#and i need a regular sleeping pattern | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

Text

Hookups & Holdouts

Summary: Spencer is casually seeing your friend, but is there something going on between you and him as well?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, mild angst

Warnings/Includes: bisexual Spencer Reid (it's canon to me), having a crush on your friends fwb, tension, Spencer is just a man, forced encounters

Word count: 7.7k

a/n: unfortunately i have been the reader in this situation ........

main masterlist

The night was buzzing with the energy of the bar, the kind of place where the music vibrated through the floors, and the chatter of conversations created a constant hum. You had gone out with your coworkers for a much-needed night of unwinding after a particularly stressful week. It was supposed to be a night of letting loose, but instead, your thoughts were consumed by someone you had met not too long ago—Spencer.

Your mind drifted to the first time you met him. It was at a small get-together hosted by Anders, a close friend of yours who had been seeing Spencer for a while now. You hadn't expected to hit it off with Spencer as much as you did, especially since you thought he was strictly into men. But as the night went on, you found yourself drawn to his quirky intelligence, his sharp wit, and the way his eyes seemed to light up when he talked about something he was passionate about.

You quickly became friends, texting back and forth until it became a regular part of your day. It was during one of these late-night text exchanges that you learned Spencer was bisexual. Your heart had done a little flip at that revelation, but you quickly shoved your feelings aside, convincing yourself that Spencer was head over heels for Anders. After all, they were sleeping together, and Anders was obviously very into him.

But now, as you sipped your drink and scanned the bar, you spotted Spencer at a table with a group of people who had to be his coworkers. Your heart skipped a beat. You had heard a lot about them from Spencer—Derek, JJ, Emily—but seeing them in person was something else entirely. You were about to wave and call out to him when Spencer’s eyes found yours first. He smiled that familiar smile, the one that always made your stomach do somersaults, and excused himself from his group.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Spencer greeted you as he approached, his voice warm and teasing.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the smartest guy in the room,” you replied with a grin, trying to hide how your pulse quickened just being around him.

“I don’t know about that,” Spencer said, downplaying your compliment in that self-deprecating way he always did. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” You motioned to the empty stool next to you.

The two of you quickly fell into your usual rhythm, talking about everything from work to the latest books you were reading. But as the conversation flowed, you couldn’t help the little quips that started slipping out, your nerves getting the better of you.

“So, how’s Anders? You two still having fun?” you asked, trying to sound casual but feeling a twinge of something uncomfortable as you brought him up.

Spencer chuckled lightly, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “Anders is… fine. He’s fun to be around, I guess.”

You raised an eyebrow at his tone. “You guess? Come on, Spencer, the guy’s practically in love with you.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the edge of his glass. “Anders is… nice. But, uh, he’s not really my type.”

That took you by surprise. You thought for sure that Spencer was into Anders—why else would he keep seeing him? “Not your type? You’ve been sleeping with him for weeks.”

“Yeah, well… sometimes people do things for reasons other than love,” Spencer said, his voice dropping slightly. He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read, a mix of vulnerability and something else that made your heart race.

You suddenly felt a bit silly for bringing it up, but you couldn’t stop the words from coming out. “So, what’s wrong with him? Not smart enough for you?”

Spencer let out a small laugh, but there was no real amusement behind it. “Something like that. He’s just… we don’t connect on a deeper level, you know? It’s all very surface-level.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you processed his words. “I see. So, no chance of you two becoming anything serious, then?”

Spencer hesitated before answering, his gaze locking onto yours. “Honestly? I’m not looking for anything serious with Anders. I’m just… I don’t know, trying to figure things out. I think he knows that.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized what he was saying. Anders wasn’t who Spencer really wanted. But then who was? The question hung heavy in the air between you, but you were too scared to ask it out loud. Instead, you deflected, cracking a joke to cover up the awkwardness.

“Well, if you’re not looking for serious, maybe I should set you up with my other friend. They’re even more clueless than Anders.”

Spencer’s eyes crinkled with a small smile, but there was a hint of frustration in them. “You really think that’s what I’m after? Clueless fun?”

You shrugged, trying to keep the mood light despite the tightness in your chest. “Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

Spencer sighed, leaning closer to you. His voice was soft, almost hesitant. “No. Not everyone.”

Your heart raced, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to face the possibility that you weren’t what Spencer was looking for. The thought of getting hurt, of not being enough, was too much to bear. So, like you always did when things got too real, you joked.

“Well, when you meet a man who doesn’t want that, send them my way,” you said with a forced laugh, trying to brush off the weight of the moment.

Spencer’s expression faltered for just a split second, but you caught it—the brief flicker of disappointment in his eyes before he quickly masked it. He straightened up, the space between you widening as he pulled back. The connection you had just felt so deeply seemed to fray at the edges, unraveling as the conversation shifted back to safer, more casual topics.

“Yeah, sure,” Spencer replied, his tone light, almost too light. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

The easygoing smile he offered didn’t quite reach his eyes, and you could tell he was retreating, closing himself off. Your stomach twisted in regret, but you couldn’t bring yourself to backtrack, to admit that you had only been joking out of fear.

Instead, you followed his lead, letting the conversation drift back to mundane things—the latest case he had been working on, the books you both had been reading, the random, everyday things that were usually so comforting. But now, every word felt like a reminder of what you might have just lost, of the opportunity that had slipped through your fingers.

As the night wore on, you found yourself laughing and talking as you always did with Spencer, but there was a heaviness in the air that neither of you acknowledged. The easy rapport you had was still there, but it was tinged with something unsaid, something that had almost been spoken but was now buried beneath the surface.

When it was time to part ways, Spencer walked you to the door, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. You felt the tension in the air, the unspoken words hanging between you like a thick fog.

“Thanks for hanging out tonight,” he said, his voice still carrying that light, casual tone.

“Yeah, it was fun,” you replied, forcing a smile.

There was a brief pause, a moment where you both stood there, just looking at each other. You wanted to say something, to take back your earlier joke, to tell him how you really felt. But the fear of rejection, of ruining what you already had, held you back.

Spencer gave you a small nod, then turned to leave. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. “See you around.”

As you watched him walk away, disappearing into the night, you couldn’t help but feel the sting of regret. You had missed your chance, and now you were left wondering what could have been if you had just been brave enough to be honest.

—

The drive to Anders' place was filled with a mixture of nerves and determination. You had made up your mind; it was time to tell Anders the truth. He deserved to know that Spencer wasn't interested in him the way he wanted. It wasn’t fair for him to keep investing in something that wasn’t going anywhere. You hated the idea of hurting your friend, but it was better than letting him continue on, oblivious.

You pulled up to Anders' apartment, trying to shake off the unease that clung to you. The familiar routine of movie nights had always been a comfort, a way to unwind and relax. But tonight was different. Tonight, you were going to disrupt that comfort with harsh reality.

Taking a deep breath, you let yourself in, as you always did. Anders never minded; his place was practically your second home. You called out to announce your arrival, but the words caught in your throat when you saw the scene in front of you.

There, on the couch where you usually sat, was Spencer—completely naked, with an equally naked Anders in his lap. The image burned into your brain, your eyes widening in shock as you tried to process what you were seeing.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” you yelled, immediately spinning around to face the door, your heart racing in your chest. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, embarrassment and shock battling for dominance in your mind.

Anders, ever the carefree spirit, just giggled. The sound was light, airy, completely unfazed by the situation. “Hey, babe, what are you doing here?” he asked casually, as if you hadn’t just walked in on him in the middle of a very intimate moment.

“Uh—you asked if I wanted to watch a movie tonight!” you stammered, still refusing to turn around, your eyes fixed firmly on the door. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out how to extricate yourself from this incredibly awkward situation without making it worse.

“Oh, right!” Anders said, his voice full of realization. “I totally forgot. We, uh, kind of got distracted.” He let out another giggle, as if this whole thing was just a minor inconvenience.

Spencer, on the other hand, was silent. You could feel the tension radiating from him, and it only made your discomfort grow. You wanted to disappear, to erase the last few minutes from existence. But there was no undoing what had just happened.

“I—uh, I’ll just go,” you mumbled, reaching for the door handle, desperate to escape.

“No, wait!” Anders called out, but you were already halfway out the door. The last thing you wanted was to stick around and make things even more awkward.

You bolted down the hallway, not stopping until you were back in your car. Once inside, you sat there for a moment, your hands gripping the steering wheel as you tried to steady your breathing. The image of Spencer and Anders was still fresh in your mind, and you felt a wave of emotions crashing over you—embarrassment, guilt, sadness, and something else you couldn’t (or didn’t want to) name.

As you drove away, you couldn’t help but feel like the worst friend in the world. You had come to tell Anders the truth, to help him move on, but instead, you had just walked in on something that was probably better left unseen. And now, you didn’t know how you were going to face either of them again.

In the back of your mind, though, there was another thought, one that made your heart ache even more. You had seen Spencer in a way that only deepened your feelings for him, but you also knew, without a doubt, that he wasn’t yours to have. Not now. Not ever.

—

The days that followed the incident at Anders' apartment were some of the most confusing and emotionally draining you had ever experienced. Spencer's text message—I’m sorry you saw that. Are we okay?—had sat on your phone like a ticking time bomb. Every time you opened your messages, there it was, a stark reminder of what you’d witnessed, and what you couldn’t unsee. You had read it countless times, but every time, it made your chest tighten and your eyes burn with unshed tears. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, not yet. Not when everything felt so raw.

So you let it sit. And sit. Days turned into weeks, and you kept yourself distant from both Spencer and Anders. You barely texted Anders, showing up in his life only when absolutely necessary, and even then, you kept things as casual and distant as possible. Luckily, Anders didn’t seem to notice much, his naturally spaced-out personality giving you some breathing room. But you knew you couldn’t avoid him forever. Eventually, he would notice. Eventually, you would have to face him again.

And that day had come sooner than you would have liked. Anders had messaged you about another movie night, and you knew it was time to face the music. You agreed to come over, but you made sure to call from the parking lot, wanting to avoid any more unplanned surprises.

“Hey, I’m here,” you said into the phone, trying to keep your voice light as you sat in your car outside Anders' apartment.

“Great! Come on up, I’ve got the popcorn ready,” Anders replied, his usual cheerful tone making you feel a little guilty for having avoided him for so long.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to get out of the car and walk up to his apartment. Your nerves were on edge, but you told yourself it would be fine. You just had to get through this night, and then maybe things would start to feel normal again.

Once inside, you tried to focus on the task at hand, helping Anders get the snacks together in the kitchen. It was almost working—almost—until you heard the sound of the front door opening.

“Hey, lover!” Anders called out, his voice bright and playful.

Your heart sank, and you froze in place, your hand hovering over the bowl of chips you were holding. You didn’t need to turn around to know who had just walked in. That voice had been seared into your memory, and the way Anders greeted him left no doubt.

Spencer.

You could feel your pulse quicken, panic rising in your chest as you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly busied yourself with the snacks, pretending you hadn’t heard, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get through this without falling apart.

But then Spencer spoke, his voice soft and hesitant. “Hey… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing as you forced yourself to turn around. There he was, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking just as nervous and out of place as you felt. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the weight of everything that had gone unsaid hanging heavily between you.

“Yeah, I, uh… I didn’t know either,” you finally managed to say, your voice sounding weaker than you intended. “Anders didn’t mention you were coming.”

Anders, completely oblivious to the tension in the room, just smiled and shrugged. “I thought it’d be fun to have both of you here. You’re my favorite people, after all.”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, fun.”

Spencer’s gaze lingered on you, and you could see the concern in his eyes. He knew you hadn’t replied to his message, and he was waiting for some sign that things were okay. But you weren’t sure if they were. You weren’t sure if you could pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Anders, still blissfully unaware, handed you the bowl of popcorn. “Come on, let’s get started! I’ve been dying to watch this movie all week.”

You nodded, taking the bowl and heading to the living room, doing your best to avoid brushing against Spencer as you passed him. The three of you settled onto the couch—the same couch—and you couldn’t help but feel like you were in some twisted version of a love triangle. Except, in this version, you were the only one who felt like you were losing.

As the movie started, you found it nearly impossible to focus. Your mind kept drifting back to the moment in the kitchen, to the look in Spencer’s eyes, to the fact that you were sitting mere inches away from him, and yet it felt like there was a chasm between you.

Anders, as usual, was fully engrossed in the movie, laughing at all the right moments, completely at ease. You envied him for that, for being able to enjoy the night without the weight of unspoken feelings hanging over his head.

But then, halfway through the movie, Anders got a call and had to step out of the room, leaving you and Spencer alone together. The silence that followed was deafening, the tension in the air almost suffocating.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, glancing at you before speaking. “I’m really sorry about everything,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean for things to get so complicated.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that you were the one who had let things get complicated, but the words just wouldn’t come.

“I… I don’t want things to be awkward between us,” Spencer continued, his voice soft. “I miss talking to you.”

That was it. The dam broke, and before you knew it, you were blinking back tears, trying desperately to keep them from falling. Your emotions, which you had kept bottled up for so long, suddenly became too much to bear.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you stood up abruptly, grabbing your things in a desperate bid to escape. You could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, full of concern and confusion, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. If you did, you knew you’d fall apart completely.

“Wait—” Spencer started to say, reaching out as if to stop you, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“Tell Anders whatever you want,” you said, your voice firmer this time, but still laced with the pain you were trying so hard to hide. You couldn’t stay there, not with Spencer, not with the weight of your feelings suffocating you. The thought of facing Anders, of pretending everything was normal, was impossible.

And with that, you turned and walked out of the apartment, not giving Spencer a chance to respond. The door clicked shut behind you, and the moment you were outside, the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, streaming down your cheeks as you hurried to your car.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing with a mixture of regret, fear, and sadness. You had run away, leaving Spencer and Anders behind, but what else could you have done? Staying would have only prolonged the inevitable.

As you drove away, your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles turning white. You didn’t know what Spencer would say to Anders, or how your friend would react. But at that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had to get away, to put distance between yourself and the situation that had become too tangled, too painful.

When you finally reached the safety of your own home, you collapsed onto your couch, your body wracked with silent sobs. You had thought you could handle it, that you could push your feelings aside and just be friends with Spencer, but now you realized how wrong you had been.

You didn’t know what would happen next, but one thing was clear: you couldn’t go back to the way things were. Too much had changed, and the wound you carried was too deep to ignore. For now, all you could do was try to heal, even if it meant distancing yourself from the people you cared about most.

—

You sat on your couch, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the muted television you weren’t really watching. The events of the night replayed in your mind on a loop, your emotions a tangled mess of regret and confusion.

