#but it is weird having only two very very close long time friends and both are in relationships

[misanthropicgardener]

oh i think i figured out how to articulate something???

[sleepyhoon]

✰ pairing. — emo!hs x reader

✰ genre. — early 2000s au, best friend's older brother, childhood friends to lovers, smut, light angst.

✰ word count. — 7k+

✰ warnings. — swearing, family issues, partying, mentions of drinking/drugs, friendship betrayal (?), smut [virginity loss, teasing, fingering, soft dom!hs, "i've waited so long for this" type shit], reader and hs are both 18+, minors dni. very cliche shit. reader doesn’t know much abt sex tbh.

✰ synopsis. — Love notes were slipped into your locker on a daily basis. Variations of messy, boyish handwriting on yellow sticky notes stacked upon themselves by the end of each school day. Every Friday night you were invited out with the promise of, "You'll have fun, just give it a chance."

You could have any guy you wanted, no doubt about it. Yet somehow, the only one you do want is the tattooed, gothic one that lives a few doors down from your best friend.

✰ a/n. revamping this from my bts acc with heeseung this time bc im absolutely obsessed with this couple and need them to exist in every possible universe :P revamping part 2 as we speak and ill post in a few days hehe

✰ perm taglist. @intromortal @aanniikkaa @meetletsinmontauk @lovelyyf @right-person-wrong-time

———

Two monumental events had been etched into your brain for eternity, the first being sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet up with your friends at the community pool. The second is fifteen minutes upon arriving at the pool, seeing your best friend's older brother emerge from the chlorine-scented water as if he were Poseidon and realizing you were utterly infatuated by him.

Lee Chaeryeong isn't blind to this, immediately pulling you away from the crowd to question the longing gaze on your face. "Out of every fucking guy here with us, you're making eyes at my brother? You do know that Heeseung is completely gross, right?" She was so furious, you're surprised no steam was blowing from her ears.

Deny it all you want (and you certainly did within that fifteen-minute interrogation); Heeseung very clearly had a hold on you that lasted many years following that fateful night. He wasn't even your usual type; he wouldn't be caught dead around the guys you're typically drawn to. He had a rebellious side; maybe that's why getting him out of your head was nearly impossible.

Of course, the eternal guilt of falling for your best friend's older, dumbass brother is also difficult to get out of your head.

It can't be helped, really. Anytime you'd visit their home, your eyes would automatically wander through the crack of his doorway as you'd pass by. Whether he was messily cutting his dark hair while blasting Pierce the Veil from his speakers or giving himself a new Stick-and-Poke tattoo as he waited for a CD to finish burning, you long to break away from Chaeryeong for a moment to speak to him. Ask him about his day or if his band had any upcoming gigs. You'd even talk to him about paint drying if it meant you'd get to be in the same space as him.

So it's safe to say you were completely heartbroken when he left for college. Chaeryeong, however, is over the moon. Or so you think.

"… He's your brother, though. You don't think you're gonna miss him at all?" You ask, watching Chaeryeong delicately paint your fingernails a pretty shade of purple.

She shrugs, "I mean… it's definitely gonna be weird not seeing him around the house every day, but he'll still visit sometimes. Maybe."

Deep down, Chaeryeong knows Heeseung won't visit much. He'd been craving freedom and independence from their parents for ages, and moving away for college gave him the perfect opportunity to live as he pleased. They weren't fond of the clothes he wore or the friends he had, and absolutely couldn't bear the music his band makes. They criticized every little thing about him, and he'd finally be getting a break from them.

As you're about to ask Chaeryeong if she's okay, she stands from her bed, screwing the nail polish closed. "I'll be back. I have to let Bam out." Her voice is shaky, and she doesn't look at you as she exits the room.

You take the opportunity to make your way down the hall and to Heeseung's door, which he has conveniently left wide open as he scrolls on his desktop. His knees are pressed against his chest as he's heavily focused on editing his Facebook page. There's a rock song playing lightly from another tab that you can't quite identify; he uses his free hand to gently tap along to the beat of the music.

His room is covered in cardboard boxes, soon to be packed into his parents' minivan and making their way to the University of San Francisco dorms.

Your knuckles tap on his wooden door, your heart fluttering when he turns around, and you realize he's changed the ring on his lip from black to silver.

He nods at you, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I just know you're leaving in the morning, and I wanted to say bye. And wish you good luck, of course." You're not sure why you're so heartbroken. It's not like the two of you were ever a thing. It's not like this would be your last time seeing him. Why were you so upset?

"Cool, thanks." You assume that was his way of indirectly telling you to get out until he reaches into his desk drawer and says, "Catch," before tossing something towards you.

Careful not to mess up your manicure, you easily catch the item, unfolding what appears to be a purple bandanna. "What's this for?" You ask, inspecting the material in your palms.

"To remember me by, duh. Plus, it matches your nails.”

It'd be silly to tell him you genuinely don't need this because there was no way in hell you could ever forget about him. Instead, you clutch the bandana tightly in your fist and make a silent vow to keep it with you at all times; have a piece of him with you at all times.

You thank him and tell him it's nice, but all you can wonder is why he even wants you to remember him in the first place. Maybe you're overthinking. He probably just didn't care for the useless accessory anymore.

When you turn to leave, Heeseung stops you with a gentle call of your name. He turns his head in your direction, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything." You whisper back, praying you don't sound overly desperate for a more extended interaction with him.

A beat of silence passes, and just as he opens his mouth to respond, Chaeryeong is stomping up the stairs and belting out your name. You gaze away from Heeseung to glance behind you, listening as his sister shouts about doing each other's makeup.

"Never mind, actually. It's not important." Heeseung interrupts, and you physically feel your heart sink to the floor.

You're about to be annoying and pry a response out of him until your eyes dart to his floor, and you see it. What slipped out from his drawer when he tossed the bandana at you.

A condom wrapper. An empty one, at that.

It's embarrassing how quickly your vision becomes glossy, salty tears threatening to release with each passing second. Of course, he's fucking someone. Of course, that person isn't you. Of fucking course.

You shouldn't be surprised; he's probably more into girls with a similar aesthetic. She's probably covered in tattoos and piercings, just like him. She's probably older than you and may even have her own car, unlike you, who still had to catch rides with your parents or older sister.

It's odd, though. You're not entirely naive; you know Heeseung definitely flirts with you here and there, catching his eye when his gaze lingers on you for a second too long. There's a noticeable tension between the two of you that even your parents have teased about. And this whole time, he's been screwing someone else?

Heeseung hangs out with so many girls it'd be useless to even attempt to uncover who this mystery person is. It's none of your business, anyway.

So you leave.

You tell Chaeryeong you'll get grounded if you're home past curfew, and with tear-stained cheeks, you run home.

The following day isn't any easier.

Chaeryeong posted a photo on FaceBook of herself and Heeseung posing together, arms wrapped around each other, with the caption "c u l8r alligator XD". The comments are already flooded with responses wishing Heeseung farewell, some from family members or friends of the siblings.

"Don't 4get abt me!!!!!! >:( "from a girl with red hair catches your eye because it's the only one Heeseung responded to. You can't bring yourself to read his full reply, fingers moving to quickly close the tab after seeing the word 'Never.'

It's probably her, you think to yourself, the one he's sleeping with.

Maybe it's for the best that Heeseung's moving away; it'll give you some time to get over him.

And you most certainly did.

The only time he ever crosses your mind is when Chaeryeong brings him up (which she rarely does) or when you pass by his empty bedroom. Deep down, you know you'll always care for Heeseung on some level, but time away from him was just what you needed. You were too attached to him for no fathomable reason, rejecting any guy interested in you with the premise of being loyal to a guy who didn't even want you. He'd probably been sneaking girls in through his window, with you a few doors down doing magazine quizzes with his sister; blissfully unaware of what was happening down the hall.

You’re better off without him.

That's what you've been telling yourself daily until now. It's the start of summer vacation, and Heeseung's been summoned home to spend it with his family before Chaeryeong (and you) transfer to the University of San Francisco.

Heeseung was hesitant about coming home, as he always is. In constant fear that his parents have some elaborate plan for him to change his major or set him up with someone they deem acceptable, nothing like the girls he hangs around and probably invites back to his dorm.

It took days of convincing until Heeseung finally agreed to come home, under the premise that his parents' intentions were pure and that they simply wanted one last summer together before Chaeryeong moved away for college. They also hoped he'd be able to house-sit and watch over Chaeryeong for a few days as they took their annual anniversary trip to San Diego. That, however, took some bribing and the promise of gas money on their end.

