember who loves you most. He wanted to engrave himself into your subconscious. Because one day, when he finds a way to bring you into his universe, you would not lose your way to find him...

Ranpo had always thought he was smart. Or rather, it was like that in the past... Because ever since he met you, he saw himself as the smallest-brained person in the world. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he reaches different thoughts, he couldn't reach you. While you could always reach him with a single page turn or google, he barely understood that you were from another universe... At first he thought you were just one of the games of Poe's books. He wished you were. Maybe if you were, he would never have fallen in love with you so hard...

Sigma was so surprised when he was able to discover you for the first time. But more than being surprised, he felt very close to you. Because you... were like a different universe version of him. He was born from a book. For him, you were a book that born in a different universe and watching him. The day you read the story about him and smiled because you felt close to him, he realized that he was in love with you. But if there was one part that wasn't surprising at all for him, it was that he couldn't reach you. Ah, because it wasn't just people playing with him all his life. His life was the biggest user playing with him. After all, It didnt change the fact ... he was really just a written person. In any reality.

[milykins]

Hacked

I felt like I needed to redeem myself with Donnie since I’ve had a couple comments where people expressed feeling sad that I had a girl scream and run away from him in a previous headcanon. I thought maybe I should give him something sweet and fluffy. Added some fun quotes as well.

Special thanks to @iridescentflamingo @the-cauldron-witch @avery73 and @sophiacloud28 for all of your help with this story, editing it and helping me with ideas! I hope you enjoy reading it!

Aged up TMNT x Reader

TW: None: Donnie's system keeps getting hacked into and he gets increasingly more frustrated.

“No I’m not playing hard to get! I’m telling you, Sir, it’s not that kind of phone line!”

“It’s always the time for accuracy, Leo.”

“When you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

“Let me be the bad-ass for once.”

On the outside, Donatello was the brain, the tech-wizard, the tinkerer. A master of all things technological and a true intellectual able to solve a Rubik’s cube in less than 20 seconds. If it was broken, Donnie could fix it, if it was a seemingly impossible situation, Donnie could figure it out. His three brothers relied heavily on him because he was the smartest, even Leo because there were some questions even he couldn’t answer. This is how it had always been, and he didn’t mind for the most part. He did feel like he was a valuable asset to the team if not a bit overused.

On the inside however, he was the shy one, the introvert, the one who secretly feared being alone forever while slowly descending into madness from his own self-induced seclusion.

Despite Chief Vincent telling them they’d be accepted by society, the collective agreement to stay hidden remained. It had served them well, why mess with it? As they aged into adulthood, it became glaringly obvious. Loneliness, the fear of being forgotten after their father passed on. The crushing reality that he may very well die alone.

He wasn’t like his brothers. Mikey had gotten himself on the scene pretty easily and had made friends and had girlfriends. Raph too, had managed to snag someone, even no-nonsense Leo had. That just left him and he couldn’t help but think. What was the point of having all of this intelligence, creating all of these wonderful inventions, all of the things he’d built… if there was no one but his brothers to share it with?

Donnie acted like it didn’t bother him but secretly he felt it: a sort of crushing loneliness that seemed to stretch on and on. Sadly, he’d sort of given up on meeting someone. It just wasn’t in the cards for him… or was it?

It had started off innocently enough, one day he’d come to work on his computer and noticed something was… off. His desktop looked normal but none of the icons worked when he clicked on them. It didn’t take him long to realize it was a false desktop placed on top of the real one. Odd, he thought. Who had managed to even do this? He’d had the best firewalls and encryptions and security that not even the FBI could crack. Yet, he’d been hacked, someone had hacked him.

He blew out a breath of disbelief, ran a diagnostic and fixed the issue in no time. He did a careful sweep and found nothing else out of the ordinary. He chalked it up to a fluke and went on with his day thinking that was the end of it.

Then it happened again. Upon sitting down in his computer chair he noticed his taskbar was horizontal.

“What the hell..?” He fixed it and upped his security and left it at that.

A week after that all of his icons were replaced with Hello Kitty characters. He was beginning to feel annoyed. Who was doing this, and why? It seemed like they just wanted to mess with him. Frustratingly he couldn’t figure out how they kept getting in. Every time, he strengthened his security it didn’t seem to matter!

He reached his breaking point the following week when he was re-routed to a popular Pokemon meme every time he clicked on something. He was going to find this person and ask them to stop. They weren’t that hard to trace and soon he was purposefully typing a message.

Please stop, you’ve had your fun but it’s getting old

No :)

Seriously, you don’t know who you’re messing with.

Someone who can’t even stop a low-level hacker, clearly.

Who are you?

No one :)

Why are you doing this?

I’m bored, it’s fun

Bored?! How did you even find me? These servers are highly encrypted!

LOL not enough… I was just bouncing around and found them.

Are you with the Foot?

What?! No? I told you, I was bored and saw your shit, and took it as a challenge.

A challenge indeed. Stop this now, this is your final warning.

He broke off their connection then because that had better be it.

Of course, it wasn’t. One boring Saturday night, he was zoned out, totally engrossed in one of his projects. His computer screen flickers a moment. He almost doesn’t see it thinking it’s a trick of the light but it does it again. Curiously, he moved to his computer screen. When he realized what was happening, he actually laughed.

“Seriously? Again?! They have no idea who they’re messing with…”

It was clear that this was same someone who had been hacking him for weeks was trying to get into his system again.

“I’ve got you this time…” His fingers fly over his larger-than-normal keyboard as he managed to secure a one-way live video feed.

“Someone forgot to cover their webcam…” He sang, “Hello, you’ve been hacked by Donatello, I thought I already told you to cease and desist.”