When your phone rang, you almost didn’t answer, but the sight of Anders' name on the screen made you pause. You felt a pang of guilt; you had left so abruptly, and he deserved better than that. With a sigh, you answered, bracing yourself for whatever was coming.

“Hey, babe!” Anders' voice was cheerful, completely unaware of the turmoil you were in. It was comforting and yet somehow made you feel worse.

“Hey, Andy,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tension in your throat made it come out quieter than usual.

It started off as a typical conversation, Anders chatting away about his day, his plans for tomorrow, the usual banter that you were used to. You let him talk, responding here and there with murmurs of agreement, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the distance in your voice.

But then, as the conversation began to wind down, Anders asked the question you had been dreading, the one you had hoped wouldn’t come.

“So, what’s going on with you and Spencer?”

Your breath hitched, panic flaring up in your chest. “No—nothing,” you stammered, the words tumbling out before you could even think.

Anders, oblivious as ever, let out a light giggle, not cruel but definitely amused. “Babe, if you want to sleep with him too, it’s okay! Spencer and I talked, and he told me he’s not looking for anything serious. I’ll admit it hurt a bit, but I have a date tomorrow with a big hubba bubba daddy, so who cares!”

His words hit you like a truck, and it took everything in you to keep your voice steady. “Oh wow, I’m sorry, Andy,” you said, forcing out the words as your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn’t let him know how much this conversation was affecting you. “But, uh, I don’t want to sleep with Spencer, thanks though.”

Anders didn’t seem to notice your internal struggle. He immediately launched into a rant about his upcoming date, describing in vivid detail just how sexy his new interest was. He spoke with the same enthusiasm he had always had, the kind that was contagious and usually made you laugh along with him.

But tonight, you couldn’t muster the energy. You listened, letting his words wash over you, but your mind was elsewhere. The relief that Anders was so easily distracted by his new date was tinged with a deep sadness that you couldn’t shake. He had already moved on, while you were still stuck in the mire of your own emotions, unable to let go of the complicated feelings you had for Spencer.

As Anders continued to gush about his date, you found yourself nodding along, murmuring words of encouragement and support. You tried to sound as genuine as possible, hiding the cracks in your voice as best as you could. But inside, you were reeling.

Eventually, Anders wound down, his excitement tempered by the late hour. He bid you goodnight with a cheerful, “Wish me luck tomorrow!” and you returned the sentiment, your voice softer than usual.

When the call ended, you were left alone with your thoughts once more. The apartment felt quieter than before, the silence pressing in on you from all sides. You sat there for a long moment, staring at the phone in your hand, the weight of the evening settling heavily on your shoulders.

Something didn’t sit right with you, a question that buzzed in the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored. Spencer had made it clear that he didn’t see Anders as anything more than a casual fling—no romantic feelings, no intellectual connection. And yet, they were still sleeping together.

You tried to shake the thought away, telling yourself it wasn’t your business. Spencer was free to make his own choices, and Anders had already moved on, or at least he seemed to be. But the more you thought about it, the more the pieces didn’t add up.

Spencer had reached out to you after that night, asking if you were okay, expressing concern for how you felt. But if he was truly worried about how his relationship with Anders was affecting you, wouldn’t he have stopped sleeping with your friend? Wouldn’t he have made some kind of decision, some gesture to show that he was considering your feelings?

The thought gnawed at you, making your chest tighten with a mix of confusion and hurt. It felt like a betrayal, even if you didn’t have any real claim on Spencer’s actions. You had been trying so hard to navigate your feelings, to be a good friend, to keep the peace between everyone involved. But now, you couldn’t help but wonder if Spencer had been as considerate of you as you had been of him.

Anders’ casual mention that you could sleep with Spencer too—it felt wrong, like you were being invited into something you had no business being part of. If Spencer really cared about you, if he really wanted to figure things out between you two, wouldn’t he put a stop to his arrangement with Anders? Wouldn’t he want to keep things clear, to avoid complicating an already messy situation?

Your mind spiraled with these questions, each one cutting deeper than the last. You had tried to push your feelings aside, to be rational, to not make things more difficult than they already were. But now, you couldn’t help but feel like you were the only one trying to keep things from falling apart.

Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe Spencer just didn’t realize how much it was affecting you. But deep down, you knew that if he cared—really cared—he would have made a different choice. He wouldn’t have kept things going with Anders, knowing how tangled and painful this whole situation had become.

The realization hit you hard, a wave of sadness washing over you. You had wanted so badly to believe that Spencer was different, that he saw you as more than just someone in the background of his life. But now, it felt like you were just another person he could compartmentalize, another relationship he could keep separate and convenient.

You felt a lump rise in your throat as the hurt and disappointment settled in. You had been so focused on keeping the peace, on not causing trouble, that you had ignored your own feelings in the process. And now, you were left wondering if Spencer had ever truly considered how much this was hurting you.

With a heavy heart, you realized that you couldn’t keep ignoring this. You couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t. Something had to change, and it wasn’t going to be easy. But you couldn’t keep sacrificing your own well-being for the sake of others, not anymore.

You picked up your phone, staring at the message Spencer had sent days ago. Your thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation gnawing at you. Part of you wanted to reply, to tell him everything, to ask him why he hadn’t made a different choice. But another part of you—the part that had been trying to protect yourself—wasn’t sure if you were ready to hear the answer.

Finally, you set the phone down, deciding that you were done with Spencer Reid.

—

A few weeks later, you found yourself wandering the aisles of the grocery store, lost in thought as you tried to focus on the mundane task of shopping. You were staring blankly at the jars of pickles in front of you when you heard your name being called out.

“Y/N!”

The familiar voice snapped you out of your reverie, and you turned to see Spencer walking towards you, a broad smile on his face. He looked genuinely happy to see you, which only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

“Hi,” you replied with a polite nod, your tone deliberately neutral.

“How are you?” Spencer asked, his excitement still evident as he stopped beside you.

“Fine,” you said shortly, your eyes returning to the jars, though you weren’t really seeing them. Your thoughts were swirling too much to focus on something as trivial as grocery shopping.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, a confused, almost puppy-like expression on his face. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Mad? No,” you dismissed the idea with a wave of your hand, shaking your head. You weren’t mad—frustrated, hurt, disappointed, maybe, but not mad.

“Oh,” Spencer said, pondering your response. “But you haven’t been talking to me.”

Finally, you turned to face him, your expression guarded. “I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?” you said, playing dumb, trying to keep the conversation as surface-level as possible.

“Y/N,” he sighed, his tone more serious now. “You know what I mean. You never texted me back. And you left movie night.”

You forced a laugh, though it felt hollow. “Well, duh, why would I want to be around when my friend’s fuck buddy is there?” you said, as if it were a joke, though there was a biting edge to your words.

Spencer laughed, but it was a dejected sound, lacking the usual warmth. “Ouch. That’s all I am?”

“Isn’t it?” you replied, your voice sharper than you intended. You couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into your tone.

Spencer nodded, his expression growing more serious. “Look, I put myself out there a few times, and you shot me down, so—”

“Oh my god, that is so not what this is about, Spencer,” you interrupted, your frustration bubbling over. How could he be so oblivious?

“No? Then why are you acting like this?” Spencer asked, his confusion evident. He genuinely didn’t seem to understand what was going on.

“God, you’re dense,” you muttered, shaking your head in exasperation. “Just… be nice to Anders, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Spencer agreed quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

And there it was—confirmation that he was still sleeping with Anders. A wave of disappointment washed over you, the last bit of hope you had clung to slipping away. If Spencer had really liked you, if he had genuinely wanted to be with you, wouldn’t he have stopped all his other conquests and focused on pursuing you? But he hadn’t. He was still entangled with your friend, and that spoke volumes.

Oh well, you thought to yourself, trying to brush off the sinking feeling in your chest. Maybe you had been foolish to think there could have been something more between you and Spencer. Maybe it was time to let go of whatever feelings you had and move on, just like Anders had.

—

At another movie night, you could feel the excitement radiating off Anders from the moment you walked through the door. He was practically bouncing on his feet, unable to contain the big news he was bursting to share.

“Y/N! You will not believe this!” Anders squealed, practically jumping up and down. “His name is Hugh and ugh, he’s so yummy!”

You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Really? Tell me more,” you urged, genuinely curious.

“He’s amazing!” Anders continued, his eyes lighting up. “He holds the door open for me, pulls my chair out, and always makes sure I finish first. He’s such a gentleman!”

“That’s great, Andy,” you said, smiling warmly at him. You could tell how happy he was, and it warmed your heart to see your friend so giddy and content.

“I know, right?” Anders clapped his hands together, unable to contain his joy. “And guess what? He asked me to be his boyfriend! Can you believe that?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What? Did you say yes?”

“Of course I did!” Anders giggled, his happiness practically infectious. “He’s everything I’ve been looking for!”

You hesitated for a moment, the question that had been nagging at you since your last conversation with Spencer lingering in the back of your mind. You had to know. “So…did you cut things off with Spencer?”

Anders rolled his eyes playfully and waved a hand dismissively. “Duh! I’m a slut, not a monster.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his candid response, feeling a strange mix of relief and something else. “I’m glad, Andy. Hugh sounds like a really great guy.”

“He is!” Anders beamed, his face glowing with happiness. “I’m so excited, Y/N. I really think this could be something special.”

You smiled, genuinely happy for your friend. “I’m sure it will be, Andy. You deserve someone who treats you like the amazing person you are.”

Anders gave you a big hug, squeezing you tightly. “Thank you, babe.”

As you hugged him back, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Knowing that Anders had moved on, and that things with Spencer were over, helped ease some of the tension that had been weighing on you. It was clear now that Anders had found something real with Hugh, and maybe that meant it was time for you to move forward too.

For the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope that things might actually work out, not just for Anders, but for yourself as well.

—

You stared at the text on your phone, the all-too-familiar You up? glowing on the screen. It was so cliché, so typical of Spencer to send that kind of message at 10 p.m. You rolled your eyes, feeling a mix of annoyance and frustration bubbling up inside you. After everything, this was how he reached out? You didn’t dignify it with a response, instead turning on your read receipts and locking your phone. Let him know you saw it, and let him stew in it.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzed again.

Y/N.

The second message made your frustration spike even more. You read it, let it sit there, and ignored it again. Why should you give him the satisfaction of a reply? He had plenty of chances to talk, to say what needed to be said, and now, after you’d started to move on, he decided he needed to talk?

The next message, however, caught your attention.

Please, I need to talk to you.

You hesitated for a moment, your finger hovering over the screen. Against your better judgment, you finally replied, the words coming out more curtly than you intended.

Get it out quickly then.

You stared at your phone, waiting for Spencer to respond. Seconds turned into minutes, and still nothing. The longer you waited, the more irritated you became. Why did he always have to make things so difficult? You scoffed after 30 minutes, tossing your phone aside with a bitter laugh.

What an asshole, you thought. You had given him the chance to say whatever he needed to say, and now he was the one ignoring you? The nerve of it made your blood boil. You were done with this game.

But then, just as you were about to brush it off entirely, there was a knock at your front door.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as the sound echoed through your apartment. For a moment, you just stared at the door, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Who could it be at this hour? And then it hit you—Spencer.

With a bit of reluctance and curiosity, you got up and walked to the door, your footsteps soft on the floor. When you reached it, you hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath before finally opening it.

There he was, standing in the dim light of the hallway, looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. His usual confident demeanor was gone, replaced by something raw and uncertain. The sight of him standing there, so close and yet so far, made your heart clench.

“Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “Can I come in?”

You stared at him, your emotions swirling in a chaotic mess. Part of you wanted to slam the door in his face, to tell him to leave and never come back. But another part, the part that still cared despite everything, wanted to know what he had to say, to understand why he was here.

“Why are you here, Spencer?” you asked, your voice guarded as you crossed your arms.

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your resolve waver. “Because I couldn’t wait any longer. I need to talk to you. Please, just give me a few minutes.”

You didn’t move, your mind racing as you tried to decide what to do. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stepped aside and opened the door wider, letting him in.

Spencer walked past you, his shoulders tense, and you could feel the weight of whatever he was carrying with him. As you closed the door behind him, you prepared yourself for whatever was about to come, knowing that this conversation would change everything—one way or another.

"Alright, speak," you said, your tone flat as you stood by the front door, making it clear that you weren't about to give Spencer the comfort of sitting down. If he wanted to talk, he could do it on your terms.

Spencer looked pained at your coldness, his eyes searching yours for any sign of the warmth that used to be there. "Anders ended things," he finally said, his voice strained.

"I know," you replied, your voice still devoid of emotion.

He looked surprised by your response, his brows knitting together in confusion. "Okay, well, I'm done with that. With the casual thing."

"Okay," you echoed, your tone unchanged. You weren't giving him anything, and you could see the frustration mounting in his expression.

Spencer's face was full of desperation as he took a step closer, his voice pleading. "Y/N, I want you."

"Interesting," you replied, the word dripping with indifference. It was a far cry from the response he was hoping for, and you could see the effect it had on him.

He groaned, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "What did I do to you?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling a surge of anger at his question. The nerve of him to act like he didn’t know, like he hadn’t been the one to string you along while still entertaining other options. "Do you want a list?"

Spencer looked taken aback, his shoulders slumping as he realized just how deep the hurt ran. "I didn’t mean to hurt you," he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. "I didn’t know—"

"You didn’t know?" you cut him off, your voice rising slightly as the frustration that had been building inside you finally found an outlet. "You didn’t know that sleeping with my friend while pretending to care about me might hurt? You didn’t know that making me feel like I was just another option would push me away?"

Spencer flinched at your words, his eyes filled with guilt. "It wasn’t like that. I was confused—I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. But I know now. I know I want you."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Anders ended things with you, and now you want me? Is that it, Spencer? Am I just your backup plan?"

"No, it’s not like that!" Spencer protested, his voice desperate. "I’ve wanted you from the beginning, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared you didn’t feel the same way, so I kept things casual with Anders because it was easier."

"Easier?" you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. "You were too scared to put yourself out there with me, so you settled for something convenient. And now that that’s over, you think you can just waltz in here and tell me you want me, and everything will be okay?"

Spencer looked stricken, his eyes pleading with you to understand. "I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But I’m here now, trying to make it right. I’m not asking you to forgive me right away, but please, just give me a chance."

You stared at him, your heart aching with the weight of everything that had happened. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let yourself fall into the hope that things could be different. But the pain was still too fresh, the wounds too deep.