He's not due to arrive until tomorrow morning, and you've convinced yourself there's no reason for you to see him right away. You'd be fine if the next time you saw him was in a few months as you're moving into your dorm. After years of longing, you've finally moved on from him.

Some of you have debated telling Chaeryeong about your past feelings for her brother, but there's no point. It was a one-sided relationship with absolutely zero depth, nothing worth discussing. So when she nudges your side and asks if you're interested in anyone, you reply with a shake of your head.

Chaeryeong has no reaction to this; she can't remember the last time you've been into anyone despite having the entire male population at your school practically throwing themselves at you. "Maybe you'll meet someone tonight."

She's referencing the house party you're going to, which she practically had to drag you out of your room to attend. Parties are different from your scene, especially on a day like today when you were hoping to have a girls' night with Chaeryeong. She had other plans, however.

"Maybe," you respond, sighing as the house you're attending is finally in your viewpoint. "We're not staying long, right? It looks packed."

Cars are parked throughout the street, one house, in particular, being the center of attention with loud music and drunk people decorating the front yard of a suburban-looking home. Chaeryeong looks as ecstatic as ever, looping her arm in yours and picking up her pace. She doesn't respond. It doesn't matter. Her response would've disregarded your concern.

One car catches your eye as you enter the unfamiliar house; it's parked towards the end of the street, and you swear you've been in it before. You're not able to dwell on it for too long, though, because Chaeryeong has to practically yank you through the front door.

Your nerves are at an all-time high. The music is entirely too loud, and there isn't a single sober person in sight. You're not sure how Chaeryeong even found out about this party, but you really wish she would've left you out of it. You'd go now if it were acceptable, but Chaeryeong would've stayed regardless, and you refuse to leave her alone. So, you push your feelings to the side and take her hand as she leads you towards the kitchen.

"Thirsty?" Chaeryeong questions, forcing a red solo cup into your hand.

"Not at all," you respond, sighing as Chaeryeong pours something into your cup.

"It's just ginger ale," she reassures you, "I don't think either of us should get drunk here." For once, she's being reasonable.

Chaeryeong suggests you do a lap around the house in hopes of running into people you may have gone to school with. And to your surprise, a decent amount of your past classmates have decided to attend. You feel more at ease with them around, a bit more comfortable now that you're around recognizable people. Although you initially hesitated to show up, you're glad you did.

"Anybody catch your eye yet? Or are you still breaking hearts?" Your old classmate, Yeoreum, questions.

You shake your head, about to explain that you're not interested in dating right now, until she gestures behind you. "That guy is pretty cute."

You shift on the couch, looking around until you spot who Yeoreum had been gesturing towards. You locate him finally, and she's right; he is cute. He just seems so familiar.

That's when it hits you.

"Oh my God," you whisper, eyes locked on him, and you slowly rise from the couch.

It's Heeseung. And the car you recognized was his. He's here. What is he doing here? He isn't due to be back until tomorrow morning.

You almost don't realize it's him until you spot the mole under his lip. He's grown his hair out and stopped dyeing it, the slew of tattoos that decorated his arm (God, did he start working out, too?) nicely connected, now creating a sleeve, and he's given himself an eyebrow piercing. Your feelings for him come rushing back in full force.

Panicked, you reach for Chaeryeong's hand, but she's nowhere to be found. Careful not to be seen by her brother, you bow your head slightly, passing through a crowd of sweaty bodies until you finally spot her kitty heels. She's leaned against a wall, swirling around her cup while flirting with some guy you'd seen around school a few times.

Creating some much-needed distance between the two, you tug Chaeryeong towards you. "I think I just saw your brother."

"What? No, he won't even be in the city until tomorrow morning."

Frustrated, you quickly search the crowd until your eyes land on him again. You ignore the fact that he's now speaking to some girl with red hair and tattoos scattered across her arm and point in their direction, "Well, then that guy looks just like him."

Chaeryeong squints her eyes in disbelief at the boy in question until the doubt becomes confusion, and the confusion becomes realization. "Oh my God! The fuck is he doing here?" She turns towards you as if you're supposed to have the answer.

"The fuck should I know? You said he wouldn't be here until tomorrow morning!"

"Because that's what he told our parents! How was I supposed to know he was gonna be here? I never would've come if I knew!"

"What are you guys doing here?" A voice you haven't heard in so long interrupts. You don't even want to turn around.

"What are you doing here?" Chaeryeong throws back, and the two stare at each other in angry silence for a moment until Heeseung steps to the side. "Upstairs," he says, nodding towards the staircase.

"But—"

"Go."

Chaeryeong's clearly aggravated but makes her way towards the stairs. You remain in place with your arms crossed, raising a brow in confusion when Heeseung looks at you. "What?"

"You too."

"I'm not—"

"I'm not asking again," he says simply. You convince yourself that you only take his command because you don't feel like fighting. Definitely not because it's interesting to have him boss you around.

Trudging up the stairs behind Chaeryeong, you wait with her in the hallway until Heeseung arrives. "Come on," he says, entering a bathroom and turning the light on. Neither you nor Chaeryeong protest; there really isn't any point.

As soon as the door is shut, Chaeryeong is yelling at the top of her lungs. "What the fuck are you doing here?! You said you wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning! Mom and Dad had to push their trip back just to give you more time to arrive, and you're already fucking here?! The fuck is the matter with you?!"

"I'm not gonna respond if you're gonna be yelling like this." Heeseung says calmly, leaning against the sink, "Let me get my questions out first, then I'll answer any of yours, deal?"

Chaeryeong glances over at you, sitting on the bathtub's edge, and you nod. She returns her attention back to Heeseung, takes a deep breath, then agrees.

"Now, what are you guys doing here?! How'd you even get invited?! And you're drinking?!" The calm demeanor from earlier slips away in a matter of seconds, clearly a hoax just to get Chaeryeong to calm down enough to let him speak.

"It's just ginger ale, and we've barely even had any! We were invited by our friends, okay? We have just as much right to be here as you do."

Heeseung scoffs, clearly unamused. "Right, and I'm assuming Mom and Dad know you're here then, huh?"

Chaeryeong nervously tucks a hair behind her ear. You wonder why you even have to be in here with them. It's not like Heeseung is your brother, anyway.

"We told our parents that we were going to a birthday party at a friend's house." Chaeryeong mumbles, barely able to look Heeseung in the eye.

"And what did they say when they dropped you guys off?"

"They didn't drop us off," you interrupt, "we walked here."

"Well, I wasn't gonna tell him that." Chaeryeong glares at you, it takes every bone in your body to not to laugh at her.

You're so over this. You didn't want to attend this dumb party in the first place, and seeing Heeseung flirting with some girl who could've been his female counterpart was the icing on the cake. It doesn't matter if your feelings for him were gone before tonight; every little emotion you'd felt for him over the years had returned (as if they ever left).

"And how exactly did you two geniuses plan on getting home?"

"Same way we got here."

"Can you please just let me handle this? Jesus Christ…" Chaeryeong shoots another frustrated glare at you, and you can't help but roll your eyes at her. She turns back towards her brother, "Can you answer my questions now?"

Heeseung's eyes anxiously dart around the cramped bathroom, landing on you a few times before he's slowly nodding his head. "Alright, Mom and Dad basically forced me to spend the whole summer here, and I kept asking myself why they were so persistent about it. They finally told me they needed me to watch over you and the house for their stupid trip. I had plans too, you know? That I had to derail for them. My band could've spent this summer touring, making real money, and now we can't. So, they wanna inconvenience me? I'll inconvenience them right back."

"…Inconvenience them by doing what?" Chaeryeong asks the exact question you had.

Heeseung shrugs, "By telling them I'm gonna be arriving a day late, duh."

You and Chaeryeong exchange an awkward glance at one other before silently agreeing not to tease him about it. If this was his badass way of retaliating, who were you to rain on his parade?

"Are you gonna tell anyone you saw us here?" Chaeryeong questions, a noticible tremble in her voice.

"As long as you guys don't tell anyone you saw me."

It's a fair trade, you accept it. You're even more delighted when Heeseung says he's taking the two of you home. Chaeryeong, however, isn't too happy about this, claiming there were so many people she didn't get to speak to, and how'd this be the last time she'd get to see them before moving away for school. You're not sure if Chaeryeong is really good at getting what she wants, or if Heeseung was tired of hearing her complain, but he finally gives in and grants her ten more minutes to socialize before meeting him at his car.