You are absolutely mortified. You’d been doing this for fun, and had no ulterior motives. Truthfully you had been bored and loved a challenge. Yes, you were warned but you didn’t think he would hack your webcam! Immediately, you attempted to hide, hoping he didn’t catch a glimpse of your face.

On his end, Donnie first heard a soft, distinctly feminine gasp and a string of curses. There’s a flurry of movement as you tried to move out of the range of the camera and swiftly stick a piece of tape over it. More shuffling followed, along with the sound of you returning to your computer chair.

He can’t help but feel amused. “There’s no point in hiding, I saw you. How did you think this was going to go?” He waited patiently for you to answer.

You swore softly. The cat’s out of the bag. Swallowing your embarrassment you gingerly peeled the tape off. It didn’t take you long to notice that the video feed only went one way. That was unfair and you intended to change that.

“Sorry…” you murmered. Shit, shit, shit! I’m gonna get you for that!

He took a moment to get a good look at you. Even with the soft lighting of what he assumed to be your bedroom, he could still make out your pink cheeks, flushed flushed with embarrassment and the bridge of freckles across your nose. It was… cute.

“Sorry?” He echoed. “That’s it? You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Do I have to?” You’re trying to keep him talking while your fingers worked their magic. If he could do it… so could you.

“No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone. You’ve had your fun, go bother someone else, please.” He replies.

“But I like bothering you.” Almost there… just a few more seconds…

Donnie has to scoff at that. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet… there you are!” You cheered as you manage to tap into his own webcam.

In a split-second Donnie had instantly ascertained that she’d been distracting him. To his horror, the little red light of his webcam had blinked to life. Two seconds too long which meant he’d been seen…

“FUCK!” Immediately he cut the power, sending it straight through to your house. He was panicking, he’d been compromised, he was going to have to wipe her computer, all of her hard drives. His heart was pounding and his breathing had quickened as he tried to tamp down the panic he felt. No, maybe he’ll just find her… ask her to keep his secret…? All options were equally bad. What do I do…?!

Luckily, it didn’t take long for that powerful brain of his to think of a solution, albeit a temporary one. His fingers flew over the keyboard once again, restoring power on her side before getting to work.

You were utterly confused. Two seconds ago, maybe five…? Once the webcam was active, you saw what appeared to be the green, blurred image of his face. Was he wearing a mask? You heard the panic in his voice and the ensuing curse word right before your entire room was plunged into darkness. What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?

Just as quickly, it all came back and your computer was rebooting. Okay… you attempted to type once it was all back up and running but something was wrong. Nothing was clickable, nothing worked save for the cursor on your screen. Furrowing your brow, you kept trying, but to no avail. Then, something finally.

A message popped up on your screen and you wasted no time in reading it.

Apologies, I had no choice but to freeze your system. I promise I will explain everything but I need to do it in person. Meet me here:

There was an address to a building between two cross streets and he was asking you to climb the fire escape to the roof.

At first, you scoffed in disbelief. Hell no, you weren’t going to meet some stranger on a rooftop at some weird location. Did he think you were stupid?

Then, as if your mind is being read, another message popped up under the first.

I understand if this is something you might be uncomfortable doing but my identity and the safety of my family is at stake so I must give you an ultimatum. Meet me or your computer will remain frozen.

You swore softly to yourself. This wasn’t something you could fix on your own and you knew it.

You murmured a sarcastic reply. “Well, damn, I guess I’ll just go die then,”

He was giving you no choice and you needed your computer, not only for work, but it had everything. You considered it one of your most precious items. After a minute you’d made up your mind but you still packed your taser and pepper spray just in case.

Donnie was an absolute bundle of nerves. He’d already arrived at the location and was pacing back and forth while sticking to the shadows. He was berating himself about how stupid this plan was. She wasn’t going to show up, but he’d giving her no choice. He did feel a twinge of guilt but years upon years of lectures from Leo had made him be extra cautious. He couldn’t risk his family’s safety because he was careless.

You were nervous too as you carefully climbed the steps of the fire escape. Luckily, the building was only four floors but you still would’ve liked to take an elevator. Reaching the top, you took a moment to catch your breath.

“I do… computers… not stairs… you better be here.” Upon first glance you don’t see anyone and your annoyance grows. “Hello? Please don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing, I just want my computer back.”

Again, there was no reply.

Talking to yourself you groan. “Fuck… you are such an idiot…”

Donnie was only slightly panicking. To his amazement and relief, you showed up. In his anxious state he did manage to notice you looked kind of pretty despite the frown gracing your features. He felt frozen the moment he saw you but snapped out of it pretty quickly when he saw you about to leave.

“Wait!”

You turned. It was actually him. You recognized his voice prompting you walk closer to the source.

“Hello? If you’re here please show yourself. This is sus enough as it is and I’m already over it.” You couldn’t mask the exasperation in your tone. This was already beyond ridiculous.

Donnie had to admit he found her frustrated tone kind of endearing. In a fleeting thought he’d felt she was someone who could match wits with him.

 “Okay, okay, hold on, I’m coming out. Just… do me a favour and don’t scream, please.”

Arching an eyebrow you repeated. “Don’t scream? What kind of question is… oh.” You saw one extremely long leg and then another followed by a lengthy torso and a very green… okay, that’s definitely not human face. “Oh… so it wasn’t a mask…” It wasn’t as though he was unpleasant to look at though, just different.

He was trying his best to control his breathing, bracing himself for some kind of negative reaction. When none came, he took a breath and spoke, trying to keep his tone as even and neutral as possible.