"I don’t know if I can do this," you admitted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally let some of your emotions show. "You hurt me, Spencer. You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough, like I was just another option. I don’t know if I can trust you not to do that again."

Spencer took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. "I’m not going to hurt you again. I swear. I was an idiot, and I didn’t see what was right in front of me. But I see it now. I see you. And I want you more than anything."

You swallowed hard, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I need time," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I can’t just jump into this. I need to figure out if I can trust you."

Spencer nodded, his expression earnest. "Take all the time you need. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Just… don’t shut me out completely. Please."

You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, and for the first time, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. But it wasn’t going to be easy. There were still a lot of wounds that needed to heal.

"Okay," you finally said, your voice trembling slightly. "But no promises, Spencer. I need to protect myself."

"I understand," Spencer replied, his voice soft. "I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust."

With that, you both stood there in silence, the tension slowly easing as the gravity of the moment settled between you. It wasn’t a resolution, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

—

Spencer stayed true to his word. He tried—really tried—to show you that he was serious about earning back your trust. And with each small gesture, he began to chip away at the walls you had built around your heart.

It started with little things, the kind that spoke volumes without saying a word. One day, a bouquet of your favorite flowers showed up at your apartment, their vibrant colors brightening up your living room. You stared at them for a long time, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. You hadn’t mentioned those flowers in a long time, but Spencer had remembered.

Then, it happened again, this time at your office. Another bouquet, just like the first, with a small note attached that simply said, “Thinking of you. -Spencer.” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, despite the lingering caution in your heart.

As the days went on, you started finding coffee and pastries from your favorite bakery on your desk at work, always timed perfectly with when you arrived. There was never any fanfare, no messages or notes—just the simple presence of something you loved, waiting for you. It was as if Spencer was reminding you, in the subtlest of ways, that he was paying attention, that he cared.

But it wasn’t just the thoughtful gifts that caught your attention. Every night, like clockwork, your phone would buzz with a picture. It was always the same—Spencer, alone in bed, a soft, almost shy smile on his face as he looked into the camera. No words accompanied the photos, but the message was clear. He was alone, thinking of you, wanting you to know that you were on his mind before he fell asleep.

And then, there was the location sharing. One day, out of the blue, you received a notification on your phone that Spencer had shared his location with you indefinitely. You stared at the message, a mix of surprise and confusion washing over you. It was a level of transparency you hadn’t expected, and it made your heart ache with the realization that he was really trying—really showing you that he had nothing to hide.

Slowly, despite your best efforts to stay guarded, you found yourself softening. Each gesture, each reminder that Spencer was thinking of you, began to ease the tension that had been coiled so tightly inside you. It didn’t erase the hurt, and it didn’t magically fix everything, but it made you believe that maybe, just maybe, he was worth taking a chance on.

One evening, after receiving yet another picture of Spencer alone in bed, you finally caved. You picked up your phone and sent a quick message, simple but full of meaning.

Thank you.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. A way to let him know that his efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed, that you were beginning to see the sincerity behind his actions. And as you waited for his reply, a small part of you began to hope that maybe, just maybe, this time things could be different.

Spencer’s response came almost immediately, a single word that made your heart flutter.

Always.

And in that moment, you realized that perhaps, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop. You were beginning to believe that this time, Spencer really meant it. That he was really trying to be the man you deserved. And that maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself believe in him too.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle

273 notes · View notes

bokutosmochi · 1 year ago

Text

kinktober day five: somnophilia!

ADRENALINE RUSH ♡ NANAMI KENTO

fem!reader x nanami kento

ingredients: nanami has some adrenaline he has to get rid off

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: spit, unprotected sex, somnophilia

sugar level: 1.5k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub @eussstasss

parlor's note: can't do a kinktober without including nyanyamin!!

bon appetit!

fuck gojo, fuck that patchface curse, fuck the higher ups

those were the only thoughts that bounced around nanami's head.

it was no secret that the man hated going any minute overtime, now here he was going home at fucking ten in the evening. on top of that, because of the late hour, the things he was able to pick up from his favorite bakery were what ever was left over from the day -- though one would argue that he's lucky because said bakery was still open at the late hour. regardless, the fact remained: the pastries were no longer fresh, no longer fluffy and warm.

if it was any other day, he wouldn't have ate it on the subway ride home from work and instead saved it so he could reheat it once he's safely in the confines of his own home, but not today. he was too hungry, and quite frankly, running out of patience.

he sets down his dull blade in its rightful place by the door and tugs off the yellow patterned tie in an uncharacteristically pissed off manner. not only was he filled with negative emotions, but adrenaline from the fight he had against an unnamed, unregistered cursed spirit was still pumping in his veins. with a huff, he hangs it over his shoulder, before moving on to unbutton his blue button down shirt as he walks over to the bedroom.

this was the part of his day that he looked forward to the most. sure, it was the end of the day, but it was the part where he'd see you, hold you for more than two hours.

laid down in the large california king bed was you. thick, soft blankets tucked up to under your chin, hair he loved running his hands through fanned out around your face, and your face. you looked so angelic when you slept, so peaceful even during nights like this when he knew you weren't sleeping well because he wasn't there in the bed with you -- you confessed to him one time, you always get the best dreams, the most restful nights of sleep whenever he's there holding you.

you shifted in your sleep, turning to your other side making the blanket move further down your body. it exposed the thin shirt you were wearing; an old shirt of nanami's. the fabric was so worn down that the man could spot your nipples, hardened from the chilly autumn air, from under the shirt.

you mewled softly and it made nanami wonder what you were dreaming of; whether you were dreaming at all. aside from that, the sound also made his beige slacks tighten and he found a way to release all that pent up frustration and adrenaline from his system.

he pushes the dress pants down along with his boxers, then damn near trips trying to take his socks off and walk to you at the same time. he's just had such a rough day and needs some help from you.

a thought pushes itself into his mind the moment he crawls on top of you, one that's about morality and ethics. he's never done this before and it feels wrong to do it. second thoughts fill his mind, but he remembers the fact that you've had this discussion before. he's already asked for your permission prior. in return, you only asked one thing from him: if i had a long day, try not to wake me if you don't have or want to. and aside from that, you've always been such a nice and thoughtful girlfriend. there has never been a moment in the many years you've been together where you've lacked understanding with him. you're always so selfless, giving him whatever he wanted, so long as it's reasonable, and this is reasonable, right?

with those thoughts as a green light, he pushes the blanket away from your body, nudges you so you'd be lying on your back, and moves the crotch of your panties to the side so he can have his way with you.

always the caring boyfriend, he makes sure you're properly lubricated before he does pushes himself in. after all, he doesn't want anything bad to happen to his sweet, caring girlfriend.

getting you wet the way he usually does takes too long, and besides, he'd probably end up waking you up too, which is something you asked him not to do if he didn't have to. not to mention the fact that he always gets so into turning you on; it's what gets him aroused too. he'll get too handsy, too noisy.

it's not an option so he opts to spit on your pussy instead.

he enjoys the sight of his glob of drool dripping around your vulva for a moment before spreading it around. when he decides that you're not wet enough, he spits again and does the same thing.

the man may think that exerting minimal effort is all that's required for most of his day-to-day tasks, but that rule does not include you and it never will. he always makes sure to take care of you the way you take care of him.

when your lips are shiny with his spit, he backs away for a moment, lines the head of his cock with your slit then pushes in as softly and slowly as he could, trying his best not to jostle you.

he moans lowly as he sinks in your warm pussy. it's a sensation he can never get enough of, even if he makes love to you a million times. he adores it, the way you welcome him so easily. he only stops his motions when he was buried to the hilt, his pelvis flush against yours.

he looked down to where your bodies connected and involuntarily muttered a low shit under his breath. to him, the sight was a masterpiece that could easily top an expensive painting any day; it certainly made him feel more emotions than those.

with a deep breath sucked in through the mouth, he started moving, steadily thrusting in and out of your wet cunt. the movement was calculated, executed with maximum precision to ensure that you won't wake from your slumber.

how could you expect him to keep his composure completely under these circumstances? you're so tight, he's always said that your pussy was made for him, and he doesn't just say that to get you off; he truly means it, and then you combine your perfect pussy with your perfect face. he's a goner.

he tries to stifle his moans, tries to swallow them under his breaths, but a few still manage to escape. despite those, he continues to yearn to make this nice and quick. it's just to blow off some steam, after all.

the moment his attempts become futile comes when you stir, letting out noises that shoots blood steaming down to his already painfully hard dick, and flutter your eyes open.

when his eyes meets yours, his elbows buckle, though he's quick to straighten himself back up again; his motion was so fluid you didn't even notice it, only the slight twitch of his cock.

you yawn before acknowledging the situation. "kento?" your words are slurred due to the sleepiness that remains in your system. "what's goin' on?"

"sorry hun," he grunts, continuing to fuck you. "adrenaline rush. you can go back to sleep if you want."

you give him a hum though you didn't actually succumb to sleep. the feeling of kento's cock inside you wasn't something you could simply nap through, no matter how hard you try nor matter how hard he tries to not rouse you.

he might have thought you were asleep - you were so quiet, not making a noise other than the natural moans - if you didn't mutter an "i'm close" at the exact same moment he felt his orgasm nearing.

"i am too, hun." his movements become sloppier. he loses his rhythm to the pleasure and due to the lapse in concentration since he began to play with your clit to help you reach your high as well.

"ken," he recognizes what you need with the call of his name. one of your hands found their way to his back, currently running the nails down the hard muscle. the pain only added to nanami's delight.

"i'm right there, hun. you can let go."

the both of you come at the same time and the feeling was euphoric. despite wanting rest, you're glad you woke up.

"that was nice." you commented lamely. the word didn't sum up the experience, it was so much better than nice, but your tired brain couldn't think of anything else. apparently, nanami had the same sentiment.

"i think that's a bit of an understatement, darling. now come on and get some rest, you deserve it."

i get: reblog

you get: a california king bed with a nanami body pillow

620 notes · View notes

ablobwhowrites · 4 months ago

Note

Pls tell us more about (m/n) being turned into a vehicon and what his life is after that🙏 oh god his parents are never letting him see the autobots and the kids ever again😭

Bold to you assume he even can go see his parents-

Basically m/n's body is okay in the vehicon body, just basically having the stay inside it cause his body is becoming dependent on it for survival now but he believes this is a nightmare and he'll wake up and he'll be in his regular body and in his room, it's hard for him to face the fact this is his new life. Miko, Jack and raf try to help m/n, like trying to say that ratchet might find a way to turn m/n back to normal (he can't), he was happy and a joyful person but now he's terrified cause he thinks he'll die in this body. He's scared and all he wants is to go home or just be comforted by someone. Even if he does see his parents but I don't think they'll know it's him but even if they recognize him, all they can do is comfort him and all he can do is cry as he holds his parents to his chest and cry because he's to big to have them actually hug him.

Of course the autobots try to help m/n feel better, bumblebee tried first cause he was kinda closer to m/n but it doesn't really help much. Ratchet mostly keeps m/n's health in check like m/n doesn't have normal sleeping patterns anymore cause you think he's asleep but next minute he's up for the whole night after having a nightmare about the M.E.C.H. base, arcee is kinda overprotective now after the incident and she tries to console him but she is just glad he's alive. (if any of the autobots, decepticons and kids, see Silas, it's on sight, hes a goner) bulkhead tries to cheer m/n up, it does and it lets m/n feel like himself before he comes back to reality and sees hes still in his new body but Optimus, he feels horrible and now seeing m/n be paranoid around base and like a scared cat that was taken off the streets from the first time.

But the upside is that he at least is safe and slowly gets back to his normal self but still a little paranoid when to let his guard down and ratchet gotta force m/n to sleep cause bro is not getting the normal amount of sleep he needs, M/n wants to learn how to transform into a car or plane at least but he can't to his knowledge and capabilities right now. But if you ask about the decepticons that a whole can of worms man cause soundwave found out but hasn't told anyone yet till the time is right then he'll tell Megatron cause soundwave wants Silas dead but it's all a waiting game for now.

Anyways hope you like my ramble! And if you like this m/n then you can request more of him if you like or have any request please don't be shy. But I'll see you guys later!

#yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male x male reader #male reader #yandere transformers #yandere transformers prime #transformers x reader #transformers x male reader #transformers prime #vehicon m/n

135 notes · View notes

movingmusically · 2 months ago

Text

Caught Feeling - Chapter 1

Synopsis:

Tired of her quiet, predictable life, a woman takes a spontaneous detour into a gritty bar. What begins as a distraction becomes a night of rediscovery, as an encounter with a captivating bartender brings her face-to-face with her own fears—and desires.

Author’s Note:

I’ve never written anything before, though I’ve always had stories in my head. Seeing all the Caught Stealing set content this week finally pushed me to get something down. I’ve combined the original two parts I posted earlier into one updated story, adding in some details I couldn’t leave out!

Word Count: 8,712

Masterlist

The truth is, I don’t really know what possessed me to walk into Paul’s tonight. I’m not the kind of person who normally does things like this—spontaneous, bold, risky. That’s never been me. Or at least, it hasn’t been me in a long time.

There was a time when I was more comfortable in my own skin, when my shyness didn’t feel like a weight. It used to be a part of me, something I accepted, something I lived with rather than fought against. I could be quiet and still feel confident, blending into the background but never doubting my worth. But somewhere along the way, that shifted. The quiet I once enjoyed now feels stifling. I’m constantly second-guessing myself, overthinking every little action, every word I say, as if there’s some invisible audience keeping score.

The world feels too loud, too fast, and I feel too small in it.

Lately, the silence of my own company has become less of a comfort and more of a reminder. A reminder that I’m stuck. That life is moving forward, and I’m standing still, watching everyone else go on without me. I can’t even remember the last time I did something that made me feel...alive. Not just existing from one day to the next but really feeling like I’m part of something—part of the world instead of just a spectator.

Tonight, it feels like I’ve reached some invisible limit. I can’t take another evening of staring at the same four walls, of flicking through channels without really watching, of pretending I’m okay with the monotony. Work drained me, as it always does, leaving me too exhausted to think but somehow too restless to sleep. My mind feels like it’s stuck in a loop, clogged with the same old worries that circle endlessly, without resolution. They’re small things—most of them, at least—but they pile up, weighing me down until I can barely breathe under their collective pressure.

Normally, I’d push through it, fall back into my routine because that’s what I do. I know the safe route; I’ve perfected it over time. But tonight, the routine felt unbearable. The thought of going home, of slipping back into the same old patterns—it made my chest tighten with the kind of dread I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t that I had a plan, not really. I just knew I couldn’t face another night of nothingness.