"If you're not at my car in ten minutes, I swear to God I'm calling mom." Heeseung scolds, holding the bathroom door open as the three of you finally exit.

A loud, drunk voice suddenly shouts, "Woah, Heeseung! Two girls at the same time!? You fucking beast!"

"They're my sisters, you fucking pervert!" He shouts back.

You can't even dwell on how disgusting the original comment was, only being able to focus on the fact that Heeseung just referred to you as his sister. As conceited as it may sound, you're not used to rejection or guys putting you in the friend-zone. Whatever little game Heeseung had been playing with you over the years was completely new territory. And right when you think things couldn't possibly get any worse, he calls you his sister.

What the actual fuck.

—

The next ten minutes go by in a blur; Chaeryeong has ditched you for a second time that night to talk to the guy from earlier. When it's finally time to leave, you find her Sat on his lap with her arm hung across his shoulder, laughing at an unfunny pickup line he'd used on her.

"It's time, Chaeryeong," you interrupt, helping her stand.

"Wait, wait, wait," she persists, directing her attention back to the boy, "tomorrow at five, right?"

"And not a second later." He sends her a disgusting wink that makes your skin crawl.

Chaeryeong is so love-struck you're surprised there isn't an arrow lodged in her back. She can barely form a proper sentence, erupting into a fit of giggles every few seconds as you make your way to Heeseung's car. "Wasn't he just gorgeous?"

You shrug, linking arms with her. "He was alright."

Stunned, Chaeryeong gasps at you, "Just alright? He was literally like a Greek God."

"I'm not saying he's unattractive; he's just...not really my type."

"And what is your type, Miss. Never-Has-Been-Interested-In-Anyone?"

Now, there's the question of the hour. You have to word your response very carefully; don't be too obvious about the fact that your ideal type is her older sibling.

"I guess I prefer guys with an edgier look to them, you know? Tattoos, piercings..." Despite your attempt to sound as nonchalant as possible, your heart is beating out of your chest from the mild confession.

Chaeryeong snickers, then playfully groans. "It sounds like you're describing my brother."

Now, you really have to test the waters.

"Since you brought him up, would it be so bad if I did like Heeseung? Hypothetically speaking, of course." You're not sure what prompts you to even ask this. It's not like he's even interested in you; he literally just referred to you as his sister.

A beat of silence passes as Chaeryeong gathers her thoughts, then she says, "No."

"What?"

You've finally reached Heeseung's car at this point, beating him there. You sit atop the trunk, feet hovering above the ground as the cold, nighttime air swirls around you. Chaeryeong shakes her head, "Obviously, it wouldn't be the ideal situation, but I guess I wouldn't mind as long as you talked to me about it first."

"First?" You mimic.

"Like...assuming you'd wanna date him or something. Just so I'm not blindsided, you know?"

This is the last thing you would've expected your impulsive, hotheaded (yet oh-so-loveable) best friend to be reasonable about. Mainly because she lectured you for nearly twenty minutes when she first suspected you had a crush on Heeseung.

You go to respond, but Heeseung, finally arriving at the car, captivates both of your attention. He finishes off his can of Pepsi before crushing the aluminum and tossing it to the ground. "Ready?" He questions.

There's no point in giving him a speech about littering; you're just ready to go home.

He fishes his keys from his pocket and unlocks the car door; Chaeryeong opens the backseat and jumps in before you have the chance, sprawling across the aged leather. "Move over," you nudge her foot with your knee; she pulls away from you.

Heeseung calls your name, "Just sit up front. She's not gonna move."

Now, this is new. You've ridden in the backseat of his car with Chaeryeong more times than you can count; he'd never allow either of you to sit shotgun with him; typical annoying older brother bullshit.

Don't make a big deal out of this, you say to yourself, climbing into the passenger seat of his car.

Chaeryeong and Heeseung bicker the entire ride to their parent's house, partially out of annoyance with each other, but you also get the feeling that neither of them were genuinely ready to leave the party. You're surprised Heeseung even enjoyed parties; he spent most of high school either working, hanging out at skate parks, or practicing with his band in their garage. College must've really changed him, and you're unsure how to feel about it.

Heeseung parks a few houses down from their parent's house and unlocks the doors, "Get out," he says into the backseat.

"Where are you gonna spend the night?" Chaeryeong questions, stretching her arms outward.

"I checked into a motel this morning. I'll be back here tomorrow around noon. And, hey," Heeseung turns around, pointing a finger at his sister. "Don't tell them you saw me."

Mockingly, Chaeryeong points a finger right back at him. "Telling them I saw you would be exposing myself, cock-sucker. Leave me alone." She angrily begins to climb out of the car, annoyed at how little trust Heeseung had in her.

You turn to go, but Heeseung's cold hand on your bicep stops you, "Where you goin'?"

"I'm gonna walk home from here. It's only a few minutes away," you respond.

Heeseung shakes his head, "I'm dropping you off. You haven't moved since I left, right?"

"No, but it's fi—"

"Then your house is on the way to my motel. We're going in the same direction; might as well ride together."

It truly does make more sense to ride together, and rejecting his offer any further surely would raise suspicions. You don't want either of them to believe you'd feel uncomfortable being alone with Heeseung because that couldn't be farther from the truth. You're perplexed about your feelings now, and you don't want to do anything you'd regret just because of the confusion.

"Okay, then." You glance over your shoulder at Chaeryeong, "Will you need any help getting ready for your date tomorrow?"

Suddenly embarrassed, Chaeryeong shushes you, gesturing that Heeseung is literally right next to you and would prefer that he didn't hear about her dating life. Heeseung genuinely couldn't care less and is instead patiently waiting for his sister to get out.

She does finally, and Heeseung resumes his path to your house. He turns the radio on, switching between stations until he stops on one that's playing a song he's familiar with. You drive silently for a few minutes; the only sounds being heard are the distant noises from the car's motor and Heeseung humming along to the radio.

He breaks the silence by saying, "I was surprised to see you back there. You never really seemed like the type to enjoy parties."

You chuckle, "I could say the same for you; I don't remember you attending any in high school."

"That's 'cause house parties weren't my thing," he explains, "I went to raves or parties that would happen at the skate park. I don't really like being at someone else's house for too long; it feels too intimate."

Now that you think of it, skate park parties and raves seem much more like his scene.

"Well, I only went because Chaeryeong was going, and I didn't feel comfortable with her being there alone. Otherwise, I never would've gone." You admit, resting your head against the window.

"Thanks for looking after her, by the way. You're a good friend."

"I'd do anything for her." Your voice is barely a whisper now, getting quieter with every word you say.

Silence passes, and he says, "Did you know your guys' dorm room is gonna be right under ours?"

"Seriously?" You respond, genuinely curious.

"Mmm-hmm. My roommate, Sunghoon, and I are gonna be the worst upstairs neighbors ever." He teases as you roll your eyes. Your mind can't decipher whether this banter is playful & platonic or romantic. Everything Heeseung does confuses you.

"If that's the case, I'll be sure to move to an entirely new building."

"What, so you can have your boyfriend protect you?"

Pause. Boyfriend?

You nearly give yourself whiplash from how hard you spun around to look at Heeseung. "Boyfriend?" You ask.

He shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the road. "I just assumed you'd have one by now. Do you?"

There he is again with his mind games. What the fuck was he talking about?

After letting out a very frustrated sigh, you mumble, "No, Heeseung, I do not have a boyfriend."

"Good. Focus on school."

Now he's pissing you off. You wish he'd shut up for the rest of the car ride. "It's nice to see you again, by the way."

Holy shit, you feel like jumping out the window.

"Yeah, great seeing you too. Oh, there's my house. I can walk from here." You make quick work of undoing your seatbelt.

"You sure? I can drop you off at the door."

"No, no. It's best if my parents don't see you so they don't accidentally tell your parents that they saw you." You lie, racking your brain for any excuse imaginable.

He nods, deciding it's best to drop you off a little further from your house. "Then, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"What?" You stop dead in your tracks, one hand clutching the door handle.

"Aren't you coming over tomorrow to help Chaeryeong get ready for her…thing? I'll be back home by then."

He's right; you'd be back in his house, and he'll be there this time. It's no big deal. You'd only be there for an hour (at most) to help her prepare, and then you could go the whole summer without seeing him again.