“You see, when you hacked my webcam, you had unwittingly put me and and the safety of my family at risk… this is why I had to s-see you and why I froze your computer.” He was cursing himself inwardly for stuttering.

You were still trying to find your voice. You had SO many questions and actually still a bit annoyed. “First off… how…? You’re a turtle… I doubt anyone would even believe me… and… second… I didn’t even really see you! It was a complete blur and then you cut my power!” You exhaled as you took another breath. “NOW, I’m seeing you.”

Donnie couldn’t help but flinch a little. “I had to make sure, I had no idea how much of me you did see.” A soft sigh followed before he continued., pinching his skin just below where the bridge of his glasses was resting. “And if you had listened when I told you to stop, we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we?”

He’s got you there and unconsciously you bite your lower lip. The stubborn part of you, however, wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “Well, how was I supposed to know that you were a… seven foot…”

“I’m six feet, eight inches.” He interrupted with his matter-of-fact correction.

Another exasperated exhale from you. “Sorry, six foot, eight inch… turtle man!” emphasizing your point, you gestured wildly at the full length of him with your arms. “Who’s apparently so good at hacking that my entire network is completely frozen and I had to drag my ass across town to beg you to unfreeze it!”

He was a little amused by this, he had to admit as his mouth quirked a smile. “Like, I said, I had to be sure, and might I remind you once again… you were the one messing with me.”

“Yeah! Because you were fun to mess with! It was giving me a chance to practice, and it was just innocent fun, it’s not like I could do what you did! And… AND you wanna talk about an invasion of privacy? You hacked my webcam first!”

Donnie blinked, she was really getting all worked up now, and he was trying not to stoop to her level. He was failing. “I only did it because I didn’t think you’d stop! I gave you fair warning.”

“I would’ve stopped!” He doesn’t believe you at all and you hate that because he’s right, messing with him had been too much fun.

“Really?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” you stubbornly replied.

There’s no stopping his eyeroll at that. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

She crossed her arms with another soft huff. “Fine, don’t believe me.” A shrug followed. “So, now what?”

The tall turtle paused. Usually, he had all the answers but now that he’d frozen her computer and dragged her all the way out here, he felt at a loss of what to say. “I… I just wanted to make sure you’d keep my secret and not tell anyone.”

“Okay… I won’t.” A simple answer, and a truthful one. You watched as he looked at you a long moment. No doubt wondering if he could trust you or not.

Donnie was actually subtly checking for very slight facial cues to determine whether you were lying to him or not. He could tell that your heart rate appeared to be steady. Your gaze never wavered from his, no dilation of her pupils and no mouth tics either. He believed you.

“Okay.” He finally said. “Thank you. I’ll unfreeze everything once I get home.” He turned to leave. “Please get home safely.”

Wait… that was it? Just like that, he was leaving!? “Wait!” You rushed forward to grab his arm. “Wait… that’s it?”

He looked… confused? He had immediately zeroed in on your hand clutching his bicep and then back to your face. “Yes…? You agreed to not tell anyone so… you probably should… let me go? The less you see of me, the better? I thought you were… angry anyway.”

Reluctantly, you released his arm, speaking softly. “I’m not… that mad, I never was really, I just… didn’t want this to be… it. I feel like I could learn a lot from you.”

You watched as her hesitated, seemingly working through his own inner conflicts at this presented opportunity.

“You could…” He turned back around, facing you once again. “Although, you’re already pretty good, I was actually impressed that you’d made it as far as you did.”

You couldn’t help but puff up a little with pride. “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two.”

He actually laughed. Like a soft little chuckle with a wheeze, his lips blossoming into a smile. “Perhaps you could.”

You smiled back, that laugh of his was adorable. “I’ll let you go but, Donnie… don’t be a stranger, okay?” You already had known his name from getting into his system so many times.

He spoke your name too, softly. “Okay, I won’t.” He looked a little shy then. “Please, allow me to escort you home. It’s late.”

“How very chivalric of you.” Smiling at him with a nod. “I accept.”

Donnie looked pleased with this turn of events and then a little nervous. “I could… carry you, if you want, it’s faster going by rooftops.”

That was an unexpected offer. and now you hesitated before answering. “Oohkay… what are you, some kinda parkour master?”

He snorted softly with a little smirk. “Something like that, ready?”

When you nod, you’re scooped up into his arms at speed that makes you exhale quickly. Being in his arms and feeling the power they held was… nice.

“Hold on tight.” Is all he says and then he starts running.

Automatically you wrapped your arms around his neck watching as the edge of the building came closer and closer… and then, you were flying. Air shooting past your face at a speed that made your eyes water. Your stomach dropped and you clung tighter as you sailed through the air, landing with a thump on the other building.

“You, okay?” He wasn’t even out of breath, like this was easy for him.

“Yes…! Do you know where you’re going?” You ask a little breathlessly.

“Yep. Hold on, I’ll be there in ten.” He took off again, leaping across to the next and the next.

You had to admit it was probably the most exhilarating thing you’d ever experienced and you were actually a bit regretful when he stopped on the roof of your apartment building. Carefully, he brought you to your feet and pushed those large glasses of his up a bit.

“Here we are.” He was more relaxed now, you noticed and felt glad for it.

“Thanks, I appreciate you bringing me back.”

He offered a shy smile then. “You’re welcome. I dragged you out there, the least I could do is make sure you get home safely.”

“That is very much appreciated.” Feeling a bit shy yourself, you paused before heading in. “I’ll see you around.”

“For sure.” Donnie had found he didn’t want to leave yet either, he wanted to make sure you entered the apartment safely.

Heading in, you waved to him before closing the door behind you and took a deep breath. Wow… that really happened. That was incredible! You could barely contain your excitement as you went back to your apartment.