So instead of walking home like I always do, I took a different path, literally. One foot in front of the other, the sidewalk unfamiliar beneath me as I moved further away from everything that felt safe and known. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. But the farther I walked, the more it felt like I was being pulled—by something I couldn’t name, some need inside me that I’ve been trying to ignore for too long.

And that’s how I ended up here, standing in front of Paul’s, the bar I’ve passed countless times but never once considered entering. It’s not my kind of place. Never has been. It’s gritty, loud, with an edge that feels too rough for someone like me. The kind of bar where everyone seems to know each other, where conversations are shared over sticky countertops and half-drunk glasses of whiskey. The regulars here probably have stories they’ve told a hundred times, stories about the kind of life I don’t live—the kind of life I always thought I didn’t want.

But maybe tonight, I don’t want to be the kind of person who always plays it safe, who blends into the background without ever leaving a mark. Maybe tonight, I need to be someone else. Someone who isn’t so afraid to take up space. Someone who doesn’t spend hours dissecting every interaction, every conversation, until the memory of it feels more like a mistake than a moment.

I step inside, and immediately, the atmosphere hits me like a wave. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to the air, mixing with the sharp scent of alcohol and something else I can’t quite place. It’s dimly lit, the kind of place where shadows linger in the corners, and the faces blur together unless you’re really looking. There’s a hum of conversation, the low murmur of voices blending with the occasional burst of laughter, creating a background noise that fills the space without overpowering it.

I don’t know why, but the second I cross the threshold, I feel the weight of the room shift. Not in any obvious way. It’s not like anyone stops what they’re doing to look at me—most people are too engrossed in their own lives, their own stories. But I feel it. I feel different, like I’ve stepped out of my usual world and into something unfamiliar, something that makes my nerves buzz just beneath the surface of my skin.

For a brief moment, I want to turn around, to leave before anyone even notices I’m here. That familiar urge to retreat, to go back to what I know, bubbles up inside me, threatening to overwhelm the tentative boldness that brought me here in the first place. But I don’t leave. I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and then force myself to stay. To move further into the bar, even though every part of me is screaming to turn back.

I make my way toward the bar, my steps feeling both too loud and too quiet at the same time. My eyes flick around, taking in the crowd, but not really seeing anyone. I feel exposed, out of place, but at the same time, there’s a strange comfort in knowing that no one is really paying attention to me. I can be invisible here if I want to be—and that’s fine. I’m not here to be noticed. I don’t need anyone to see me.

I just need a break—from my own head, from the endless loop of thoughts and worries that seem to follow me wherever I go. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find here, or if I’m even looking for anything at all. All I know is that tonight, I couldn’t go home. I needed to be somewhere different, somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere that wasn’t the same quiet, predictable space where my thoughts would close in on me again.

That’s when I see him.

He was positioned behind the bar, leaning casually against the counter with an ease that suggested he was in his element, practically part of the furniture. His blonde hair, tousled and slightly unkempt, peeked out from under a well-worn baseball cap, pulled down just enough to give him a hint of mystery, shadowing his piercing blue eyes. Those eyes caught mine with an intensity that felt almost tangible, sharp and probing, as if he could peel back the layers of anyone who happened to fall under his gaze.

For a brief moment, the thought of diverting my eyes flitted through my mind, a reflex to escape the unexpected vulnerability I felt under his scrutiny. But I didn’t look away. Instead, our eyes locked, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face—a smile that seemed to see right through to the nerves I was trying so hard to mask. He held my gaze for a beat too long, creating a moment charged with an unspoken challenge before he turned his attention back to the drinks he was pouring.

A stir of something unfamiliar fluttered inside me—a cocktail of nerves, curiosity, and an exhilarating sense of daring. This wasn't typically me; I was not one to flirt openly, especially with bartenders, nor to sit alone boldly in such a buzzing place. But tonight was different. Tonight, I felt drawn to the unknown, compelled to explore whatever this could lead to.

As I approached the bar, each step seemed amplified, my awareness heightened as if every movement was a statement of intent. I slid onto a stool, feeling the coolness of the leather through my jeans, and my presence seemed to draw his attention once more. The bottles behind him caught the soft lighting of the bar, casting a kaleidoscope of colours across the polished surface. The room was steeped in the smells of smoke and aged wood, enriched with a hint of something musky, almost intoxicating.

He glanced up as I settled in, his earlier smile returning, expectant, as if he had anticipated the challenge I was about to present.

“What’ll it be?” he asked, his voice a rough blend of warmth and rasp, perfectly echoing the raw, ambient energy of the bar.

Under normal circumstances, I’d have a standard order ready, something simple and unassuming, designed to blend in rather than stand out. But tonight, driven by a newfound audacity, I hesitated, meeting his gaze squarely. “Whatever you recommend,” I ventured, my voice more steady than I felt.

His eyebrow arched, clearly amused by my response, and his smirk widened, adding a playful edge to his already compelling demeanour. “You trust me to pick for you?”

I nodded, the gesture firm despite the fluttering in my stomach. “Yeah. Surprise me.”

He chuckled, a low sound that seemed to resonate with a hint of respect, or perhaps challenge. Shaking his head as if in disbelief at my daring, he reached for a bottle. “Alright, you asked for it.”

Watching him work was like observing a skilled artist; each movement was fluid and assured. He selected ingredients with precision, mixing them with a practiced hand that spoke of years behind the bar. As he prepared the drink, I found myself stealing glances, drawn to the confident way he navigated his domain.

He slid the drink across the bar with a smooth motion, and when his fingers brushed mine, a spark of electricity zipped through me, startling and vivid.

“Here you go,” he said, his tone light, that easy grin playing on his lips again. “Let me know what you think.”

I took a tentative sip, and the drink was a revelation—smooth with an undercurrent of complexity that mirrored the night itself. It warmed me, loosening the edges of my anxiety, coaxing a sense of openness I hadn’t felt upon walking in.

“Not bad,” I replied, my own smile a reflection of his, a silent acknowledgment of the small adventure I had embarked upon.

His eyes studied me, a flicker of intrigue passing through them. “Good to know,” he said, his voice tinged with a subtle warmth. He momentarily excused himself to attend to another customer, his movements efficient and practiced as he refilled a drink without missing a beat.

As he worked, the familiar atmosphere of the bar wrapped around us—a comfortable hum of background chatter mingled with the clink of glasses and the occasional cheer from patrons watching the baseball game on the television above. Adjusting his cap, he made his way back to where I was sitting, his approach marked by an easy, confident smile that seemed to pull the dim light of the bar towards him.

Normally, I’d be tongue-tied, fumbling for words, but here, with him, it felt different.

“So, you come here often?” I asked, aiming for light-hearted but cringing a bit at the cliché.

He chuckled, a light, engaging sound that drew a grin from me. “I guess you could say that. I work here most nights. Name’s Hank, by the way,” he introduced himself, extending a hand across the bar.

Hank. It suited him perfectly—strong, straightforward, with just the right amount of rugged charm.

“I’m—” I began, ready to offer my own name, but just then, a regular at the end of the bar caught Hank’s attention, loudly requesting help with the jukebox that was stubbornly refusing to accept their money. Hank shot me a quick, conspiratorial smile that promised he’d return, and then he was off, his stride confident as he navigated the crowded space.

I watched him as he worked, noting the way his shoulders rolled with each movement, the casual confidence in his stride. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that drew the eye and held it. It wasn’t just his looks—though those certainly didn’t hurt—it was the way he seemed so completely at ease in his environment, as if he were as much a fixture of the bar as the shelves of liquor behind him.

As he adjusted the jukebox, his eyes occasionally flicked to the small television mounted above the bar. The San Francisco Giants were playing, and it was clear from his intermittent nods and muttered comments to another patron that he was following the game.

When he returned, the noise level in the bar had dropped a bit, and he leaned in slightly to resume our conversation. “Big Giants fan?” I asked, gesturing towards his hat and the screen above us.

"Definitely," Hank said, his smile broadening. "I played a ton in high school back in California, but a bad leg break sidelined me for good. Now, I never miss a game, it helps keep the spirit alive."

“From baseball player to master mixologist,” I observed, noting the transition from his past interests to his current profession. “Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.”

He let out a soft chuckle, a hint of irony flickering in his eyes. “Something like that,” he replied with a slight shrug. “Though life always has a few surprises up its sleeve, doesn’t it?”

As the evening unfolded, the bar had thinned out, not nearly as busy as when I first arrived, but still lively enough to keep Hank moving between customers. Between sharing a laugh, or tossing a rag over his shoulder with casual grace, his eyes would inevitably return, as though drawn by some unspoken pull. Each time he approached, it felt like we were continuing a conversation that had never really stopped, even if words weren’t always exchanged. It was more about his presence—the way he leaned in slightly, his focus making it seem like nothing else in the room mattered.

The warmth of the alcohol settled into me, quieting my usual reservations. It wasn’t enough to cloud my thoughts—I was still fully aware—but it gave me a newfound confidence. With each passing moment, the initial unease melted away, replaced by a comfortable rhythm between us.

“So, what brings you to Paul’s tonight? You don’t exactly blend in with the usual crowd here,” Hank inquired after a while, his tone casual but curious, his eyes searching mine for something deeper than the surface-level chit-chat.

I hesitated, the question more profound than I had anticipated sharing with a near-stranger. Yet, something about Hank’s straightforwardness, underscored by the honest curiosity in his eyes, made me want to open up.

I shrugged, glancing around. “Just needed a change of scenery, I guess. This isn’t exactly my usual kind of place.”

He chuckled, leaning against the bar, his blue eyes flicking up to the TV screen for a moment where the end credits of the game were rolling. “Yeah, I kind of figured. You’ve got that look—like you’re used to being somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else like… where?” I asked, curious what he saw in me.

He paused, his gaze momentarily drifting off as if visualising the answer, then locked back onto me with a reflective expression. “I dunno. A café, maybe? Somewhere quiet. You strike me as someone who appreciates peace.”

I smiled, touched by his perceptiveness. “You’re not wrong. I’m definitely more of a coffee shop girl than a bar regular.”

Hank’s eyes twinkled with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as he leaned in a bit, resting his chin on his hand, studying me as if he was putting together a puzzle. “Let me guess,” he started, his voice lowering to a warm, playful tone, “you’ve got that favourite little corner spot, don’t you? Always tucked away with a book or maybe a notebook for doodling or jotting down your thoughts. And I bet you drink your coffee black, no distractions—just you and your thoughts.”

The accuracy of his assumptions made me burst into laughter, more open and genuine than I expected in such a setting. “Okay, you’re close,” I conceded, still chuckling. “But, I do take a little sugar with my coffee—just a touch to sweeten the deal.”

His laughter joined mine, creating a light, easy atmosphere that seemed to set the tone for whatever was to come. “Noted,” he said, with a mock-serious nod. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

The lighthearted moment briefly subsided as he posed a more thoughtful question, his tone lowering to a gentle, inviting rumble. “So, what’s got you stepping out of your coffee shop comfort zone tonight?”

Glancing down at my glass, the swirl of liquid momentarily mesmerising, I acknowledged the underlying current of vulnerability. Yet, there was an ease in Hank’s presence that coaxed the words from me more freely than I expected. “I don’t know... I just didn’t want to be alone tonight. Work’s been overwhelming, I guess I just needed a break from myself for a while. From the routine, the quiet. You ever feel that way?”

Hank’s response was a nod, his eyes softening with a deep understanding. “Yeah, more than you’d think.” Curiosity piqued, I found myself more drawn to him, seeing him not only in his role here but as someone who genuinely understood the struggles people go through. “What about you? You seem like the kind of guy who’s seen it all here. What keeps you coming back?”

“The people, I guess,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes meeting mine again. “Everyone who walks in has their own story, their own reason for being here. I like that—it’s unpredictable. I can be part of the background or something more, depending on the night. Tonight feels different, though.”

“Different how?” I asked, my voice quieter now, the conversation shifting as his attention became more focused.

“Maybe it’s you,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “You stand out. You’re not trying to blend in, like most people who come in here to disappear for a bit.”

I felt a shiver run through me, even though his words were light. “I wasn’t really planning on standing out,” I admitted, my voice softer now, a little shy.

He folded his arms on the bar, leaning in just a touch closer. The subtle intimacy of the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

I felt my cheeks warm, surprised at how much I liked hearing that. “Yeah… me too,” I said, smiling just enough to let him know I meant it.

He smiled back, his voice dropping lower. “Sometimes, stepping into something unfamiliar is exactly what we need to remind ourselves what we’ve been missing.”

There was a brief pause, comfortable yet charged with an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection forming between us. “And what do you think I’ve been missing?”

He leaned in, closing the space between us. “Maybe something real. Something that pulls you out of the everyday.”

I held his gaze, my heart racing a little faster now. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “you’re not alone in that.”

The air between us thickened, charged with an undeniable pull. Even in the quiet, there was no mistaking the connection forming between us—raw, real, and electric.

The last patrons trickled out, and the bar lights dimmed slightly, signalling the end of the night. The soft glow cast shadows that only made the space feel more intimate. A slow, soulful tune from the jukebox filled the room, amplifying the closeness between us.

Hank leaned in a little more, his hands idly wiping down the already spotless counter, though his attention was fully on me. The air around us felt thick with unspoken anticipation, a magnetic pull that neither of us could ignore.

"You’ve definitely changed the vibe in here tonight," Hank murmured, his voice a low, warm rumble that seemed to match the mood of the room. “Doesn’t happen often.”

I felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks but found myself leaning in too, letting the moment take over. "Is that your way of saying you hope I come back?" I asked, my tone playful, though beneath it, there was something bolder, something daring.

A slow smile spread across his face, one that made my pulse quicken. “I’m definitely saying that. You’ve made tonight... different. And I like it.”

The room felt smaller, as though it was just the two of us, the rest of the world fading into the background. Our eyes locked, the tension between us humming with an intensity that felt almost tangible. Neither of us moved to break it.

Hank leaned a little closer. There was a question forming on his lips, one that seemed to dance in his eyes as he paused, giving the moment the weight it deserved.

His gaze flicked to the back door, then back to me, and I could see the question in his eyes before he said it. “You wanna get out of here?” His voice was low, the words hanging in the air between us like a challenge.