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

The following day, Chaeryeong is back to her unreasonable self, expecting you to wait at her house for her to return from her date.

"Please? We're just going to get pizza; we won't even be gone that long." She pleads, adding the finishing touches to her makeup.

You'd already spent over an hour helping her prepare, and now she expects you to do nothing but await her return. You know her heart's in the right place; she just wants to be the first to hear all the exhilarating details about her date. Still, a phone call would suffice.

"What am I supposed to do while I wait for you to come back?" You whine.

"Just hang out here! Watch a movie or something!" She suggests, trying her absolutely hardest to sound enthusiastic. Her phone buzzes in her hand before she has the chance to continue, eyes lighting up as they flicker across the bright screen.

Chaeryeong clutches her phone, locks eyes with you, then rushes towards the door. You're faster, though, quickly capturing her wrist before she's barely reached the hallway. "I'm going home."

"No! If you stay here, I'll bring you back pizza, and we can have a girls' night like we were supposed to yesterday! Come on, please?" She begs, pouting her lips.

You go to reply, but the bathroom door swings open, and Heeseung strides out. Just to your luck, he's shirtless; water droplets descend from his hair as he towel-dries it. As he enters his bedroom, he mocks his sister's high-pitched whine, earning a lethal glare and a slew of swears thrown at him.

Perhaps you should stay.

"Fine, but you're lending me your pajamas." You give in, earning an enthusiastic shriek from your best friend.

Chaeryeong wraps you in a brief, yet tight, hug before shouting, "Be back soon!" Then she's rushing down the stairs and out the front door. It's not often that Chaeryeong makes you wait for her return, but you absolutely despise it whenever it does occur. She's never back by the time she promises and gets upset when you try to call and check up on her.

And speaking of calling, you're sure your phone is dead by now. You insisted Chaeryeong bring her's along just in case, so you're left with one option.

Heeseung's door is wide open (as usual) when you go to knock. He's fully clothed now, pairing his black sweatpants with a matching black t-shirt. His hair appears mostly dry now, chaotic as ever, but dry. You don't think he's ever looked this good before.

He's sat on his bed, flipping through the latest copy of Rolling Stone when you arrive. He glances over at you and lets out a dry chuckle.

"What's so funny?" You ask.

"You're dressed like Bella Swan." He responds casually, eyes raking up and down your body.

"Who?"

"From Twilight. You know, that new movie that came out?" He seems genuinely surprised that you don't seem to know anything about this movie, not even the name of (who you suspect to be) the main character.

You lean against the doorframe, "Haven't seen it."

"It's a great movie, seriously. Some friends and I are seeing it in a few days if you and Chaeryeong wanna come." He suggests, flipping another page in the magazine.

You let him know you'll ask Chaeryeong if she's interested before remembering why you came to his room in the first place and ask if you can borrow his phone charger. Heeseung directs you to where it's plugged up by his desk, and you finally have the chance to stroll further into his room. You can't recall the last time you've been in here, but you know it looks much different than before. Many of the band posters that decorated the room were gone, his random trinkets and piles of clothes were gone, and not a single piece of his CD collection was in sight. It felt so lifeless, so unlike him. No wonder he always dreaded returning home; it probably didn't even feel like home to him.

"So," you say, attempting to break the silence, "you're here for the whole summer, huh?"

"Unfortunately." He mumbles, "Gonna try and go by sooner, convince my parents I have to sort out an issue with my dorm or something."

"It's nice to have you back, though." You admit, watching as Heeseung's gaze locks on yours.

"Yeah? It is?" He questions.

You shrug, "Of course. We practically grew up together; it was weird to not see you all the time."

He sits up now, closing the magazine and tossing it on his nightstand. There's something on his mind that he isn't saying; you can tell from the way his brows knit together and how he's anxiously tugging on his lip piercing. "It was weird to be gone," he mumbles and leaves it at that.

"By the way, I'm sorry about last night." He apologizes.

"For what? Calling me your sister?"

He laughs at this, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to do that on purpose, by the way. That guy was just...so weird, I kinda blurted out the first thing that would've made him feel weird for even thinking that."

Oh. That makes sense. You definitely overreacted.

"I meant," he continues, "I'm sorry if the whole boyfriend assumption thing upset you."

"Oh," you dismissively wave a hand at him, "that was nothing."

Heeseung raises a brow at you, "Are you sure? 'Cause you seemed pretty upset afterward, you were practically running out of my car."

There's no point in lying now, considering you weren't even the slightest bit discrete the previous night.

"If I'm being completely honest, I just felt a little awkward. But that's it, I swear." You assure him, moving to lean against the bedside table.

"Awkward about what?"

God, this was so embarrassing. Is he really going to make you humiliate yourself like this?

"Because I've never actually had a boyfriend before."

Heeseung looks genuinely shocked at your confession, eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he examines yours for any sign of deception. "You don't believe me?"

"I'm not sure. I only assumed you had one just based on how crazy guys were about you in high school. Not to mention you're, like, fucking gorgeous."

What?

"I'm what?" You ask, not entirely sure if you heard him correctly.

He repeats himself again, and you make him do it a few more times until he's too embarrassed to say it again. You somehow manage to get back on the topic of never having a boyfriend before when Heeseung asks you another question. "Have you ever...?"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. You know what he's asking.

You shake your head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business." He berates himself, and you assure him it's no big deal and that it shouldn't even be a shocker to him.

After a half hour of talking about whatever comes to mind, you wind up sitting opposite Heeseung on his bed, legs perched up underneath your body as you go back and forth, questioning one another.

"So, when are you gonna admit you had a crush on me?" His voice is barely a whisper.

"I never did." You lie.

"Really? That sucks?"

"Why?"

He shrugs, leaning his back against the headboard. "I just always thought that maybe you and I would've ended up together at some point."

You don't remember who leans in first; it doesn't matter; all that matters is after years of longing, your lips are finally intertwined with his. He must've smoked today; you can taste the nicotine on his breath. But it doesn't matter; you don't make the slightest move to pull away. Neither does he, placing his hands on the small of your back to guide you onto his lap.

Your body is moving on autopilot, limbs moving to do whatever feels right as you silently pray not to ruin the moment. Heeseung can spot your nervousness from a mile away and stop you, "We don't have to do—"

"I want to," you pant, breathless, "I've wanted this for so long."

"Do you trust me?" He asks.

"More than anything."

He kisses you again before adjusting your current position, slowly twisting yourselves until you're lying flat on your back. He moves his lips down towards your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his path as he settles between your legs.

You reach up to grab a handful of his hair, nearly jumping out of your skin as his delicate fingertips creep up your inner thigh, inching closer and closer until his ghosting over your clothed pussy. "This okay?" He mumbles.

You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Cute," he replies, "you're already so wet." His fingertips stroke your clit through your damp underwear; you don't think to wonder how he managed to get to it so quickly, all thoughts leaving your brain as he makes small circles using his middle and index finger.

"Heeseung…" You moan, pleading for him to do more.

"I know." He assures you, using a single finger to pull your panties to the side, making just enough room for him to slide a finger into your aching cunt. "Am I really your first time?"

You nod again out of fear that a moan would slip from your lips if you even tried to speak. His eyes are locked on yours, studying your expression as he coaxes a finger inside you. You're embarrassed at how quickly your wetness coated his finger, but Heeseung doesn't care. He likes it, makes him feel fucking amazing knowing the effect he had on you.

"Take your shirt off." He says, and you do as told, pulling your top up and off your body and tossing it to the floor; making quick work of undoing your bra before he even has the chance to ask.

His lips are back on your neck instantly, trailing down to your collarbone until he reaches the curve on your breast. He halts his actions momentarily before your pitched nipple is caught between his teeth and your back arching off the bed from how overstimulating everything feels.

You curse under your breath, and Heeseung makes another comment about how cute you are, though you feel far from it. He apologizes by lapping his tongue around your nipple, easing the pain slowly as he inserts a second finger into your cunt.

You can feel his bulge against your thigh, though he doesn't even care about getting himself off. He moves over to your nipple, licking and sucking until it's completely hardened, leaving himself breathless. The two fingers that had been working your cunt had picked up the pace now, and there was an unfamiliar feeling in your gut that you couldn't identify.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" You groan, legs trembling.

Heeseung is all too familiar with these actions and asks, "You're already close? I've barely done anything to you." He teases, chuckling to himself.