Once Donnie arrived home, true to his word he freed up her system and felt proud of himself for handling things the way that he did. He blew out a breath, leaning back in his chair a moment while lacing his fingers behind his head.

*bing*

He glanced at his screen to see his computer icons dancing and an unseen song playing in the background.

Ninja, ninja, rap, ninja, ninja, rap, go go go go. Go ninja go ninja go! Go ninja go ninja go! Go go go go!

Donnie snorted softly to himself and quickly typed a response.

Back in your apartment, your computer screen suddenly became flooded with memes. Mostly turtle ones of course and try as you might there was no containing your giggles and snorts as you watched them take over your screen. You liked him; there was something very endearing about his quiet shyness mixed with his sharp wit.

Typing back, you take over his screen once again. You took a breath and pressed enter. This was a big chance you were taking but you couldn’t help but feel a connection with the tall, lanky turtle man.

Go on a date with me

Check box yes or no

No rush

Donnie froze, his fingers twitching slightly as they hovered above his keyboard. She wants to go out on a date? With him? He had a mild panic attack for a moment and read and re-read the message at least ten times.

His cursor hovered over the ‘yes’ box. Come on Donnie, throw caution into the wind for once. When are you going to get another chance like this?

Making his decision finally, he clicked his mouse button.

Yes

You couldn’t hold your excitement as you blew out a breath of relief.

He said yes.

The End

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie

[mochroialainn]

Besties, Im gonna be so for real right now, this turned out to be a little more intense and freaky than I intended. Im currently playing the campaign for Modern Warfare II (reboot) and could not get this scenario out of my brain since I first saw Graves. So uh... warnings for power play, mentions of safe words, over stimulation, multiple orgasms, breeding, creepy graves. Minors Do Not Interact this is an 18+ Post. This was also written on mobile and formatted on desktop so please ignore any spelling/grammar errors, I'm too tired to proof read it and fix it

Thinking about cybersecurity CIA!Operative reader whos married to Price and is brought onto the task force by the Secretary of Defense (so above Shepherds head) to try and find the traitor, the SoD has an inkling that its Shepherd and Graves and its readers job to prove it. One of the ways she does it, because shes young and pretty and knows how to get what she wants from a man, is by flirting with Graves and gradually getting closer and closer to him until she can hack his phone and gain access to his emails. She hates it. Hates him and his arrogance, his cocky smile and the way his eyes always trace over her body and stay too long leering at her tits when they talk. He genuinely makes her feel sick and queasy, and she shivers everytime shes out of his sight after flirting with him.

Price hates it. Hates the way Graves looks at her, eyes always on her tits or ass as if she was nothing more than something to fuck and leave disgarded. He has to clench his jaw and bite his tongue anytime he sees them together, he wants to punch Graves and break his fucking jaw. Wants to take a knife and carve his heart out of his fucking chest. But he doesn’t, because he can't. It would jeporadise everything you had worked for, would jeporadise his team if Shepherd knew his little lapdog had been found out he would have all of them killed in seconds.

But when you come to him after flirting with Graves all day, locking his office door behind you and already stripping yourself from your clothes beginning him to make you forget about every look and leer and touch from Graves, hes all but happy to oblige. He kisses you something fierce, all passion with a hint of danger mixed in, all lips and teeth and desperate panting into your mouth as he sigs your bare ass on his desk one hand already toying with your nipple while the other travels further down and starts to rub hard, rough circles your clit. You were already wet thinking about him, and now it starts to pull, slicking up your tighs and his desk but John doesnt care. It wouldnt be the first time he fucked you over his desk and it wouldnt be the last either. John makes you cum from just touching your clit before he removes his finger and rakes it through your hair, grabbing at the roots and pulling so your neck was barred to him.

He so desperately wanted to mark you, leaving bitea and hickeys over your skin to claim you as his but he couldnt, do he was gentle. Trailing kisses down your pulse point and across your collarbone, down your sternum going lower and lower until his face was in front of your pussy and he dove in like a man starved. Lips wrapping around your clit and sucking harshley, a satisfying pop echoing in the room as he let go. His eyes stared up at you as you threaded your fingers through his hair, "you remember your safe word?" A nod from you is all he needs to keep going, teeth digging into the supple flesh of your tigh as he slowly slid teo fingers into your weeping hole. He made sure to push you to the edge and withdraw, over and over again until you were a crying mess and he had mercy on you, edging you again until again until he finally let you cum. He made sure you came for him 2 more times before he even entartained the thought of fucking you and when he finally pulled his cock out of his trousers (not having undressed yet, wanting your wetness to soak into his clothes) you nearly weeped from the pleasure and overstimulation when he entered you, all the way to the hilt in one go. And there was no way he was stopping until he pumped at least 2 loads into your gorgeous pussy.

He'll make you forget all about Graves, hell when hes done with you, you'll be lucky if you can even remember your own name and don't walk away pregnant.