The invitation was clear, laden with possibilities and the thrill of continuing whatever was unfolding between us outside the confines of the bar walls. I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. Normally, I would hesitate, tangled in self-doubt and over-analysis. But tonight felt different. It felt like a return to an older version of myself—I took a deep breath, embracing the liberating shift, and met Hank's gaze with a quiet nod.

"Yeah," I said softly, "I do."

Hank nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he moved towards the employees-only door at the far end of the bar. He gestured for me to come closer to where the bar ended, and I walked towards him, my heart pounding in my ears.

As I reached the end of the bar, I found myself separated from him by a pane of glass that partitioned off the employees’ area. Above Hank, the neon “BAR” sign bathed him in an ethereal glow, casting dramatic shadows across his features, highlighting the contours of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, and the gentle curve of his full lips. He reached up to unlock the door from his side, his eyes locked on mine.

Our hands met through the glass, fingertips aligning in a moment charged with anticipation. The cool surface couldn’t lessen the warmth that radiated from his touch. With a soft click, he swung the door open, diminishing the barrier between us.

“After you,” he said, his voice low and inviting. I moved around the partition, stepping into his world behind the bar for the first time. There was an intimate thrill to being on his side, close enough to share his space.

Together, we walked towards the back of the bar, where a heavy door led to the alley outside. As Hank pushed it open the cool night air hit my skin, but it did little to cool the fire that had been burning between us all night. The alley behind the bar was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was him—the way his broad shoulders moved, the way his hands flexed at his sides as if he was holding himself back.

We stopped just outside the door, and before I had time to second-guess myself, he turned to me, stepping in close. The space between us disappeared in an instant, and I felt his hand at my waist, pulling me gently but firmly against him. My breath caught in my throat, and for a split second, all I could do was look up into those mesmerising blue eyes, my heart pounding in my chest.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. His lips crashed against mine, urgent and hungry, like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer as his mouth moved against mine, and I kissed him back just as fiercely, my fingers instinctively finding their way to the base of his skull. His hair was soft, curling around my fingers as I tangled my hands in it, pulling him closer.

He let out a low, guttural sound, the kind of sound that sent shivers down my spine and made my knees weak. His hands slid up my back, his fingers digging into my skin as he pressed me against the brick wall behind us. The roughness of the wall was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and I arched into him, wanting—needing—to be closer.

As he kissed me deeper, the sensation was overwhelming—like a storm that obliterates everything else, leaving only a beautiful, blissful blankness in its wake. It blew my mind how everything inside me cast into darkness, every worry dissolving in the heat of his touch. What a relief it was, not having to think anymore.

My hands stayed tangled in his hair, pulling him down harder as his lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jawline.

This wasn’t me. This wasn’t the shy, quiet girl who kept to herself, who avoided risks. But right now, with Hank’s body pressed against mine, his lips on my skin, I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, the way he made me feel—alive, bold, free.

And I wasn’t about to stop.

His breath was hot against my skin as his lips moved lower, trailing down my neck, and I could feel every nerve in my body igniting. I tugged at his hair again, just enough to pull him back to my mouth, and when our lips met, the kiss was even more intense—desperate, as if we both knew this moment was everything we had been building up to all night.

I could feel his body press harder against mine, his hands roaming over my waist, my hips, pulling me even closer as though the small space between us was unbearable. My back hit the rough surface of the brick wall again, but the discomfort only heightened the sensation. The world outside the alley faded away—there were no more sounds from the bar, no distant cars, just the pounding of our hearts and the shared heat between us.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, and he rested his forehead against mine, his blue eyes searching my face in the dim light. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.

I swallowed, my breath still catching in my throat. “I think I do,” I whispered back, unable to stop the smile that tugged at my lips.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I thought I had you all figured out, but… you keep surprising me.”

“I’m surprising myself,” I admitted, my fingers still tangled in his hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp beneath my touch. “But I like it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me fully, his gaze softening for a moment, as if he was trying to read me—trying to make sure I was still in control, still wanting this as much as he did. And I was. More than I’d ever imagined.

“What now?” His voice was a little quieter, a little less hurried, but still laced with that same intensity.

I didn’t need to think about it. I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his again, this time slower, more deliberate, savouring the feel of him, the taste of his mouth. “I don’t want this to stop,” I whispered between kisses, my hands sliding down to grip his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held back.

He groaned softly against my lips, his hands gripping my hips tighter. “It doesn’t have to.”

The way he said it, so sure, made my heart race even faster. We were in an alley behind a bar, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing felt rushed or wrong. It felt like exactly where we were supposed to be. Like I had finally stepped into a part of myself I’d been avoiding for too long. And with him, it felt… right.

The intensity between us burned hotter, and soon, his hands were back on my waist, sliding under my shirt, his fingers grazing the skin there in a way that made me gasp. I could feel the roughness of the brick wall behind me, but all I could focus on was him—his touch, his breath, the way he seemed just as lost in this as I was.

But there was something else too, a sense of grounding I hadn’t expected. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t pushing. He was waiting, following my lead, giving me the space to feel, to take in every second of this. And I knew, in that moment, that whatever happened next, it was because we both wanted it. Because we were both ready for it.

And as the world around us continued to disappear, the night taking over, I knew that whatever came next—whether it lasted for just this night or beyond—it would be the best decision I’d ever made.

But then, as if sensing a shift in the moment, Hank’s lips stilled against mine. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling in the cool night air. His fingers tightened on my waist as though he couldn’t bear to let me go for even a second, but his voice was softer now, more grounded. “We should get out of here.”

My eyes fluttered open, meeting his in the dim light. He was still close, so close, his blue eyes darker now, full of unspoken promise. “Yeah,” I breathed, my heart still racing. “We should.”

Without another word, he gently untangled us from the wall, his hand sliding into mine as he led me out of the alley. The sudden openness of the quiet street hit me all at once, the world outside the alley much brighter, sharper, but I barely registered it. All I could think about was the way Hank’s thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand as we walked, like he needed the physical connection to tether us to the moment. I held his hand tighter, feeling the warmth radiating through his palm, the steadiness in the way he held me.

We walked in silence for a minute, the intensity of the night lingering between us. There was no rush, no need for words right now—just the sound of our footsteps echoing softly in the quiet night. I couldn’t help but steal glances at him as we walked, at the way his jaw clenched and relaxed, his gaze still fixed ahead, but every now and then flicking back to me with that same heat that had burned between us all night.

With every step, the cool night seemed to draw us closer, the world fading until there was nothing but the warmth of his hand in mine. Finally, we reached his apartment. Hank fumbled with the keys for just a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, betraying a mix of nerves and excitement. The lock clicked, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hallway, and the door swung open, revealing the inviting glow of warm light inside.

He stepped aside, letting me walk in first, his hand still wrapped around mine. The apartment was simple but cozy, a space that felt lived in but not cluttered. Warm light spilled from a nearby lamp, casting a golden hue over dark wood furniture, soft blankets draped over a well-worn couch, and a guitar propped in the corner. The air was tinged with a scent that was both woodsy and intimately familiar—perhaps cedar, or simply the essence of Hank—enveloping me in a sense of deep, comforting familiarity.

As he shut the door behind us, the soft click of the lock seemed to seal us off from the rest of the world. The moment was heavy with anticipation, yet it carried a tenderness that made the space between us feel charged yet safe. I stood still, taking in the room, and felt his presence behind me. Turning slowly, I met his gaze—intense, dark, yet filled with a softness that drew me closer.

The electric connection that had sparked between us earlier was not only still present but had intensified in the privacy of his space. His eyes momentarily searched mine, a silent question lingering in their depths, ensuring I was truly there with him, in this moment. Reassured by my subtle nod, his familiar half-smile appeared, sending a rush of warmth through me.

He approached me, each step measured and unhurried. Reaching me, he raised his hand to gently cup my face, his thumb tenderly brushing my cheek in a touch that grounded and calmed me. His fingers wove through my hair, and a shiver ran down my spine as his thumb delicately traced my lower lip, the gesture so filled with intent and tenderness that my breath hitched in anticipation.

For a moment, we simply stood there, barely inches apart, the stillness of his apartment wrapping around us. Then, driven by playful curiosity, I reached up and gently tugged at the brim of his cap, pulling it off. His hair, tousled and soft, spilled over his forehead. The golden lamplight highlighted subtle waves, which caught the light as they fell free. I smiled and let the cap drop to the floor.

“I’ve been wanting to see you without this,” I teased, my fingers weaving through his hair, exploring its texture—thick and surprisingly soft, curling lightly against my fingers. He exhaled a soft sigh, a sound of relief or perhaps pleasure, his eyes deepening into a more intense hue as they locked with mine.

“It feels better already,” he murmured, the timbre of his voice low and inviting. His hands found their way to my waist, his touch firm yet gentle, anchoring me close to him as his gaze stayed fixed on mine, conveying a depth of feeling that went beyond mere attraction.

We kissed again, but this time it was different—slower, more deliberate, as if we were savouring every second. His hands roamed over my waist, tracing the curves of my hips before gliding up my back, each touch sending shivers cascading through me. I leaned into him, my body pressing closer, feeling the firm warmth of his chest against mine.

His lips left mine only to trail down to my neck, soft and warm as he planted a line of kisses from my jaw to my collarbone. My breath caught in my throat, a flush of heat sweeping over me as his hands slid under the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my lower back. I arched into him, wanting more of his touch, more of him.

But he maintained a tantalising pace, not rushing the moment. His hands explored with deliberation, exploring the contours of my body as if he wished to etch them into his memory. His touch was gentle yet assertive, guiding without pressuring, and I felt the attentiveness in every movement, ensuring I was fully present with him. My hands wandered across his chest, tracing the defined muscles beneath his shirt, revelling in how his body tensed responsively to my touch.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, and in a quiet plea for more, I tugged gently at the hem of his shirt. He pulled back just enough to help me lift it over his head, tossing it to the side. The sight of him—shirtless, standing before me in the soft light—made my heart race even faster. His torso was sculpted and firm, his skin radiating warmth under my fingertips as I followed the lines of his muscles, feeling the slight tension there as if he, too, was holding back, letting the moment unfold slowly.

Hank’s hands slid up my sides, his fingers brushing over the fabric of my shirt as he slowly began to lift it. I raised my arms in silent consent, allowing him to pull the garment over my head. The cool air brushed against my skin, yet it paled in comparison to the fervour of his touch. His hands returned to the small of my back, drawing me in until our bodies aligned. I was now standing in just my bra and jeans, my bare skin pressing against his, the direct contact of our skin was electrifying.

His gaze swept over me, filled with a mixture of awe and desire, yet he maintained his deliberate pace. Leaning in, he kissed me tenderly, his hands rising along my back to trace the contours of my spine, finally pausing at the clasp of my bra. He hesitated, his breath warm against my ear, his voice a soft murmur, “Is this okay?”

I nodded, breathless, my hands running up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms. “Yes.”

He smiled against my skin, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra before letting it fall to the floor. His hands were on me again in an instant, warm and firm, sliding up to cup my breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over my skin in slow, teasing circles.

Hank’s lips grazed my collarbone, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to the swell of my chest. His hands explored me with deliberate care, his touch sending waves of heat coursing through my body. When his mouth found my nipple, he teased it gently, the sensation sparking something deep and primal inside me. I let out a soft moan, my fingers tightening in his hair. “God, that feels amazing,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He let out a low groan as he lifted me with ease, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His hands tightened around my thighs, keeping me close, I could feel the hardness of his body pressing into mine, each step toward the bedroom intensifying my need for him, the heat between us nearly unbearable.

He laid me down gently on the bed, his body hovering over mine, his hands never leaving my skin. He kissed me again, slow and deep, as his hands moved down my sides, tracing the line of my ribs, my hips, before reaching the waistband of my jeans. His fingers lingered there for a moment, his touch light but full of promise.

My body ached for him, the need overwhelming now, and I reached up, my hands tugging at his belt. Hank’s breath hitched as I unfastened it, my fingers slowly working the buckle before moving to the button of his jeans. I eased the zipper down, each movement deliberate, and he quickly followed my lead, his fingers deftly undoing the button on mine. With one smooth motion, he eased both my jeans and underwear down. I sat up slightly, desire tightening in my core as I eagerly guided his jeans and boxers down. He groaned softly as I slid the fabric over his hips , and I couldn’t help but bite my lip, heat flooding through me as I took in the sight of him, feeling a mix of awe and raw need.

With nothing left between us, Hank moved closer, his weight slowly pressing down as he hovered above me, our bodies finally connecting. The sensation of his warmth and the solid press of his length against me was overwhelming, yet exactly what I craved. His lips found mine again, gentler this time, while his hands explored me with careful intention, as if he wanted to savour every moment and memorise every inch of me.

He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against mine as he caught his breath, his hands still cupping my waist, his thumbs gently brushing over my skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough with yearning.

I smiled up at him, my hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him down for another kiss. “So are you.”

It was intoxicating—he was intoxicating. And yet, as his hand slid down my side, I felt a flicker of something else. This isn’t me, I thought, not for the first time tonight. The quiet, careful girl who played it safe, who kept her feelings locked away, wouldn’t have ended up here. But with Hank—with him—everything felt different. It wasn’t just the heat between us or the way his touch made my body come alive. It was the way he looked at me, the way he saw me, like there was no one else in the world but us.

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to let go.

His fingers traced lower, along the length of my thigh, caressing the sensitive skin there. He kissed just beneath my ear, and I could feel the soft brush of his hair as he moved, his breath heavy but controlled. Hank’s hand moved between my legs, his fingers parting me gently, slick with my wetness, exploring with a careful but knowing touch. My breath caught, and I let out a soft moan, my body arching into him, craving more. I could feel the tension building inside me, every nerve alight with sensation, and the way he touched me—so deliberate, so focused—made the moment feel even more intense.

He lifted his head, his lips brushing against mine as he met my gaze, his blue eyes dark and full of need. There was something in the way he looked at me, something that made my heart pound even harder—like he was asking for more than just permission. He was asking for trust.

And I gave it to him.

My hips shifted with his movements, my body instinctively responding as his fingers pressed deeper, working in rhythm with my rising need. His touch sent waves of heat through me, building toward a release I could feel just out of reach. His lips moved against mine, his breath ragged as he murmured my name, his voice thick with want. I could feel the urgency in every kiss, every movement, as he drew me closer to the edge.

This wasn’t me—this wasn’t who I normally was. I didn’t do this. I didn’t sleep with men I’d just met. I had always been cautious, reserved, taking my time before giving myself over to moments like this. But with Hank, none of that mattered. There was something different here—something raw and honest that made me let go in a way I never had before.