You know he's being lighthearted, but you can't help but feel embarrassed at the tears forming in your eyes from how good everything feels.

Suddenly, he's pulling his fingers out of you, and now you feel like crying for a different reason. You go to protest but stop to watch as he takes his shirt off. If you weren't sure then, it's obvious now he'd started attending the gym.

He makes quick work of tugging his sweatpants down his legs, tossing them into the abyss before reaching into his bedside table and retrieving a condom. "You're okay?"

You nod.

"Use your words."

“I’m okay, Heeseung.”

"You're still okay with this?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

Jesus fucking Christ, the saint this man is.

"I'm positive." You assure him.

You move to pull down your skirt and underwear, but Heeseung catches your wrist. "Leave them on," he says. There are so many things going on that you choose not to question.

He pulls off his boxers in the meantime, hardened cock slapping against his abdomen with precum leaking from the tip. Though you had nothing to compare it to, Heeseung was obviously slightly larger than average. You shouldn't be surprised; it's always the guys that you'd least expect.

He tears the condom wrapper with his teeth, retrieving the rubber inside before tossing the remains to his floor. Despite being fully erect, he fists his cock a few times before sliding the condom on.

He crawls over you, left arm at the side of his head, while he uses his dick to nudge your panties to the side. "This still okay?"

"I already told you—fuck!" He cuts you off, the tip of his cock slowly making its way inside you. You feel so stretched out from this alone you don't know how you'd manage to fit all of him into you.

Heeseung must be feeling the same, swearing under his breath and commenting about how tight you feel around him. Second by second, he coaxes himself into your pussy until you feel like you could split right open. "Are you all the way in?"

"No, can't take anymore?" He asks, leaning his head down against your ear.

You're embarrassed to admit he's too big to handle on your first time, but it's the truth. You don't want to overextend yourself just to please him and end up hurting yourself.

"You can move, just…not too much. Please."

Heeseung nods, "Whatever you want, angel."

He pulls his hips back and rocks himself back in, being sure to ask if you're okay with his pace. Once you confirm you feel fine and want him to keep going, he continues his movements; his eager hips snapping against yours and his cock hitting your G-spot with each deep stroke. You feel like you're on cloud nine, hands tangled in his hair as he swallows your moans.

That unfamiliar feeling from earlier returns; you feel it through your entire body this time. A moan of his name escaping your lips lets him know you're close. How he can always sense these things is beyond you; it's not worth overthinking.

"Close?" He asks, and you nod frantically.

Heeseung picks up his speed slightly, careful not to overwhelm you, but just enough to reach your climax, until finally, the bundle of nerves in your abdomen snaps, and your back is arching off the mattress as you come around his cock.

He's only a few seconds behind with his orgasm, erupting in a loud grunt when he finally reaches it. The two of you lay in silence for a moment before Heeseung finally pulls out of you and slides the condom off, tying it in a knot and tossing it into his trash bin.

"Are you okay?" He asks for what feels like the millionth time.

"I'm fine." You respond, and it isn't a lie. Physically, you feel terrific; mentally, it was an entirely different story. "Are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good."

As much as you would love to lay naked with Heeseung in his bed for the rest of the night, you know Chaeryeong will be home anytime soon. "I think I'm gonna go wash up."

He nods, crawling under his covers once you stand from his bed, tugging your skirt to its proper length as you search for your remaining clothing. "Oh, it's um…your shirt, it's over there." Heeseung awkwardly gestures towards a pile of clothing by the end of his bed.

Almost as quickly as you shred yourself of them, you snatch your clothing and bundle them up against your chest.

"Listen, I know right now isn't really ideal, but I meant what I said about liking you, and really think we should talk." He says nervously, barely even able to look at you.

You almost want to laugh at how cute he is; instead, you agree to talk to him about it soon. You're about to head out into the hallway when Heeseung reminds you about your charging phone over by his desk.

You retrieve it and scan the area again, ensuring you haven't left anything else behind. When everything seems clear, you stand upright, but your eyes fall toward the trash bin near his window with the discarded condom. You're embarrassed to even look at it until you realize something seems off. It looks…empty.

Now, you're no sex expert, but imagine that if Heeseung had finished, there'd be something to show for it in the condom. Right?

Did he fake his orgasm? Was this another one of his fucked up mind games you'd been subjected to?

You don't know what to think as you step into the bathroom; your emotions are all over the place, and all you really want to do is go home. But you promised Chaeryeong you'd be here when she returns, so you stay.

The next time a Lee sibling asks if you're okay is twenty minutes later when Chaeryeong finally arrives and asks why your eyes are so watery.

"I'm fine." You respond, and you're lying for the first time that night.

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Pillow Problems

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, best friends to something more

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: You can’t fall asleep without hugging a pillow. Lando finds out.

Masterlist

⸻

It starts as a casual movie night.

Nothing fancy. Just you and Lando in sweats, too much popcorn, and a ridiculous action movie neither of you are really paying attention to. It’s late — past midnight — and you’re both curled up on the couch under a shared blanket like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Because with Lando, it kind of is.

You’ve been best friends for so long that sleepovers don’t even feel weird anymore. He’s crashed on your couch after race weekends more times than you can count, and you’ve stolen his guest bed on road trips whenever hotels were overbooked.

But this time… there’s only one bed.

Your bed.

“You sure you’re okay with me sleeping in here?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, toothbrush in hand and curls still damp from his shower.

You roll your eyes. “Lando, I’ve seen you wear flip flops with socks. You think I’m going to draw the line at you borrowing my bed?”

He snorts and throws a hand to his chest. “That was ONE TIME.”

You toss a pillow at him. “Brush your teeth, Norris.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are under the covers. You’re on one side, he’s on the other. very obvious pillow barrier stands between you, like a soft, cotton fortress of boundaries.

But there’s a problem.

You can’t sleep.

At all.

You stare at the ceiling. Then at the nightstand. Then at the outline of Lando’s face in the dark, just barely visible from the glow of your phone charger.

He’s still. Breathing slow. Definitely asleep.

And you’re… not.

Because — and this is ridiculous, so ridiculous — you can’t fall asleep unless you’re hugging something.

A pillow. A blanket. A stuffed animal. A person. Doesn’t matter. Your body just doesn’t shut off unless your arms are around something.

You try. You flip the pillow over. You bury your arms under it. You wrap the blanket tighter around yourself.

Nothing.

You’re one hour in when the whisper comes.

“Are you… okay?”

You flinch. “Jesus—you’re awake?”

Lando turns onto his side, blinking slowly. “You’ve been breathing like you’re trying to inflate a bouncy castle.”

You bury your face in your pillow. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

You hesitate.

“Y/N.”

You groan. “It’s stupid.”

His voice lifts with amusement. “Now I definitely need to know.”

You sigh, dramatic. “I can’t fall asleep unless I’m hugging something, okay?”

Silence.

Then—

A loud, stifled laugh from the other side of the bed.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, “you’re like a human koala.”

You smack him with your pillow. “Shut up.”

“No, no, this is adorable. Do you need, like, a teddy bear? A weighted blanket? Should I draw a face on one of your pillows and pretend it’s me?”

“You’re the worst.”

He’s laughing, full and unfiltered now, twisting the sheets as he rolls away dramatically. “Y/N, my heart. All this time I thought you just liked cuddling me during movie nights, but you actually have a condition.”

You throw your hands over your face. “Please stop talking.”

Then—softly, after a pause—his voice shifts.

“…You could’ve just said something.”

You peek through your fingers. He’s looking at you now. Still teasing, but softer. Gentle.

“Wanna hug me?” he asks, cocking a brow like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says, already sliding an arm out, inviting. “C’mon, koala girl.”

You glare. “If you call me that again, I’ll smother you with this pillow.”

He grins. “I’ll take the risk.”

You hesitate. Just for a second. Then you scoot closer, cautiously curling against his side, arm draping lightly across his chest.

And god — it’s perfect. His body is warm, steady, and somehow smells like mint and laundry detergent. Your muscles sigh in relief.

“You’re like a human radiator,” you murmur.

He chuckles, voice close to your ear. “You’re welcome.”

You fall asleep faster than you have in weeks.

And the next morning, you wake up still tangled in him — his arm heavy around your waist, face buried in your hair, breath soft on your neck.

You try to move.

“Don’t,” he mumbles, still half-asleep. “I’m your pillow now. Deal with it.”

And you kind of… do.