[jihoonjuseyo]

Perverted jihoon hacking readers computer so he can see what she is doing in her room just to see her jerking off to him.... Then might end it with him fucking her in her bedsheets the very same night

~💩

a/n: this isn’t something i usually write ;u; i really tried to make him a pervert but i have a hard time writing real people with these kinds of character traits. i hope you understand ♡

cw: smut, toys, spying, dubcon if you squint, computer hacking to watch reader masturbate, oh yeah masturbation, lmk if i missed anything

requests open!

when you told jihoon that you’ve been told that you make noises when you sleep, he half-believed it to start. he wasn’t a stranger to having his ear pressed to the wall that separates your bedrooms. he recognized quickly that those weren’t just measly noises from sleep, no soft hums from your slumber - no, those were *moans* he was hearing.

it woke an obsession within him, standing next to the wall for minutes after you’ve gone to bed, hoping and praying that he’d hear the soft buzz he’d learn to listen for, his hand already moving down to his waistband.

it woke an obsession within him, standing next to the wall for minutes after he knows you’ve gone to bed, hoping and praying that he’d hear the soft buzz he’d learn to listen for, his hand already moving down to his waistband. he’d seen the vibrator once. on accident, as he was so innocently helping you organize your drawers one day while you were gone. he certainly didn’t smear his own cum on it just to see it before washing it off, oh no.

jihoon’s obsession continued to grow as he patiently waited for your soft moans in the night, his mind filling with increasingly more debaucherous thoughts of you. one night, as he stood with his ear pressed against the wall, he heard the familiar buzz he was waiting for, the soft gasp of your initial tease to your core.

a thrill ran through his body as he pressed even closer to the wall, his excitement growing as he listened to the soft moans coming from the other side.

he pictured you in your room, those little shorts you wore (the ones he saw riding up your ass countless times throughout the afternoon), pulled to the side with your fingers teasing your entrance. he loved the idea of that purple toy shoved inside of you, your walls encasing it so tightly. but your fingers, god he pictured them everywhere on his body-

he closed his eyes as he stroked his cock, a shaky breath coming out as jihoon pictured himself in front of the bed, eyes level with your cunt as you teased yourself.

that’s when his brain went a different direction, and he physically felt his length harden at the idea. your computer, so perfectly situated in the front of your bed. jihoon knew that computer had the best spot in the world, it made him envious.

jihoon's mind continued to spin as he listened to your soft moans through the wall. as the room on the other side of the wall fell silent, he quietly stepped away from the wall, his mind still filled with thoughts of you. it was like a magnet pulling him back to the wall, but he resisted.

he walked over to his own desk, his hands shaky as he turned on his computer. he knew that he had to see the view that your computer was enjoying. it was so unfair, the way he knows your legs are spread out for the computer to see.

sitting down at his desk, jihoon quickly launched the hacking program he had been developing for the past few months. with a few commands, he was in your system, giving him access to your webcam and the contents on it.

he navigated to your webcam and clicked to open the live feed, his heart racing in anticipation. he'd been fantasizing about this moment for weeks, hoping he would be able to get a glimpse of your most intimate moments before you fall asleep.

as the camera launched, jihoon’s breath hitched as your bedroom came into view. there you were, laid out on your bed, wearing those same shorts that had been driving him crazy all day.

only, those shorts were pulled to your ankles,

“jihoon-“ your voice hitched, making jihoon’s hand, that had been pumping his cock so slickly, stuttered, his hips jerking slightly. he felt his face flush, his instincts kicking in almost immediately. he had to grip the chair as he considered, barging in on a private moment or making her fantasies a reality?

jihoon's mind raced as he watched you on the other end of the camera, his body reacting to every little sound you made. he knew that spying on you was wrong, but he couldn't help himself now. he wanted you so badly that he could taste it.

his mind was swirling with all the ways he wanted to taste you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes focused on the way you were writhing on the bed. He couldn't believe the situation he found himself in, watching you so intimately without you even knowing.

“fuck it,” he hissed, pushing himself out of the chair and standing up, pushing his cock back into his pants for the moment.

jihoon's heart was pounding in his chest as he quickly got up and left his bedroom, his mind racing with thoughts of what he was about to do. he approached your door, his hand shaking slightly as he reached out to turn the knob.

jihoon hesitated for a moment before turning the doorknob and slowly opening the door, his breath caught in his throat as he stepped inside. the room was dimly lit by the light from the desk, the computer screen casting an eerie glow on your body as you lay in bed.

his eyes drank in the sight of you, laid out before him like a gift. he closed the door behind him, the soft click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in his ears.

unfortunately for him, you’d heard it too. you shot up with a gasp, hands coming out while simultaneously trying to cover your lower half with your legs. “d-don’t you know h-h-ho-aaa..!” jihoon felt himself get chocked up, knowing that you were attempting to hide the fact that a vibrator was lodged tightly in your pussy.

jihoon's eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, his gaze going straight to where your hands were trying to hide the vibrator. His heart raced in his chest as he tried to form a coherent thought.

he took a step forward, his mind going back to the sight on the camera. he hadn't been able to see that in the dimly lit room, nor had he been prepared for the way it would feel to see it in person.

“I-I…” he tried to speak, but the words got caught in his throat as his body responded to the view in front of him. he took another step forward, bringing him within a few feet of the bed.

jihoon's eyes roamed over your body, taking in every part of you. the sight of your chest heaving with each labored breath was almost too much for him, the urge to touch you growing stronger with each moment.

“I don’t-“ he started, his voice low and rough. he took another step forward, bringing him right next to the bed. he knelt down on the edge, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out to touch you. you jerked back slightly, your breath heavy as you watched jihoon intensely, confused but curious.

his eyes, ever so dark and focused, stared at the exposed part of your leg before trailing his hand up your thigh, pushing the blanket up as well as you almost fought him. “hey-“ you began, but he shushed you, not even having the respect to look at you before he tossed the blanket over your hip, wasting no time in prying your legs open and half-leaping onto the bed to ensure a place between your legs. “fuck- fuck-“ he didn’t know where to look first, your thighs were spread out and held by his strong arms, encasing your thighs between his forearms and biceps.

yet, his mesmerized eyes didn’t even flinch as you barely thrashed, more confused on the situation. “jihoon, wha— ah—.?!” you hissed when you felt the vibrator push further into your core, glancing down at him in shock. his lips were pressed to the flat end, applying pressure to the toy as it penetrated and rotated inside of you.

you pulled yourself to face him, expression one of bliss and shock. his eyes shifted from your clit, up towards your face. “are you going to behave?” he asked.

you found no fight within you, feeling your legs give up as well. jihoon felt them relax as he set them on his shoulders. his hand moving to grasp the toy. his mouth found freedom, yet immediately hitched up to attack your clit, his tongue flattening it with his saliva aiding your juices in soaking you. with gentle movements, you felt the pull and stretch of the toy in a way you never have before, stomach feeling twitchy as a new type of pleasure settled within you.