I wasn’t inexperienced, far from it. I knew what I wanted, and right now, I wanted him. It wasn’t the uncertainty of the newness that had me trembling beneath him; it was the way he made me feel like this was more than just the moment. It was the way he looked at me like he saw me—like I wasn’t just a passing encounter, but something real.

Without breaking our connection, Hank shifted, his mouth moving lower as his fingers continued their steady rhythm. My hands tangled in his hair as I guided him down, my body urging him on. Then his lips were on me, soft and insistent, sending another rush of pleasure through me. My hand moved to grip the sheets beside me as he sucked gently, amplifying the sensation while his fingers stayed firm, working me toward release. I gasped, my legs tightening around him, instinctively holding him there as I let go completely, my body giving in as the waves of pleasure crashed over me.

I’d never let go like this before—not with someone I’d just met. But right now, I wasn’t thinking about what was usual or expected. I was just thinking about him.

Breathless, I felt him move back up, laying the length of his body gently against mine. Before he could say anything, I pulled him into a slow, deep kiss, tasting the remnants of my release on his lips. When I finally pulled back, his eyes locked onto mine. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough, filled with both satisfaction and unspoken need.

My heart raced, still buzzing from the release, and I breathed out a soft, teasing reply. “Not done yet,” I murmured, my lips brushing his jaw. The warmth of his skin against mine only fuelled the fire that hadn’t quite faded.

With a shift of my hips, I surprised both of us, rolling him over beneath me. Hank let out a low groan, his hands instinctively settling on my waist as I straddled him, my confidence growing as I took control. His eyes locked on mine, dark with hunger, and I could feel the rapid beat of his heart under my palms as I pressed them firmly to his chest.

“You like that?” I whispered, his answer was another groan, deeper this time, as his hands gripped my hips a little tighter. “You have no idea,” he growled, his voice full of want.

I leaned down, letting my lips barely graze his, keeping him just on the edge of what he craved, knowing I was the one in control now.

I hovered just above him, our breaths coming fast, feeling the heat radiating from his body, knowing he wanted more—needed more. But I held back, teasing him with the lightest brush of my lips, making him wait, making him want it as much as I did. His grip tightened on me, his fingers pressing into my skin as he resisted the urge to take control again.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

I smirked against his lips, revelling in the power I had over him in that moment. “Good,” I whispered, barely audible, before pressing my lips to his in a deep, languid kiss that made his whole body tense beneath me.

Hank groaned into my mouth as I moved my hips ever so slightly, teasing him with the smallest amount of friction. His body reacted immediately, his hands gripping my waist with a new urgency, but I wasn’t ready to give in just yet. I wanted to savour every second of this, every sound he made, every look in his eyes.

“Please,” he muttered against my lips, his voice hoarse, laced with desperation that sent a thrill through me.

I pressed my palms against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the tension in his muscles. “I’m just getting started,” I teased, lowering my lips to his neck, letting my teeth gently graze the skin there, sending a shiver through him. The soft gasp that escaped his lips sent a thrill through me, and I knew I was in control now.

He let out a low growl, his control slipping just enough that I could feel the shift in his body, the tension coiling tighter, and it sent another rush of excitement through me. I rocked my hips again, this time giving him just a little more of what he wanted, and the sound he made—deep, desperate—was enough to make my pulse race.

He tried to move beneath me, but I pressed him back down, holding him there with just a look, my body hovering above his as I whispered, “Let me.”

His breath hitched, his hands stilling on my waist as he nodded, his eyes dark and filled with nothing but need. He was completely mine in that moment, and the feeling was electric.

Slowly, I lowered myself onto him, taking his entire length with one long, languid thrust. I began to move, letting the rhythm build between us, each motion deliberate, but this time, I wasn’t holding back. His hands tightened on my hips, guiding me as I set the pace, every sound he made spurring me on.

I didn’t think about anything except the feel of him. It was the not thinking I loved most, the not thinking that I never wanted to end.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed, his voice almost reverent as his eyes met mine, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. “I can’t… get enough of you.”

The words sent a surge of heat through me, my movements becoming more urgent, more desperate, as the tension between us spiralled higher. His hands roamed over my body, tracing every curve, every line, and I could feel the restraint slipping from both of us, the heat between us burning hotter with each passing second.

I leaned down, letting my lips capture his again, this time deeper, my tongue sliding against his, claiming him just as he claimed me. His hands gripped my hips tighter, matching my pace as the intensity grew, our bodies completely in sync, every breath, every movement pushing us closer to the edge.

“Hank,” I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders as I rocked against him, my body trembling with the intensity of it all.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice raw and full of promise. And then, with a swift movement, he sat up, pulling me with him so I was still straddling his lap. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as his lips moved to my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. I gasped as he left soft love bites along my collarbone and down the side of my neck, his breath hot against my skin, each kiss, each bite sending a new wave of heat through me.

I gripped the back of his neck, my fingers digging into his skin as I arched into him, every nerve alight with sensation as his mouth worked its way across my skin, leaving a trail of pleasure in its wake.

The tension between us spiralled higher, my release building fast as my body tightened around him, the pleasure growing more intense with each second. His lips stayed on my neck, hands gripping my hips as he urged me to move, guiding me to grind harder against him. That added pressure sent me over the edge, and with one final push, I shattered, the pleasure crashing over me in waves.

Hank’s name escaped my lips in a broken whisper as I came undone above him, my body shaking with the force of my release, wave after wave, my mind completely lost in him. I felt him follow soon after, his grip tightening on my hips as he buried his face in the curve of my neck, his breath ragged and hot against my skin as his own release overtook him. His body tensed beneath me, and I could feel the shudder that went through him as we rode the high together, leaving me breathless and trembling in his arms.

For a moment, we just stayed like that, our bodies tangled together, our breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as we slowly came down from the high. His lips brushed my collarbone once more, softer this time, tender, before he leaned back, his eyes meeting mine.

“You…” he started, his voice hoarse, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t have words.”

I smiled back, my own heart still racing, but this time, it wasn’t just from the intensity of the moment—it was from the way he looked at me, like I was something more. Something important. “Good,” I whispered, my voice just as raw, “I don’t need them.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hands slid up my back, pulling me close once again. I curled up against him, my head resting on his chest as our breaths slowly synced. I could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath me, feel the warmth of his skin, and for the first time in a long time, I felt completely at peace.

And as we sat there, tangled together, I knew that whatever this was—whatever we were—it was only just beginning.

Masterlist

#austin butler #caught stealing #Hank Thompson #fiction #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #fanfic #fan fiction #imagine #hank thompson x you #hank thompson x reader #hank thompson x y/n #caught stealing fic

63 notes · View notes

izzytheloser12 · 5 months ago

Text

~~~♣~~~DCMK incorrect quotes Pride addtion~~~♠~~~

Shinichi: What are you in the mood for? Kaito: World domination. Shinichi: That's a bit ambitious. Kaito: You are my world. Shinichi: Aww… Kaito: Shinichi: Kaito: Shinichi: OH.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Ran: You have to apologize to them Sonoko. Sonoko: Fine! But I must warn you that this might make me a better, nicer person and that is NOT the person you fell in love with!

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Akako: I don't know how to tell you this, but… I love you. Aoko: That's great, Akako. Especially considering the fact we've been married for 6 fucking years.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Hakuba: Look, last night was a mistake. Heiji: A sexy mistake. Hakuba: No, just a regular mistake.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Sonoko: Relationships should be 50/50. Ran cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Heiji: Shinichi isn’t answering his phone Kaito: I’ll call Heiji: Ran and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi- Shinichi: Hello? ~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Sonoko, bursting into the room: You two are having sex! Ran, not looking up from their book: Really? Kazuha, why didn’t you tell me? I would have put my book down.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Heiji: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives. Hakuba: I wake up at 4:30 AM every day. Heiji: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~ *a group of reporters are following Yusaku around to try and get a report about a fake scandel about him*

News reporter: How does it feel to be the most hated man in japan?

Yusaku: Listen in a country full of neanderthals i wear it as a fucking badge of honor

Shinichi behind him: what about the rumors that you kissed Kuroba Toichi?

Yusaku blushing: WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT!????

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Shinichi: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine. Kaito: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again. Shinichi: O-oh. Well. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns?? Kaito: Is it working?

~~~~~~♠♣~~~~~~

Kaito: There are 20 letters in the alphabet, right? Shinichi: Nope, there's 26. Kaito: Ah, I must have forgotten U, R, A, Q, T. Shinichi: Aww, that's cute, but you're still missing one. Kaito: You'll get the D later ;). ~~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~~~

Hakuba: Did it hurt? Heiji: When I fell from heaven? Hakuba: No, when you fell down the stairs mere seconds ago. I literally saw you curl up into a ball and start crying.

~~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~~~

Kaito: When I said you should try being friendlier this isn't what I meant. Shinichi, stirring a cup of tea aggressively: Oh, so now I'm TOO friendly? There's no pleasing you. Toichi, who broke into their house an hour ago: Two sugars please. Shinichi: Coming right up.

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Ran: It’s Pride Month, you know what that means! Shinichi: I get to eat as many Skittles as I want? Ran: What? No! What has Sonoko been telling you? Sonoko, walking in, pouring Skittles into her mouth: Taste the rainbow, bitch.

~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~

Kaito: I promised Shinichi that I wouldn't do anything illegal.

Haibara: why would you lie to your husband like that?

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Akako: She is my love, my light, the woman that I want to be with for the rest of my life. Aoko: Hey Akako, wanna bet on how many warheads I can eat before I die inside? Aoko: I truly am in love with this woman. ~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Kaito, admiring a sleeping Shinichi: You’re so cute

Shinichi, sleepily: I could beat your ass.

Kaito, lovingly: I know

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Kazhua: What was that noise?

Ran: My shirt fell.

Kazhua: It sounded louder than that.

Ran: …I was in it. ~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Hakuba: Is something burning? Heiji: Just my love for you. Hakuba: Heiji , the toaster is on fire

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Kaito (to Shinichi): Sorry I told you about my trauma do you still think I’m hot

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

112 notes · View notes

meddwlyngymraeg · 6 months ago

Text

Vocabulary - to want

A few different ways (that I know) to express wishes and desires.

eisiau - to want. One of the standard ways of saying you want something, all across Wales. In truth, it’s not actually a verbnoun like many others, it’s really a noun. That’s why you don’t need the ‘yn’ before it ad you would for any other verbnoun: ‘yn mynd’, ‘Dwi’n mynd’. ‘Dyn ni’n aros.’ Etc.

‘Dwi eisiau cysgu.’ I want to sleep.

I believe the reason for this is an older construction that is used in literary Welsh, but that got shortened and dropped off over time in colloquial Welsh. ‘bod ... ar [rhywun]’ was the construction used, roughly meaning to have ‘a want upon you’ (very roughly).

Double checking this with Wiktionary (beloved), they do have a credible literary source demonstrating this: the Welsh bible (which thanks to a frenzied linguistics and orthography-fuelled spiral down Wikipedia, and oddly enough, the Welsh comedian and radio broadcaster Elis James (unrelatedly), I know was first translated in the 1500s and directly led to the loss of the letter ‘k’ from the Welsh alphabet).

‘Yr Arglwydd yw fy Mugail; ni bydd eisiau arnaf.’ The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Close enough to colloquial Welsh to understand, that's using ‘eisiau arna (i)’. Over time, colloquial Welsh has dropped the ‘ar’. The example sentence above could've been 'Dwi eisiau cysgu [arna i]'.

A note. Some people have a misconception that eisiau should cause a soft mutation in the word following it, because it is an exceptional case of an action (of sorts) that doesn’t need an ‘yn’, and so must follow a pattern similar to a few other conjugations out there like ‘dylu’ (should).

‘Dylet ti ddweud rhywbeth’ (You should say something), ‘Galla i wneud rhywbeth amdano fe’ (I can do something about it), ‘Ga i rywbeth?’ (Can I have something?), the past tenses of gwneud, ‘wnaethon ni ddysgu Cymraeg’, ‘Mae rhaid iddyn nhw dduhino’n gynnar!’ (They must wake up early!)

And so on. This isn’t the case, as eisiau is not a conjugated verb. It’s just a noun for desire! (*not exactly. I’m trying to explain this as best I can)

There is a south Walian usage of ‘eisiau’ that makes this idea clearer.

In some southern dialects, the construction ‘mae eisiau i…’ is used to mean that someone needs something. E.g. ‘Mae eisiau i ti fwyta’ means ‘you need to eat’. What it literally means is ‘there is a need for you to eat’, and so you can see the noun eisiau (a need) in use.

North Walian Welsh uses the same structure, but with the noun angen instead. ‘Mae angen i ti fwyta.’ ‘Mae angen iddyn nhw sosban’, literally, ‘they are in need of a saucepan’.

Speaking of dialect differences, especially in north Wales Welsh, you might come across spelling variants of eisiau: ‘isio’, ‘isia’, (N) ‘isie’ (S), ‘isho’, etc. Perks of a phonetic language are that nothing’s a misspelling really if it sounds alright when said out loud. I did raise an eyebrow at the last one a little, ‘sh’ isn’t the English ‘sh’ in Welsh, is it? (Is that Wenglish?)

Other forms!

moyn - to want. Used pretty much only in the south and valleys, but this one is a regular verbnoun. ‘Dwi’n moyn cwpla fy ngwaith gytre’n fuan’ (I want to finish my homework soon)

(Just realised there are a Lot of dialect words in that sentence! Cwpla -> gorffen, gytre -> cartef)

It seems simpler than the exceptional eisiau construction, why isn’t it more widely accepted?, you ask. (Most people I’ve said it to say it immediately places you geographically to them because they never hear anyone else say it.) It derives from an older verb, ymofyn, which itself comes from the word gofyn (to ask), ‘ym’ + ‘gofyn’ = ‘ymofyn’, which sort of goes away from the original idea of wanting, and into one of asking. Still, language evolves, and so you will still hear moyn in South Wales. In fact, the Say Something In Welsh course teaches it (which is how I know it. Probably worth giving a disclaimer that I’m simply mad about linguistics and Welsh alternative bands, before anyone starts to think I live in Wales just because I occasionally write long grammar posts!)

Awydd - a desire. Used similarly to eisiau, no ‘yn’ precedes it. The whole point of making this post was that I just came across this sentence: ‘Ti awydd mynd i Gastell Caerfili?’ Meaning, do you want to go to Caerphilly Castle?

And those are the ones I know!