⸻

Sunlight spills through the half-closed blinds, catching dust motes in golden streaks as the room slowly warms with morning.

You’re awake.

Barely.

And very aware that you’re not alone in your bed.

Lando’s arm is still wrapped around your waist, heavy and warm and not even a little bit apologetic about being all up in your space. His chest rises and falls steadily against your back, his breath slow and even — he’s still asleep, or close to it.

You consider moving.

Really, you do.

But your limbs are lazy, your brain soft and sleepy, and honestly? He’s comfortable. Too comfortable. Like he was made to be a human-sized heating pad designed to be clung to.

His fingers twitch slightly at your hip.

You freeze.

“…You’re awake, aren’t you?” he murmurs against your neck, voice rough with sleep.

You sigh. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t move. Just hums. “Told you. Human pillow.”

You can hear the smugness in his voice, even through the sleep.

“I was desperate,” you mumble.

“Sure you were.” He yawns. “Could’ve hugged a pillow, but nooo. You went straight for me.”

You elbow him gently. “I tried the pillow.”

He just pulls you closer. “Mhm. Addicted now. No turning back.”

Your cheeks flush — and not just from the proximity.

You should pull away. You should. Friends don’t… do this. Or at least, you and Lando never have. You’ve always tiptoed the edge of this kind of closeness — flirty jokes, knee touches during movies, that weird moment last Christmas when you almost kissed but blamed it on mistletoe and wine.

But this?

This feels like something else.

You twist slightly to face him, only to find his eyes open, heavy-lidded and watching you.

“What?” you whisper.

He shrugs, smile lazy and lopsided. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

A pause.

Then, softly: “About how I could get used to waking up like this.”

Your heart stops. Completely.

He sees it. Feels it, probably. Because his smile shifts — less teasing, more vulnerable. More real.

“I’m not just saying that ‘cause you’re warm,” he adds.

You blink, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

“Lando…”

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to say anything. I just— I think maybe this whole human pillow situation works both ways.”

Your fingers tighten in the sleeve of his t-shirt.

And just like that, the teasing melts away. The barrier between best friends and something else thins, bends, and threatens to break entirely.

“I liked waking up with you,” you admit, voice small.

He smiles again — that quiet, soft smile that doesn’t belong in interviews or podium photos. This one’s just for you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you move.

Not yet.

Because the line is still there, but now you’re both standing on the same side of it.

⸻

You eventually untangle from each other.

Sort of.

By which you mean Lando finally rolls away only to immediately steal your pillow, shove it under his head like it betrayed him, and mumble something about needing a ten-minute nap before coffee.

So you leave him there — hair messy, half-asleep, wearing your hoodie like it’s always belonged to him — and shuffle into the kitchen.

Your legs feel weird. Your chest feels… floaty.

You touch your lips once when you’re sure he’s not looking.

Nothing happened. Not really.

But it almost did.

And it’s enough to change everything.

⸻

You’re halfway through cracking eggs into a pan when you hear the soft shuffle of feet.

Lando appears in the doorway, stretching with a sleepy groan, his hair a disaster and his eyes still heavy with sleep.

He looks like a dream you forgot you had. Like something that’s always been yours but never belonged to you.

“You’re cooking?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

You shrug. “Seemed fair. You donated your body to science last night.”

He smirks as he comes up behind you, not even pretending to keep distance. He leans over your shoulder, chin nearly brushing your temple.

“That was a very important cuddle study,” he says into your ear, voice low and teasing. “Purely scientific.”

You fight a shiver. “Well, congratulations. You’re now certified as a human-size emotional support plushie.”

He chuckles, arms brushing yours as he helps you reach for the salt.

Silence falls. The soft sizzle of eggs fills the space. His presence is everywhere — beside you, behind you, in you — and it’s like neither of you know where to put all the things you want to say.

Then—softly, like it escapes without permission:

“You meant it last night?”

You turn your head slightly. “Which part?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps gently stirring the eggs. “That you liked waking up next to me.”

You hesitate. Then: “Yeah. I did.”

A beat passes.

He nods, silent, and grabs a plate. You watch him.

He places a serving of eggs onto the plate and hands it to you without meeting your eyes. “Me too.”

Your fingers brush when you take it. Neither of you pull away.

He finally looks up.

And there’s that moment again — the one that feels like you’re both standing at the edge of something huge. Something terrifying and beautiful.

“Lando…” you start.

But the words don’t come.

Because part of you is still afraid. Of ruining what you have. Of hoping too much. Of the way your heart has never felt this calm around anyone else.

He sees all of it. You know he does.

So he just smiles, soft and sure.

And says, “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

⸻

You eat breakfast shoulder to shoulder.

There are no declarations. No kisses.

But there’s a shared mug of coffee between you.

A soft look that lingers longer than it should.

And when he picks up your extra pillow later — the one you clung to for years before last night — and tosses it to the corner of the bed with a smirk, all he says is:

“You won’t need that anymore.”

⸻

You’re not sure why Lando doesn’t leave that night.

He doesn’t say he’s staying.

He just… doesn’t go.

You wash dishes together after dinner like it’s routine, like he’s done it a hundred times — and honestly, maybe he has. He scrolls through Netflix while you wipe down the kitchen counters, making dramatic sounds of disapproval at your movie suggestions. He disappears into your room at one point and comes back wearing one of your oversized sweatshirts like it’s his.

No mention of going home. No keys. No shoes. Just… him. Staying.

Again.

By the time you brush your teeth side by side — like you did last night, like it’s just what you do now — there’s a low buzz in the air. That awareness. That heaviness. Like the next thing might tip the whole thing into something neither of you can come back from.

You’re quiet as you climb into bed.

So is he.

The blanket settles over the both of you, and your hearts race a little too loud for a room that’s supposed to be quiet.

Then, softly—

“D’you still need something to hug?”

You let out a soft breath. “Yeah.”

He turns toward you in the dark. “Okay. C’mere.”

You hesitate only for a second this time.

You move closer. Not just tangled up like last time, but facing each other. His arm slides around your waist like muscle memory. Your hand finds the soft fabric of his sweatshirt near his chest.

You fit.

Better than you should.

You’re not even pretending to sleep yet when he whispers, “I didn’t leave because I wanted to stay.”

You blink slowly. “I know.”

“And I didn’t stay just because of you needing a pillow.”

You smile faintly. “I know that too.”

A beat.

He breathes in. “I don’t want this to be a thing we don’t talk about.”

Your heart flips. “Me either.”

“I don’t really know when it started,” he continues, voice low, “but I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now. It just always felt like… if I did, I might mess it up.”

Your hand curls into the fabric of his sweatshirt. “You wouldn’t.”

He moves closer.

You feel his breath against your skin, soft and cautious. One hand lifts to your cheek like he’s checking to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

“You sure?” he whispers.

You nod.

And he kisses you.

It’s not rushed.

It’s not perfect, either — his nose bumps yours, your hand fumbles awkwardly as you find his jaw — but it’s real. It’s warm. And it means something.

You can feel it in the way his fingers tighten on your waist. In the soft sigh you let out against his mouth. In the quiet, trembling kind of relief that settles between you once you both pull back.

You stay close.

Foreheads pressed. Noses barely brushing.

You could say something. Make a joke. Ask what this means.

But you don’t.

Because he’s already whispering, “Okay. I’m definitely your pillow now.”

And all you can do is laugh — quietly, into the space between your mouths — before tugging him back down and whispering,

“Yeah. Mine.”

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Masterlist

[orphicsun]

power bottom vi who lets you practice using your strap on her

warnings: 18+ content, power bottom vi x subtop fem reader, slight degradation and praise, clit stim (vi receiving), strap-on sex.

a/n: this is an older request but it's been on my mind for a while!!

Vi watched as you clumsily adjusted the harness around your waist with a skeptical eye. She sighed, leaning back and preparing herself for the worst. She felt bad thinking that, but she knew you. You had been her best friend for as long as you had attended to the same university, and you weren't exactly ever seen with girls. Pretty inexperienced, but adorably eager to please. When you showed up at her dorm with that downturned face, complaining about how you could never fuck a girl properly with a strap because you never get to practice, she found herself offering.

You glanced down at the dildo jutting out from the harness and stifled a laugh. This wasn't supposed to be a joke, though you knew it wasn't all that serious. You did wanna make Vi cum. You needed to be able to actually use one of these, and who better to experiment with than a girl who loves casual?