“does that feel good?” jihoon asked, clicking the button on the vibrator to speed it up and watch you curl just slightly from the suddenness.

“so good,” you whimpered, both hands coming down to thread through his hair. “so fucking— oh, god,” you purred, hips lifting just slightly to give a slow grind to his lips when he delivered a particularly sweet suckle to your numb.

“i have a lot to make up for,” jihoon said mostly to himself, his free hand coming to smear the spit all over your clit in a messy fashion.

you didn’t question the statement, too focused on the way your eyes practically rolled back. whatever he meant, you prayed it meant that you wouldn’t be leaving the bed any time soon.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Enshittification isn’t caused by venture capital

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

Many of us have left the big social media platforms; far more of us wish we could leave them; and even those of us who've escaped from Facebook/Insta and Twitter still spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to get the people we care about off of them, too.

It's lazy and easy to think that our friends who are stuck on legacy platforms run by Zuckerberg and Musk lack the self-discipline to wean themselves off of these services, or lack the perspective to understand why it's so urgent to get away from them, or that their "hacked dopamine loops" have addicted them to the zuckermusk algorithms. But if you actually listen to the people who've stayed behind, you'll learn that the main reason our friends stay on legacy platforms is that they care about the other people there more than they hate Zuck or Musk.

They rely on them because they're in a rare-disease support group; or they all coordinate their kids' little league carpools there; or that's where they stay in touch with family and friends they left behind when they emigrated; or they're customers or the audience for creative labor.

All those people might want to leave, too, but it's really hard to agree on where to go, when to go, and how to re-establish your groups when you get somewhere else. Economists call this the "collective action problem." This problem creates "switching costs" – a lot of stuff you'll have to live without if you switch from legacy platforms to new ones. The collective action problem is hard to solve and the switching costs are very high:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/29/how-to-leave-dying-social-media-platforms/

That's why people stay behind – not because they lack perspective, or self-discipline, or because their dopamine loops have been hacked by evil techbro sorcerers who used Big Data to fashion history's first functional mind-control ray. They are locked in by real, material things.

Big Tech critics who attribute users' moral failings or platforms' technical prowess to the legacy platforms' "stickiness" are their own worst enemies. These critics have correctly identified that legacy platforms are a serious problem, but have totally failed to understand the nature of that problem or how to fix it. Thankfully, more and more critics are coming to understand that lock-in is the root of the problem, and that anti-lock-in measures like interoperability can address it.

But there's another major gap in the mainstream critique of social media. Critics of zuckermuskian media claim those services are so terrible because they're for-profit entities, capitalist enterprises hitched to the logic of extraction and profit above all else. The problem with this claim is that it doesn't explain the changes to these services. After all, the reason so many of us got on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram is because they used to be a lot of fun. They were useful. They were even great at times.

When tech critics fail to ask why good services turn bad, that failure is just as severe as the failure to ask why people stay when the services rot.

Now, the guy who ran Facebook when it was a great way to form communities and make friends and find old friends is the same guy who who has turned Facebook into a hellscape. There's very good reason to believe that Mark Zuckerberg was always a creep, and he took investment capital very early on, long before he started fucking up the service. So what gives? Did Zuck get a brain parasite that turned him evil? Did his investors get more demanding in their clamor for dividends?

If that's what you think, you need to show your working. Again, by all accounts, Zuck was a monster from day one. Zuck's investors – both the VCs who backed him early and the gigantic institutional funds whose portfolios are stuffed with Meta stock today – are not patient sorts with a reputation for going easy on entrepreneurs who leave money on the table. They've demanded every nickel since the start.

What changed? What caused Zuck to enshittify his service? And, even more importantly for those of us who care about the people locked into Facebook's walled gardens: what stopped him from enshittifying his services in the "good old days?"

At its root, enshittification is a theory about constraints. Companies pursue profit at all costs, but while you may be tempted to focus on the "at all costs" part of that formulation, you musn't neglect the "profits" part. Companies don't pursue unprofitable actions at all costs – they only pursue the plans that they judge are likely to yield profits.

When companies face real competitors, then some enshittificatory gambits are unprofitable, because they'll drive your users to competing platforms. That's why Zuckerberg bought Instagram: he had been turning the screws on Facebook users, and when Instagram came along, millions of those users decided that they hated Zuck more than they loved their friends and so they swallowed the switching costs and defected to Instagram. In an ill-advised middle-of-the-night memo to his CFO, Zuck defended spending $1b on Instagram on the grounds that it would recapture those Facebook escapees:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/7/29/21345723/facebook-instagram-documents-emails-mark-zuckerberg-kevin-systrom-hearing

A company that neutralizes, buys or destroys its competitors can treat its users far worse – invade their privacy, cheap out on moderation and anti-spam, etc – without losing their business. That's why Zuck's motto is "it is better to buy than to compete":

https://www.trtworld.com/magazine/zuckerberg-its-better-to-buy-than-compete-is-facebook-a-monopoly-42243

Of course, as a leftist, I know better than to count on markets as a reliable source of corporate discipline. Even more important than market discipline is government discipline, in the form of regulation. If Zuckerberg feared fines for privacy violations, or moderation failures, or illegal anticompetitive mergers, or fraudulent advertising systems that rip off publishers and advertisers, or other forms of fraud (like the "pivot to video"), he would treat his users better. But Facebook's rise to power took place during the second half of the neoliberal era, when the last shreds of regulatory muscle that survived the Reagan revolution were being devoured by GW Bush and Obama (and then Trump).