#vocabulary #sentences #source: online #source: dictionary #source: wiktionary #welsh #Dysgu Cymraeg #to want #language learning #I've done my homework this time so i am going to put it in the relevant tags. I'm fairly sure this is all correct #Cymraeg #learn Welsh #languages #linguistics #language stuff #etymology

138 notes · View notes

chaifootsteps · 1 month ago

Note

(incoming rant, apologies)

anon who said Stolas is not a "goodie pure angel who does everything right" - that's not entirely the problem his critics have, tbh?

the creators have said he's flawed but ultimately a good person, which is basically the narrative the show runs with: that Stolas is just a bit flawed and made some mistakes, but they're ultimately minor and he deserves to be happy

what his critics contend is that Stolas is not just a bit flawed but is abusive towards Blitzo and neglectful of Via far beyond just regular divorce upheaval. but the show never owns up to that - it never seems to think all that deeply about his behavior or how hypocritcal or neglectful he is

second the anon states that just because the show depicts his reactions doesn't mean the creators are saying he is innocent.

this completely ignores how framing works and how it can be used to send a message. when the camera shows Blitzo leaving the Anti Blitzo party while looking at Stolas smiling and surrounded in glowing light, what is the framing trying to say? it's not "the relationship was fractious and these two need time to themselves", it's "Blitzo has made a huge mistake and missed out on the love of his life due to his own flaws". when the camera favors Stolas crying when Blitzo chews him out, what is it trying to say? it's not "Blitzo has a point here", it's "Blitzo has gone too far and his cynicism is costing him love". when it shows a perspective shot from Blitzo's eyes looking at Stolas while he cries about wanting someone to want him, what is it trying to say? it's not "Stolas is still failing to tell Blitzo what he loves about him in particular", it's "Blitzo does want to be that person for Stolas but won't admit it"

the framing communicates what the writers mean and it favors Stolas, every single time

the part about "anyone who babifies him is in the wrong" - idk if this is aimed at his stans or in universe, but if it's talking about the characters it definitely doesn't seem that way. Verosika literally calls him "baby" and she's framed as being correct when she tells Blitzo he should just let Stolas go and sleep with someone else if he wants. she's the voice of reason in the episode as far as the framing goes - if she wasn't supposed to be, Blitzo would be allowed in the script to fill her in on all the context she's missing about the "relationship" and point out the amount of projection she's doing. but he's not and frankly I don't think the show has earnt the benefit of the doubt when it comes to the writing being secretly sophisticated - they literally had Stella say out loud 'I like tormenting you'. it's not that deep and acting like where they're going with Stolas will be is ignoring the consistent pattern around how he's been written or rather, rewritten

and this is a repeated pattern with Stolas - anytime someone could make an obvious rebuttal to something he says, they never do even when it makes little sense.

Stolas claims it wasn't cheating because Stella never loved him? For some reason Andrealphus and Stella don't point out it was still cheating no matter how he tries to spin it and he hurt Via to boot, in a scene where they're trying to assign blame to him to get more in a divorce settlement

And that's not going into the numerous times this happens with Blitzo. The opening of Apology Tour is basically an argument between the two and Blitzo, who has been characterized as a combative and defensive person to this point, suddenly doesn't pull out anything but vague notions about Stolas looking down on him despite the many, many things he could have said to point out how shitty Stolas has been?

even when Stolas pulls the ultimate self-centred card of 'I can't believe you prioritized your daughter's health over me even though you literally sent your employees to help', Blitzo responds with something the writers can use to make him look worse (that he didn't tell Stolas about the Harvest Moon assassination attempt, which is another retcon why he didn't but let's shelve that for now) instead of what you'd expect him to say: that Stolas is being a selfish jackass who thinks the world revolves around his entitled, ungrateful self when a prince like him should have had his legions rescue him instead of making a working class imp risk his family to help him

that example above really zeroes in on the dissonance. they've written Stolas to be a petty, vindictive piece of shit who's portrayed as somehow in the right for judging Blitzo for not immediately LARPing as his white knight and being at his beck and call whenever he asks for it. any writer who had an objective view of their own characters would not let Stolas say something as awful as he said in Apology Tour (and that's just one of many awful things he says in that scene alone) and just let it slide

but they do, because as far as they're concerned Stolas' petty behavior is just him being sassy and finally standing up for himself against...*checks notes* the person he coerced into sex who made no secret of the fact that he found Stolas' attentions repulsive from the start.

I'm genuinely curious where this 'critics take any line Stolas says in the worst faith possible' thing comes from, or claiming critics don't think comes from. It's because critics think about the episodes on more than a surface level that we criticize Stolas, because we don't accept what the framing is trying to say and nothing else.

In what way can someone take Stolas shaming his love interest for taking his daughter to the doctor in good faith? Or him engaging in literal abusive behavior by rewriting reality to favor himself (and being only nominally aware he's even doing it) and doing DARVO on Blitzo? If it was just one thing - just Stolas doing a classism occasionally - then it might be easier to think it was just him being insensitive.

But Stolas is a character who coerced someone into sex in a show that categorically refuses to use the words 'coercion' or 'rape' to describe what he's done, while showing blink and you miss it shots of Blitzo looking violated and furious at what he has to do to appease Stolas, during a musical montage that's once again framed like Blitzo is the one realizing he's wronged Stolas and getting teary-eyed about it.

this isn't critics claiming Stolas is being treated like a perfect angel when the show makes it clear he's flawed. this is critics claiming Stolas is abusive and the show is bending over backwards not only to hide it, but to act like he's this great catch Blitzo is missing out on and Blitzo is more in the wrong

One moment of Stolas saying 'well maybe I did something wrong' during that song doesn't make up for the fact that the writers act like someone who has had all of season 2 to put it together that he's screwed up and has been told multiple times what the problem is, is 'just not being self aware enough', like it's some minor thing he's trying to claim Blitzo was the one to make it all about sex or that he never looked down on him.

someone who rewrites reality as much as Stolas does and lacks apparently any ability to self-reflect and actually apologize and improve is abusive. period, kill shot, end of.

the only thing that would convince me at this point that the writing isn't trying to retcon Stolas into a better person than he is (and failing harder than ever) would be if in the upcoming storyline where he presumably loses everything, the writing spares no quarter that he messed up:

that the power dynamic between him and Blitzo is pointed out and how stacked the deck was in his favor is said explicitly without victim-blaming Blitzo

that using the fact he was getting shot at to make the deal is acknowledged for the aggravating factor it is

that he was gambling with Via's inheritance solely to get more sex out of Blitzo and him claiming to support his business is self-serving claptrap and he knew that all along

that he doesn't love Blitzo, he loves the idea of love and anyone who will save him from his loneliness will do (or at the very least he sucks at communicating why he loves Blitzo)

that Blitzo had every right to not only be confused but angry with him when he confessed and Stolas expected not only immediate forgiveness, but his love - love he felt entitled to and threw a tantrum when he didn't get it

that he's a neglectful father who promises to do better and not only fails to do so but prioritizes his affair over her and drinks himself into oblivion when he's sad even though there's a possibility she might need him

that he didn't tell her about Stella or the assassination attempt because he was again prioritizing Blitzo

that he's failed to raise his heir and teach her magic properly, the literal only thing the Goetia family wanted out of him

that he abuses his imp servants and sees the lower classes as invisible objects for him to use - when he isn't busy extorting sex out of them, that is

and finally that he blames everyone else for his problems and fundamentally never changes. Blitzo is still an object who should meet his needs and Via is still his neglected daughter who should accept the bare minimum from him when he remembers she exists

this isn't the profile of a flawed but sympathetic character, it's one of a deeply unsympathetic loser who takes while giving virtually nothing back. and that's what the show refuses to own up to. we're supposed to think Stolas is tragic but want him to turn his life around, while I would rather see Striker finish the job so Blitzo can be free of the miserable Stol1tz plotline and become a better person in other ways that actually matter, instead of finishing his transformation into Stolas' very own Emotional Support Poor

tl:dr but Stolas' critics don't think he's a Mary Sue. He's a Jerk Sue, a Black Hole Sue. He's a far worse person than the show wants to admit and they've sunk to truly pretzel levels of mental gymnastics trying to prove that to the viewers with all their retcons and insane troll logic lately

Excellent writeup. Stolas's writers say he's one thing, his words and actions say another, and it really is as simple as that.

#Anonymous #stolitz critical #stolas critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

44 notes · View notes

brisquad-unit-4402 · 6 months ago

Text

things zali would say while you’re asleep

ah yes the classic confession while someone’s asleep. i need to abuse zali’s lore as a medic more

tags: gender neutral reader, fluff, pre-relationship, pining zali, reader is a krisis hero, sickfic, confession-but-not-quite, i had fun with a translator, rare flustered zali

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Unfortunately Zali is an early riser by occupation, not nature, and clocks into the A.S.H. infirmary at 5:00 AM sharp. The beds are usually unoccupied, leaving the medic to his own research, but today he stops walking by one.

The other day, you and the rest of Krisis did the whole crime-fighting planet-defending thing, as expected. Also as expected, you took care of the threat without a hitch as a 4-person unit.

It was the day after that posed a problem. Namely, a 100-degree-Fahrenheit problem. Somehow you didn’t even get a scratch while beating the villain of the week, but you woke up to a sore throat, a stuffy nose, and a fever. As your medic, Zali was the first person you contacted.

You asked for any easy home remedies, expecting some French chicken noodle recipe or a home remedy.

He insisted on bedrest in the infirmary instead.

Damn medical professionals and their overreactions.

Despite your protests, Zali has a hard time thinking it was the wrong choice. He stands beside your medical bed with a clipboard in hand.

Sleep treated you well. Your pale cheeks and reddened nose were less noticeable now that you had time to rest (and a cool towel along your forehead), but your arms were cast off to the side as if you were reaching for something while you slept.

Zali watched your chest rise and fall. Rise and fall. Good. Regular breathing patterns are always a good sign with respiratory infections. A quick check with the stethoscope confirmed that it wasn’t interfering with your heart, too. Definite improvement all around.

He still held two fingers to your throat to check your pulse, though. Heartbeats thump, thump, thumped underneath his gloved fingers. He didn’t bother to log that test outcome on his clipboard; he has the results logged up there in his head.

“You’re doing better,” he says. His instinct is to explain his logic to the patient, but then he looks at your sleeping face, and now he feels awfully silly for it. He usually doesn’t talk out loud when his patients are asleep, but he’s inclined to keep you informed. “You can tell, I think. You’re not waking up in the middle of the night because of your stuffy nose.”

He giggles at that. He lost count of how many times you snorted awake (quite literally) before he retired for the night. As he shakes his head with amusement, he notices a bundle of fluff at the base of your bed.

Zali reaches down to pick it up, and stares back at a small Vezkit plush. The Vezkit was one of his many tools to subdue problem patients, such as children on the rare occasion that he had to heal them. If he noticed his patient was getting antsy, he’d offer the Vezkit as comfort. And, yes, when you were so stuffed-up he could barely understand your voice last night, he figured you could’ve used the comfort.

He glances at you, and how your arms are splayed out on the side of the bed where the Vezkit sat. No wonder the poor guy was misplaced—you accidentally dropped it in your sleep while you were cuddling it.

The thought makes Zali giggle again. “Be careful not to harm the citizens in your care, Reader,” he teases. “What would we do if you dropped a real Vezkit in action?”

Rise and fall, regular breathing. Zali doesn’t need to wait for you to respond, but he watches your face anyways. Even in sickness, you look peaceful.

“I should get you a new towel,” he says aloud.

He returns a second later, and when he removes the old towel, the thermometer confirms you're at 100.6F. With a sigh, Zali places a hand on your forehead. Just as hot as he expected. “You still need to rest,” he instructs to no one. “I don’t want my Reader to feel under the weather.” He rethinks. “Our Reader. You’re one of us.”

The hand rolls down to your cheek next. Fingers end under your jaw at the pulse point he checked earlier, and rubs along your cheek.

In a quiet breath, Zali mutters to himself. “Stop that.” He can’t find it in himself to quit, though. To a bystander it would be clear he isn’t just checking your temperature anymore, but your cheek fits perfectly into his palm. “Reader, you’re irresistible.”

Earlier he managed to excuse himself, but now Zali awkwardly chuckles. “My goodness, I’m really doing this now.” He finds it easy to tell your resting face things he’d never dream of saying out loud when you’re awake.

Silence fills the space when he doesn’t admit anything. Why is this so hard? It must be easier than a proper confession, but Zali is thankful for the bandages he wraps around his face like a medical mask. At least he can pretend he can keep his blush to himself, even if there’s no one to see it.

“You brighten up our days,” he continues, grabbing a fresh towel and letting water soak through it until it’s cooling to the touch. “But you have no idea how much you affect people.” He wrings the towel so tight that his rubber gloves stretch with the force. “Least of all how you affect me.”

He folds the towel neatly and returns to your bedside. Your lips are parted slightly as you sleep, a soft color, and one that he wished he could dwell on. Since your head was slightly tilted, he could admire the contours of your face, from the tip of your nose to the curve of your cheeks, all the way up to your forehead which so dearly needed something to cool it down.

That reminds him of his task, but his heart keeps skipping beats as he looks at you. Hair rested over your face and along your forehead as you slept, and as he watched you, a strand fell a little lower. You look angelic.

Zali unravels the bandages along his face, then quickly kisses the towel.

The desire to kiss you has been one Zali has resisted for a long time, but he’s starting to lose the fight. He flips the towel over, intending to place the side he kissed onto your forehead. Indirect and secondhand.

He tries not to think about how soft your hair is as he brushes it out of the way. Tries not to admire your eyelashes and the bridge of your nose, or the way your lips must be as soft as they look.

But that leaves the forehead, and before he can think any better of it, Zali lays his lips there.

The medic regains his sense a second after and practically lurches back. He slaps a hand over his greedy mouth as he turns away, brain going into overdrive as the blood rushes to his head. How unprofessional! How improper! Is he really this weak for you when you’re in his care? He buries himself further into his hands, letting out a groan as he does, begging these thoughts to abandon him at least until he’s done caring for your illness.

But he does glance at you through his fingers, and maybe it’s because he’s swooning, but he swears you look a little sweeter after being on the receiving end of his kiss.

Zali sighs, hoping that’ll clear his head even though he knows the outcome, and places the towel down as intended. “Cute.”

Saying that was a mistake. Now he’s even more flustered, but ‘cute’ doesn’t even begin to describe you. “Tu es éblouissante,” Zali tries. “J’espère pouvoir admettre cela un jour.”