You tentatively settled between her legs, looking down at her for approval. She raised an eyebrow at you, and your heart did a little flip. "Do you even know how to use it?" She asked.

You scoffed half-heartedly at her accusation. "Yes, I do! I'm frequent LesLez."

"Dude, I did not need to know that."

"Sorry, I just.. well, I'm nervous. I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to do this, and it's making me feel weird." You confessed.

Vi softened a little at that, feeling some guilt for being brash with you. She grabbed your face, pulling it closer. "You don't have to be all dominant, you know." She spoke closely to your ear.

You looked confused, like an old dog being taught a new trick. "What? But I'm the one-"

"Just shut up and let me guide you." She quickly cut off your protest, her tone firm. It unexpectedly made you clit twitch with need.

"O-Okay..yeah." You agreed, steeling yourself.

Vi nodded, relaxing. It wouldn't be as bad to let you practice if she could be in charge. "Okay, just use your fingers on my clit..get me in the mood.." she instructed, letting her own trail down her body and show you what to do. You watched curiously as two of her fingers rubbed circles onto her clit. She then pulled them away, letting you try. You were a bit nervous, but when you glanced up to see Vi bit her lip at the way you touched her, it gave you a bit of confidence.

"Am I doing it right?" You asked, voice wobbly.

She nodded with a soft exhale. "Yeah, just like that."

When it was time for the main event, you felt less nervous. Both of you were. Vi found herself anticipated getting fucked. Maybe you wouldn't be so bad at it. You found yourself feeling like it wouldn't be so hard, and you were chasing her approval.

"Just the tip at first..I'm wet enough to take it." She guided you with eager pants, watching as you parted her slick folds with the head of the strap-on and very carefully letting it slip into her. Vi wanted to tell you that you didn't have to be so slow, but she figured it'd be better for you to be careful than just shove the dick into her and jackhammer-fuck her.

She gasped when she felt it, resting her head against the pillow. "Yeah, see? It's not so bad." She said, trying not to let herself enjoy it too much. This could only be practice. You were only supposed to be her friend.

You, on the other hand, had your head spinning. You eyes were bouncing from the way her pussy took the tip, the way her walls seemed try and suck the rest of the length in. You wanted to bottom out and let her feel every inch, to fuck her and hear her praise you for it. This was definitely getting out of hand.

"Can I fuck you? Please?" You asked, half-mumbling as if you didn't fully want her to process your words, but there was a desperation there that you couldn't hide even if you wanted to.

"Yeah, fuck me." Vi told you, bracing herself.

You didn't miss a beat, slowly pushing into her cunt and letting her adjust to all of it. Vi didn't hold in the moan, and she rubbed her clit with her own fingers to pacify herself from the stretch. It wasn't painful because she was experienced, but it wasn't exactly comfortable yet.

"Fuck me gently at first, don't rush it." She instructed, and you nodded. You reeled back until just the tip remained inside of her, and then slowly pushed back into her welcoming heat. You both moaned, your voice ironically soft and needy, and Vi's deep and raspy. Something about the difference in dynamics had your pussy soaking the harness.

The more you fucked her, the more the practice went from..well, actual practice, to something intense.

"Fuck, you're stretching me so well, aren't you? You like fucking me?" Vi cooed in your ear, her voice making you throb.

You eagerly nodded, a small whimper breaking from your throat as you slammed into her pussy. "Feels so good. Your pussy feels so good."

Vi's legs were wrapped around your waist, and your lips were latched onto her bottom one, sucking on the wet flesh. The room was hot, and you could hear the squelch of Vi's pussy taking you and the sound of your skin meeting.

On a particularly hard thrust, you found her g-spot, making her groan. "There you go. You actually can fuck a girl, can't you?" Her remark was almost condescending, and it ironically turned you on even more. Vi seemed to notice when your thrusts got sloppier, as you got needier. "Gonna make me cum, that's all you're good for," she rasped, and you whined. You whined at that.

"Please, I wanna make you cum. Need to." You whimpered out, fucking her with a newly eager and redoubled effort with the means to try to feel her cum around the silicone cock.

"Just like that, keep fuckin' me. I'm so close." She groaned and smashed her lips onto yours to hide her noises, fearing a complaint to the RA.

When she finally felt her orgasm come over her, her hands were all over your back, nails digging into your skin and making you moan just as loudly. Your breaths were shared, and you could actually feel the wetness mix on both of your thighs when they met, when you bottomed out in her pussy. All you could think about was how your best friend had the best pussy and you never knew. You wished you did sooner, you could be fucking her like this months ago.

You went limp on top of her, both of you breathless and a little sweaty. It felt nice, though. Vi was still in shock that things got so out of hand, but fuck if it wasn't a good feeling to have you laid on top of her like this. It had her a little shaken, trying to figure out how she felt about you. But not long after, the moment was over.

"I've got a physics test to study for, so.." Vi said, voice a bit quiet.

You were a little surprised. You wanted to just cuddle and feel her warmth for a bit, but it seemed like she wanted you to leave. That's what her words implied. So, you silently nodded, getting dressed. You wondered if this would happen again. You couldn't figure out if Vi was thinking the same things that you were, but you knew without a doubt that the friendship would never be the same. For better or worse.

[casssmalefantasy]

FIVE DAYS IN MINNESOTA

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: you haven’t seen paige bueckers in two years, despite your families being close friends since forever. your dad and hers go way back, so when you're invited to a barbecue at the bueckers’ house, you don’t think much of it—until you see paige again, taller, hotter, cockier, and she can’t stop staring at you. five days in minnesota might not be enough.

| warnings: family friends to something more, suggestive tension, heavy flirting, smut (18+), fingering (f!receiving), teasing, confident!paige, dom!paige, waist grabbing, kissing, dry humping, soft but filthy

| word count: 5.6k

your dad’s voice is casual when he brings it up, like he’s not dropping a bomb on your week.

“we’re heading to minnesota for a few days,” he says, leaning on your bedroom doorframe. “the bueckers are having a barbecue. whole family’s gonna be there.”

you pause mid-scroll. “like… their whole family?”

he nods, like it’s obvious. “including paige.”

and just like that, your stomach flips.

you haven’t seen paige in two years. it’s not like she was dodging you—you’ve both just been busy. school, schedules, sports. still, it’s strange how time passes like that. the last time your families hung out, she wasn’t even there. and the time before that, you weren’t.

you think back to the only clear memory you have of her when you were kids.

a backyard fourth of july cookout, sweaty and loud, you two around nine years old. she had a red gatorade in her hand and a streak of popsicle juice on her shirt when she tripped over a sprinkler and spilled the whole thing all over you.

“shit—i mean, sorry!” she squeaked, panicking.

you had blinked down at your soaked sundress, then at her wide eyes. “it’s okay,” you said, even though your face was already burning.

your dads laughed. hers handed her another gatorade. yours handed you a towel.

now she’s… paige bueckers. uconn legend. all over your tiktok fyp, all over espn, all over your head for the last few days, even if you won’t admit it out loud. she’s still got you on instagram. liked your recent post. even dm’d you a short but sweet “happy birthday. hope it’s a good one.”

you had to pretend like that wasn’t a big deal. even when some of your college friends freaked out when they saw that she followed you.

“oh, we’re family friends,” you’d shrugged, like it wasn’t weird. like you didn’t save the message. like you didn’t check if she still followed you the next day.

you pack a bag for five days. you convince yourself it’s not a big deal. just a cookout. just a trip.

—

when you get to the bueckers house, the heat that rises under your skin says otherwise.

you barely get out of the car before you’re wrapped up in a hug—drew, paige’s little brother, crashing into your side like he’s been waiting years.

“you’re finally here!” he shouts.

“you’ve grown like a foot,” you laugh, hugging him back.

then bob—paige’s dad—is right there, grinning, and his wife katie is telling you how gorgeous you look.

“college suits you,” she says, touching your arm.

“look at you,” bob adds. “all grown up.”

you don’t see her right away. but you feel her.

your eyes drift to the porch and there she is—paige, leaning against the railing with a bottle of water, watching the scene unfold with a slow smile tugging at her lips.

she’s in a uconn long sleeve, grey sweats hanging low on her hips, messy bun perched effortlessly. she looks like summer. like home. like danger.

she walks up to you with that same half-smile, eyes scanning you like she’s checking for something.

“hey,” she says, low and warm.