As cartels and monopolies took over our economy, most government regulators were neutered and captured. Public agencies were stripped of their powers or put in harness to attack small companies, customers, and suppliers who got in the way of monopolists' rent-extraction. That meant that as Facebook grew, Zuckerberg had less and less to fear from government enforcers who might punish him for enshittification where the markets failed to do so.

But it's worse than that, because Zuckerberg and other tech monopolists figured out how to harness "IP" law to get the government to shut down third-party technology that might help users resist enshittification. IP law is why you can't make a privacy-protecting ad-blocker for an app (and why companies are so desperate to get you to use their apps rather than the open web, and why apps are so dismally enshittified). IP law is why you can't make an alternative client that blocks algorithmic recommendations. IP law is why you can't leave Facebook for a new service and run a scraper that imports your waiting Facebook messages into a different inbox. IP law is why you can't scrape Facebook to catalog the paid political disinformation the company allows on the platform:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

IP law's growth has coincided with Facebook's ascendancy – the bigger Facebook got, the more tempting it was to interoperators who might want to plug new code into it to protect Facebook users, and the more powers Facebook had to block even the most modest improvements to its service. That meant that Facebook could enshittify even more, without worrying that it would drive users to take unilateral, permanent action that would deprive it of revenue, like blocking ads. Once ad-blocking is illegal (as it is on apps), there's no reason not to make ads as obnoxious as you want.

Of course, many Facebook employees cared about their users, and for most of the 21st century, those workers were a key asset for Facebook. Tech workers were in short supply until just a couple years ago, when the platforms started round after round of brutal layoffs – 260,000 in 2023, another 150,000+ in 2024. Facebook workers may be furious about Zuckerberg killing content moderation, but he's not worried about them quitting – not with a half-million skilled tech workers out there, hunting for jobs. Fuck 'em. Let 'em quit:

https://www.404media.co/its-total-chaos-internally-at-meta-right-now-employees-protest-zuckerbergs-anti-lgbtq-changes/

This is what changed: the collapse of market, government, and labor constraints, and IP law's criminalization of disenshittifying, interoperable add-ons. This is why Zuck, an eternal creep, is now letting his creep flag fly so proudly today. Not because he's a worse person, but because he understands that he can hurt his users and workers to benefit his shareholders without facing any consequences. Zuckerberg 2025 isn't the most evil Zuck, he's the most unconstrained Zuck.

Same goes for Twitter. I mean, obviously, there's been a change in management at Twitter – the guy who's enshittifying it today isn't the guy who enshittified it prior to last year. Musk is speedrunning the enshittification curve, and yet Twitter isn't collapsing. Why not? Because Musk is insulated from consequences for fucking up – he's got a huge cushion of wealth, he's got advertisers who are desperate to reach his users, he's got users who can't afford to leave the service, he's got IP law that he can use to block interoperators who might make it easier to migrate to a better service. He was always a greedy, sadistic asshole. Now he's an unconstrained greedy, sadistic asshole. Musk 2025 isn't a worse person than Musk 2020. He's just more free to act on his evil impulses than he was in years gone by.

These are the two factors that make services terrible: captive users, and no constraints. If your users can't leave, and if you face no consequences for making them miserable (not solely their departure to a competitor, but also fines, criminal charges, worker revolts, and guerrilla warfare with interoperators), then you have the means, motive and opportunity to turn your service into a giant pile of shit.

That's why we got Jack Welch and his acolytes when we did. There were always evil fuckers just like them hanging around, but they didn't get to run GM until Ronald Reagan took away the constraints that would have punished them for turning GE into a giant pile of shit. Every economy is forever a-crawl with parasites and monsters like these, but they don't get to burrow into the system and colonize it until policymakers create rips they can pass through.

In other words, the profit motive itself is not sufficient to cause enshittification – not even when a for-profit firm has to answer to VCs who would shut down the company or fire its leadership in the face of unsatisfactory returns. For-profit companies chase profit. The enshittifying changes to Facebook and Twitter are cruel, but the cruelty isn't the point: the point is profits. If the fines – or criminal charges – Facebook faced for invading our privacy exceeded the ad-targeting revenue it makes by doing so, it would stop spying on us. Facebook wouldn't like it. Zuck would hate it. But he'd do it, because he spies on us to make money, not because he's a voyeur.

To stop enshittification, it is not necessary to eliminate the profit motive – it is only necessary to make enshittification unprofitable.

This is not to defend capitalism. I'm not saying there's a "real capitalism" that's good, and a "crony capitalism" or "monopoly capitalism" that's bad. All flavors of capitalism harm working people and seek to shift wealth and power from the public and democratic institutions to private interests. But that doesn't change the fact that there are, indeed, different flavors of capitalism, and they have different winners and losers. Capitalists who want to sell apps on the App Store or reach customers through Facebook are technofeudalism's losers, while Apple, Facebook, Google, and other Big Tech companies are technofeudalism's great winners.