That’s not enough either, but his native French confessions come easier to him, and the rest he can keep locked up in a small dark place no one else can see, least of all you.

He adjusts the towel into place, then pats your head as a final affection. Meanwhile, the Vezkit plush watched him work on the bedside table, and you could use the comfort.

The fabric is fuzzy in his hands, and the perfect size to hold. Your arms haven’t moved at all since you let go of the Vezkit in your sleep, which serves as the perfect place to return the plush.

Zali sets the Vezkit down, and in your deep sleep, you immediately react to its fluffiness. Your hands twitch first, then your arms rise to keep it close.

However, sleeping heroes can’t see their surroundings, and Zali’s eyes widen as you hold his hand down. You managed to grab both the plush and his arm in one fell swoop.

If his face wasn’t red enough before, it certainly is now. Take his heart too while you’re at it. Not like he needs it anymore. It’s going way too fast to be functioning properly.

“Oh. Oh, gosh.” His breath catches as he nervously laughs with a hand over his mouth, hoping it’ll make him sound less lovesick. “Don’t give me hope.”

He can already imagine Wilson teasing him, or Vanta calling him whipped. They wouldn’t be wrong, though. Zali is supposed to be the composed one. He can smooth-talk his way out of a situation, or go unaffected by femme fatales and playboys, but he’d do just about anything if you were the one asking him for a favor.

And in this case, he’s got a million things to work on, but he can’t think of a single one. They’re all flimsy excuses to break out of your warm grasp. None of them sound appetizing compared to this, even if you held him unknowingly.

“Oh, forget it.” With a huff, Zali bites on the edge of his glove and pulls it off. It’s rare for him to work without one, whether it be medical-grade or the black pair he dons religiously, but he hungers for contact.

Fingertips hardened by battle medicine caress your face as gentle as can be. He doesn’t want to go further—not while you’re unaware—but he really can’t get over how easy it is to set his hand along your cheek and jaw, soaking up the soft skin like sun to a plant.

You really must be in deep sleep if you haven’t noticed yet. This is fine, Zali muses. The less you see of the longing look in his golden eyes, the better. Usually he would muster up his courage and just go for it, but not with you. Not when he’s never felt anything like you before, especially considering how close-knit Krisis is. Disrupting the balance is out of the question. He has to be fine with what he has instead of striving for something else, no matter how he yearns for the satisfaction, the possibility of what could be, even if he knows you don’t see him as anything other than a friend. It’s for the sake of the team.

But Zali wakes up at the crack of dawn, and you certainly aren’t, not while you’re still sick.

He can indulge himself for a little longer.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#vezalius bandage x reader #vezalius bandage #krisis x reader #krisis #krisis fluff #vezalius bandage fluff #nijisanji en #nijisanji x reader #4402 writes #if anyone wonders what he said: ‘you are dazzling/mesmerizing’#‘i hope i can admit that one day’

109 notes · View notes

izzabela · 5 months ago

Text

In the Mafia's Eyes - Lin Kuei Siblings x GN!reader

in which the deadliest mafia group's leader and two brothers have you in their sight

a/n: i was scrolling through and i laid my eyes on the most beautiful fanart EVER, so i asked permission to use it (as you can see, i got permission) BIG UPS TO @moonbay1cn for letting me use their art (i cropped it to fit my blog formats, if you don't mind)

ships: tomas, bi han, kuai liang x GN!reader

warning[s]: mentions of blood, suggested violence, suggestive, you're delusional

p.s. mafia au! the Lin Kuei are based in the U.S. instead of Arctika/China

You should have realized who the men you served were. Every single clue and hint was there, pointing you in the right direction, yet you ignored the obvious flags that waved in your brain.

New York City is insidious: places to be, things to do, dreams to achieve. There's a reason why it's called "the city that doesn't sleep." People are up at all hours of the day and night to do things, and the night was a tad more active than the day. For you, however, the days seemed to blur together. Working at a 24/7 shop isn't rare. What made it rare was that it was a 24/7 tea house/café/eatery.

In the middle of Manhattan.

Upper east side, Manhattan.

In a rundown building that was browner than poop stains and long-deceased rat corpses.

That should have been your first hint.

The building was old, needing constant repairs here and there, yet it was untouched by the most powerful real estate agents, landlords, and other money-grubbing losers that would love to tear the building down to replace it with a painfully sleek and sterile one.

You were grateful for Madame Bo's persistence against this modern era of sad, beige modernness, but were also confused. How did she make so much money to keep them away? And if she had such money, why wouldn't she do the renovations herself? She could easily update the internals and externals of the building if she wanted to.

"Oh dear," she had said, "The charm is in the age of the building."

The second clue to the enigma of the tea house café were the customers.

When you were first hired by Madame Bo, you didn't really notice the patterns of people coming in and out, nor the lackeys that would round the block. Despite how old this building was, it was a popular stop for both the middle class and the privileged snobs residing in the upper east side. Over time, you knew who were regulars and who weren't.

When you worked the day shifts, you made note of four men who would be walking outside the building. On other shifts, they switched it up on you and they were paired with women, posing as couples. However, you knew better than that. Sure, to the untrained eye they would have just been randoms working out, but your gut told you otherwise. They were tall, slightly beefed with muscle, and walked faster than a normal New Yorker- yeah, definitely not normal.

What also peeved you out was the fact you always felt... something on you. You couldn't figure out if it was safety or protection, but what you definitely felt were eyes on you.

It didn't stop there, though.

On the very rare, and desperate, occasions you had a night shift, you kept a mental tab that two people would enter the empty eatery. They would sit on opposite sides of the room, laptops open and untouched. While you didn't judge the work ethics of others, you certainly judged people who had questionable habits of work. Even so, Madame Bo made drinks for them- free of charge!

"My dear," she said to you one fateful night shift, "They do a lot more for us than we know."

The last hint was as obvious as a clown in disguise. Scratch that, it's not even a hint anymore- it's a big red "x marks the spot" on a treasure map. And the "treasure" came in a pack of three hot guys.

Every month since you began working with Madame Bo, three men in luxurious suits and tuxes came to visit the shabby tea house. One of them with gray-colored hair, while the other two matched in black colored hair. You also noted their style of face covering, two of them opting for a face mask while the other remained bare-faced.

Every month without fail, these three men came to visit and sit down for some tea. There were times where they just sat in comfortable silence together, other times they were discussing the mundane in their lives. Most of the time, though, they simply sat together and spoke with Madame Bo, laughing and engaging in hearty conversation.

Every time they spoke with her, you couldn't help but stare at them. Madame Bo and the three mystery men were more different than the poles in a magnetic field, yet they spoke to her with such respect and joy. You thought it was just a rare case of rich people being kind. During a day shift when they visited, you asked Madame Bo for the origins of the three men.

"Oh them? I used to watch them when they were little," she explained to you, Raiden, and Kung Lao, "All three of them are brothers, with Tomas being adopted."

You remembered that you zoned out during the explanation of her ties with them, the only thing you got were their names: Tomas for the ash colored hair, Bi Han to the navy suit, and Kuai Liang in his amber-rust colored suit. As you zoned out, your eyes wandered over to the three.

They were engaged in their own conversation, chuckling quietly as they spoke about their business. While the air within them was pleasant, you felt a bit of fear and excitement. Something about them made you want to straighten up, look presentable, and be on your best behavior. You wanted to give them the best customer service in their lives- actually, maybe more than just "service".

You remembered catching the eyes of Kuai Liang, who briefly looked away from his siblings to catch you staring at them. His gold-black mask covered the bottom half of his face, but the way his eyes wrinkled a bit signaled some sort of smile that lied underneath.

You blushed and turned away, trying to zone back into the conversation with Madame Bo and the other boys you worked with.

"Woah! So like, are they super rich, Madame Bo?" Kung Lao asked innocently.

Madame Bo nodded, stating something about how they own a couple of stores in the upper east side thanks to a family business. You, however, still did not get the memo about who they were until later that day.

This was the answer to your dilemma on who these ferocious and fine men were.

After a night with some of your close friends, you were walking home alone following a sketchy back-path. It was supposed to be a shortcut, provided by the maps app on your phone. However, it died after you forgot to charge it, leaving you wandering the unruly city during its worst. As you walked, you fell into trouble with some sleazy idiots.

You remembered how close they were to you, their alcohol-stained breath and sleazy style of walk. The way they slithered over your shoulder to try and get you to come home with them. Not only were you sober, but willing to fight. You had punched one of them in the nuts to escape, but the grasp of one of the disgusting men was too strong for you.

You remembered four of them surrounding you, and you really thought you'd meet your end in the alley that night. You closed your eyes, but heard gun shots and the sounds of bodies hitting the damp concrete. What once was creepy and dangerous men surrounding you, you found them lying in their own blood, clean shots through the head.

You fell to your knees, threatening to cry, but you saw a familiar color on a suit. Okay, a few familiar colors: gray, navy, and rusty amber. You saw a gloved hand reach out to yours, leading to Bi Han's broad figure. You took it, and he effortlessly brought you to your feet. You noticed his other gloved hand was getting replaced, Kuai Liang replacing the soiled mitten.

Tomas snuck behind you (you didn't even feel him get there) to offer his coat. He gently placed it on your shoulders, his eyes peeking down at your round, doe, startled ones. Despite what happened in front of you, and despite you finally learning who they really were, you weren't afraid.

Each man held something in their eyes that promised you safety, security, and protection. Like a guardian angel, these men made a promise with their eyes to you. A promise saying that no matter where you are, what you're doing, that you'd always be safe.

As the saying goes, "It's in the eyes, chico," and boy they aren't wrong.

=================

It's been a couple of months since that incident, and the games you've played with them and your mind have been infectious. The brother's visits to the café have begun to happen more frequently, they even visit you alone sometimes, which didn't help your brain's delusions.

Every time one of them came to the cafè, you were afraid they would see right through you and into your horny thoughts. Whenever they visited and watched you work, you felt their eyes not leaving you once. It got so bad that you would bring Raiden or Kung Lao to distract you while doing stuff, or simply have Madame Bo make them leave.

Even so, it didn't stop your mind at all.

On the day's Kuai Liang came to the café, his gaze on you was steady and still, like a constant fire during a winter storm. The way he looked at you was full of wanting, desire, and desperation- like he needed you more than oxygen. Your brain imagined that his body was warmer than most, and that he would keep you in a dizzying trance.

Your mind played scenarios in which Kuai Liang would explore every part of you, with no intent of letting you go either. His hands leaving hand-shaped slap marks and bruises, marking every part of you to let the world know that you were his alone to worship. His loyalty to you and your body would leave you overwhelmed, melting under his constant affection and love.

Your mind concluded he'd be a gentleman and a rough lover, and you had to shake the thoughts out before he knew.

When Bi Han came to visit, you didn't have to know it was him at all. While Kuai Liang's presence was warm and welcoming, Bi Han's aura was chill to the bone. Whenever you were working, Bi Han's eyes never left your body. You figured his stares felt more...cold: persistent, chilly, and never-ending. Like a blizzard in the cold tundra of the arctic.

With Bi Han, your mind played vignettes of how he'd take you to bed. He would be rough, not like Kuai Liang. He'd pull your hair, smack your perky behind, and tell you how much of a degenerate you really were- all for him of course. He'd leave hickeys everywhere on your body, a mosaic of pink, purple and red on you to remind you who belonged to who.

Your mind also thinks he'd be great with aftercare. All that rough-housing and such, you needed to calm down and collect yourself. Your brain fills your mind with him putting you in a bath, rubbing your back, shampooing your hair too. He'd whisper "I love you's" in your delusions, peppering each hickey with kisses.

For him, your mind finalized he'd be the roughest of the three, while also caring for your wellbeing post-sex.

Your brain was working in serious overdrive.

Finally, when Tomas came to visit, you always felt sweet with him around. Not only would he stare at you with such love in his eyes, but he'd engage with others around him.

Like a butterfly, he'd go around and spread joy; however, he loved floating around you the most. You found that talking to him was easier than talking to his brothers, so you talked to him about the basics of who you were. When you tried to bring up that night, he told you that it would stay between you four- a private business transaction.

He'd also ask why you spoke to him more, and not his brothers. He assured you that they wouldn't bite, but you simply said it was out of respect.

And to keep your thoughts at bay.

Despite all of this, you weren't fooled by him at all. The way he looked at you, when people weren't present, was filled with a primal hunger, a desire to have you. He was the predator, and you knew damn well that you were his prey- not able to get away from his trapping gaze. His stares were sharp and clear, like a hunter ready for the kill.

And by the elder gods your mind was ready to be hunted.

You imagined his grip on you being tight, like you'd disappear and he'd never find you again. He would be intentional with tour body, exploring every part of you in more depth and detail than his brothers. His touch would make you feel sensitive, flinching at how feathery and flighty his fingers were as he took every part of you for himself.

He'd kiss you like he'd leave forever- full of longing, desperation, and wanting. Your brain thinks he'd need you more than oxygen, that he would love nothing more than to breath your natural scent in like the necessary element.

If Kuai Liang made you dizzy with heat, and Bi Han made you shiver with his chill, then Tomas would have you writhing under him like a poor animal in heat.

You prayed to the elder gods silently, hoping the men wouldn't see your perverse thoughts as they came by the shop.

Unfortunately, your pleas were ignored.

During their monthly visitation, you saw to the brothers yourself and sat them down, took their order, and made their drinks. Tomas took an Earl Gray with a pastry, Kuai Liang with some matcha, and Bi Han with Oolong tea.

You quickly gave their drinks to them, paired with an even quicker "thanks for waiting" and retreated behind the counter.

You watched them only for a bit, your brain playing new scenarios, but you distracted yourself with chores. Deep into them, you didn't even feel them leave until Raiden and Kung Lao tapped your shoulder, money in the latter's and a note in the former's.

"Looks like our prettiest barista got some tip money," Kung Lao teased, "A crisp twenty dolla bill too!"

You gasped, but who could have gifted you with such a generous tip? Raiden hands you a slip of paper, which answers your question and fills your head with more of them.

"Uhh..." he fidgeted nervously, "I am not sure what this means, but it definitely makes me wonder..." he handed the note to you and you flush the deepest shade of red ever.

It's in the eyes, little barista

=====================

once again, big ups to @moonbay1cn for letting me use their beautiful piece of media for this post!

see yall in the next fic ;)

#mortal kombat #kuai liang #tomas vrbada #bi han #mk1 #x reader #tomas x reader #kuai liang x reader #bi han x reader #x you #too much caffeine #my sleep schedule is fucked #brain rot #suggestive

72 notes · View notes