Smart leftism pays attention to these differences, because they represent the potential fault lines in capitalism's coalition. These people all call themselves capitalists, they all give money and support to political movements that seek to crush worker power and human rights – but when the platforms win, the platforms' business customers lose. They are irreconcilably on different sides of a capitalism-v-capitalism fight that is every bit as important to them as the capitalism-v-socialism fight.

I'm saying that it's good praxis to understand these divisions in capitalism, because then we can exploit those differences to make real, material gains for human thriving and worker rights. Lumping all for-profit businesses together as identical and irredeemable is bad tactics.

Legacy social media is at a turning point. Two new systems built on open standards have emerged as a credible threat to the zuckermuskian model: Mastodon (built on Activitypub) and Bluesky (built on Atproto). The former is far more mature, with a huge network of federated servers run by all different kinds of institutions, from hobbyists to corporations, and it's overseen by a nonprofit. The latter has far more users, and is a VC-backed corporate entity, and while it is hypothetically federatable, there are no Bluesky services apart from the main one that you can leave for if Bluesky starts to enshittify.

That means that Bluesky has a ton of captive users, and has the lack of constraint that characterizes the enshittified legacy platforms it has tempted tens of millions of users away from. This is not a good place to be in, because it means that if the current management choose to enshittify Bluesky, they can, and it will be profitable. It also means that the company's VCs understand that they could replace the current management and replace them with willing enshittifiers and make more money.

This is why Bluesky is in a dangerous place: not because it is backed by VCs, not because it is a for-profit entity, but because it has captive users and no constraints. It's a great party in a sealed building with no fire exits:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/14/fire-exits/#graceful-failure-modes

Last week, I endorsed a project called Free Our Feeds, whose goals include hacking some fire exits into Bluesky by force majeure – that is, independently standing up an alternative Bluesky server that people can retreat to if Bluesky management changes, or has a change of heart:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/14/contesting-popularity/#everybody-samba

For some Mastodon users, Free Our Feeds is dead on arrival – why bother trying to make a for-profit project safer for its users when Mastodon is a perfectly good nonprofit alternative? Why waste millions developing a standalone Bluesky server rather than spending that money improving things in the Fediverse.

I believe strongly in improving the Fediverse, and I believe in adding the long-overdue federation to Bluesky. That's because my goal isn't the success of the Fediverse – it's the defeat of enshtitification. My answer to "why spend money fixing Bluesky?" is "why leave 20 million people at risk of enshittification when we could not only make them safe, but also create the toolchain to allow many, many organizations to operate a whole federation of Bluesky servers?" If you care about a better internet – and not just the Fediverse – then you should share this goal, too.

Many of the Fediverse's servers are operated by for-profit entities, after all. One of the Fediverse's largest servers (Threads) is owned by Meta. Threads users who feel the bite of Zuckerberg's decision to encourage homophobic, xenophobic and transphobic hate speech will find it easy to escape from Threads: they can set up on any Fediverse server that is federated with Threads and they'll be able to maintain their connections with everyone who stays behind.

The existence of for-profit servers in the Fediverse does not ruin the Fediverse (though I wouldn't personally use one of them). The fact that multiple neo-Nazi groups run their own Mastodon servers does not ruin the Fediverse (though I certainly won't use their servers). Not even the fact that Donald Trump's Truth Social is a Mastodon server does anything to ruin the Fediverse (not using that one, either).

This is the strength of federated, federatable social media – it disciplines enshittifiers by lowering switching costs, and if enshittifiers persist, it makes it easy for users to escape unshitted, because they don't have to solve the collective action problem. Any user can go to any server at any time and stay in touch with everyone else.

Mastodon was born free: free code, with free federation as a priority. Bluesky was not: it was born within a for-profit public benefit corporation whose charter offers some defenses against enshittification, but lacks the most decisive one: the federation that would let users escape should escape become necessary.

The fact that Mastodon was born free is quite unusual in the annals of the fight for a free internet. Most of the internet was born proprietary and had freedom foisted upon it. Unix was born within Bell Labs, property of the convicted monopolist AT&T. The GNU/Linux project set it free.

SMB was born proprietary within corporate walls of Microsoft, another corporate monopolist. SAMBA set it free.

The Office file formats were also born proprietary within Microsoft's walled garden: they were set free by hacker-activists who fought through a thick bureaucratic morass and Microsoft fuckery (including literally refusing to allow chairs to be set for advocates for Open Document Format) to give us formats that underlie everything from LibreOffice to Google Docs, Office365 to your web browser.

There is nothing unusual, in other words, about hacking freedom into something that is proprietary or just insufficiently free. That's totally normal. It's how we got almost everything great about computers.

Mastodon's progenitors should be praised for ensuring their creation was born free – but the fact that Bluesky isn't free enough is no reason to turn our back on it. Our response to anything that locks in the people we care about must be to shatter those locks, not abandon the people bound by the locks because they didn't heed to our warnings.

Audre Lorde is far smarter than me, but when she wrote that "the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house," she was wrong. There is no toolset better suited to conduct an orderly dismantling of a structure than the tools that built it. You can be sure it'll have all the right screwdriver bits, wrenches, hexkeys and sockets.

Bluesky is fine. It has features I significantly prefer to Mastodon's equivalent. Composable moderation is amazing, both a technical triumph and a triumph of human-centered design:

https://bsky.social/about/blog/4-13-2023-moderation

I hope Mastodon adopts those features. If someone starts a project to copy all of Bluesky's best features over to Mastodon, I'll put my name to the crowdfunding campaign in a second.

But Mastodon has one feature that Bluesky sorely lacks – the federation that imposes antienshittificatory discipline on companies and offers an enshittification fire-exit for users if the discipline fails. It's long past time that someone copied that feature over to Bluesky.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/20/capitalist-unrealism/#praxis