“hey,” you reply, suddenly very aware of her hand on your waist when she hugs you briefly.

then she moves on to your family, greeting everyone else, but you can still feel the imprint of her fingers.

her dad starts pulling out grill tools, and your dad joins him. your mom and katie disappear into the kitchen, talking about salads or sides or something domestic.

which leaves you and paige.

“come up to my room?” she asks, casual.

you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumps.

her room’s bigger than you remember. cleaner, too. some trophies on shelves, a wnba hoodie on the back of her desk chair. she kicks off her slides and sits on the bed while you hover near the doorway.

“you can sit, you know,” she says, smirking.

you raise a brow. “didn’t want to assume i’m still welcome in the bueckers castle.”

“always,” she says. “especially now that you’re not nine and covered in gatorade.”

you laugh, remembering the spill. “that was your fault.”

“that was gravity’s fault,” she grins. “i was just the vessel.”

conversation eases into small talk—college, classes, plans. she asks about your major. you ask about rehab, basketball, uconn.

“how was your birthday?” she asks eventually.

you glance at her. “you told me happy birthday, remember?”

“i know,” she shrugs. “but texts don’t count.”

you feel her looking at you again. not just looking—watching.

“you look different,” she says finally. “in a good way.”

“it’s been two years,” you say. “people change.”

“yeah,” she murmurs. “glow up kind of change.”

you snort, flopping back on her bed. “don’t act like you’re not all over my fyp. i can’t open tiktok without your face popping up in some slo-mo edit.”

“so you do keep up with me.”

you turn your head, grinning. “i never said that.”

“you didn’t have to.”

before she can say more, drew and your little brother jax burst in yelling that the food’s ready.

—

the barbecue is exactly what it should be—laughs, plates full of ribs and burgers, old hip hop playing over speakers, cousins and kids running around. you sit next to paige at the long picnic table. her thigh brushes yours more than once. she doesn’t move.

there’s a moment where you catch her staring—again—and she doesn’t look away when you meet her eyes.

“you always this obvious?” you tease under your breath.

she leans closer. “only when someone’s worth it.”

someone brings out a cooler of drinks and a few people grab beers. the sun starts to dip. the music shifts to more bass. paige’s cousin tries to get a dance circle going.

you find yourself back inside at some point, barefoot on the cool kitchen tiles, cup in hand, paige right next to you.

“you always been this cocky?” you ask her.

“not always,” she says. “just when i’m talking to someone who makes it easy.”

the air changes.

you’re leaning on the counter, and she steps between your legs like it’s nothing. like it’s natural.

her hand grazes your bare thigh and you swallow hard.

“can i kiss you?” she asks.

you don’t answer. you just pull her in.

she kisses like she plays—confident, smooth, dominant. her hands find your waist and grip tight. your own fingers wind into her shirt and pull her closer.

—

somehow you end up in the hallway. then her room. door closed. lips still on yours.

“tell me if you want me to stop,” she mutters against your skin.

you don’t. not even close.

her hand slips under your shirt, hot and slow. her fingers trail your waistband.

“so fucking pretty,” she breathes.

you arch into her, gasping when her fingers dip beneath your shorts.

she starts playing with your pussy like she's done this a hundred times—pressing, curling, teasing until your legs are shaking and her name is the only thing you can think to say.

"fuck, paige."

"you like that?" she whispers. "you're so wet for me."

you whimper, nodding, burying your face in her neck.

her fingers fuck into you deep, slow, then faster—like she’s trying to memorize every sound you make. her thumb circles your clit, and your whole body jolts. she shushes you gently, but her smirk betrays the way she loves pulling you apart.

"that's it," she murmurs. "let me feel you. let me take care of you."

you moan into her hoodie, clutching her tight, thighs trembling as you cum all over her fingers.

but she doesn’t stop.

she keeps her fingers moving, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you until you're squirming, overstimulated and panting into her neck. her other hand cups your jaw, tilts your face up so she can kiss you through the aftershocks—slow and messy and deep.

"you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this," she whispers against your mouth. "wanted you."

she pulls back just long enough to tug your shirt off, eyes raking over your chest like she’s starving. her hoodie comes off next. then she’s on you again—skin on skin, warm and solid and hers.

her mouth finds your nipple, tongue flicking slow and wet as her fingers start circling your clit again. you gasp, hips jerking.

"one more," she says softly. "give me one more, baby."

and you do.

you cum again, harder this time, thighs clenched around her waist as you cry out her name. she holds you through it, kissing your collarbone, your cheek, your lips, until you’re limp in her arms.

and when you finally catch your breath, she kisses your forehead and says,

"this isn't just a one-time thing. not if i have anything to say about it."

you believe her.

and by the end of five days in minnesota, you're already thinking about what comes next—because now that she’s touched you like this, there’s no going back.

[yanderenightmare]

Reo Mikage & Nagi Seishiro

♡ TW: nsfw, doubt, misunderstanding

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about how, drunk one night after partying with some of your boyfriend Reo’s teammates and watching him and Nagi sing one too many karaoke songs in each other’s arms, you make a dumb joke about how if they wanted to fuck, you’d be down to watch.

He doesn’t answer, and your eyes are already closed, ready to fall asleep, so you don’t see the look he gives you—peeled eyes already picturing it.

You think nothing of it when he rolls over you a few moments later, feeling hornier than usual. You’re too drunk and tired to put much effort back into it, but Reo doesn’t seem to mind—holding you close while panting at your ear, being clingier than usual. You just blame it on the drink.

Nagi’s Reo’s best friend and roommate, so it’s not strange for them to be close. Nor is it strange for the three of you to hang out, either. It’s just… somehow, the vibe feels a little weird after that night. You’re not sure why, but every time you come over, it’s as if there’s this expectation in the air, as if they’re waiting for something.

The three of you are drinking one night not long after. And that odd feeling you’d been feeling lately quickly disappears along with the first few cans of beer. Everything feels normal. The three of you watch a movie, talk a bit, and have a few laughs, and after switching to something stronger, you all end up sitting on the floor, passing the last of the bottle around like college kids. Good ol’ times.

And then Nagi kisses you.

“What the fuck?”

You jolt back, and the empty bottle rolls across the floor.

There’s a standstill as you ask yourself what just happened, believing the question is more than clearly expressed on your face. But, instead of apologizing or explaining himself, Nagi just looks at Reo, causing you to look at him as well. And that strange feeling reappears—the one that tells you there’s something you’re missing.

“What’s going on?” you decide to break the silence since neither of them was bothering to clue you in, keeping your eyes trained on Reo, giving him a glare, demanding he explain himself.

His voice is low, a little embarrassed perhaps, and a little suggestive in the way he speaks as if hoping you’d take his meaning without further clarification, “You said you wouldn’t mind if Seishi joined us...” 

It completely stunts you, head entirely blank for a second or a few until it settles, and you backtrack to that night a week ago. 

“What?” You shake your head with an off-put and perplexed grimace. “That was a joke!”

You sit there then, feeling weird all over—seeing only one conclusion after wracking your brain.

“Oh my god!” you exclaim and get up in a hurry. “I can’t believe this—if the two of you want to fuck, get your butts out of the closet and do it already!” You storm off, flushed and mortified beyond repair, muttering loudly, “Can’t believe you’re dragging me into this. I’m going home. Never call me.”

You’re stopped before you get very far. Reo’s hand around your upper arm is not too hard but enough to make you halt despite your determined stomping. Needing to get out of there quick before the tears could come—you can’t believe you’ve been someone's beard all this time. Can’t believe he’d string you along like this, use you, and you actually thought you loved–

“You got it all wrong,” he insists, pulling you back to look at him. “It’s not Seishi and me.”

“I mean, how would we? We’re both tops,” Nagi adds, only a step behind.

You bite your lip. So confused you’re sputtering when you ask, “What then? So, you want a threesome? Is that what this is about?”

Reo laughs nervously—something he never does—saying, “Not exactly...” 

You can’t say he’s being of much help. “Then what?”

“Y’know…” 

He’s blushing profusely in a manner you’ve never before seen. 

He can’t even look at you as he bows down and whispers in your ear,  “I want to watch.”

♡ MISCELLANEOUS masterlist

[jellysmosh]

Better to Leave it Unsaid

Summary: You were a certified yapper, always chatting with anyone and everyone around the Smoffice. Everyone except for one person. Inspired by the song Talk Too Much by COIN.

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Tags: Fluff, mutual pining, extremely light angst if you squint

Word count: 6.1k

Note: This is a huge one! I didn't mean to make this so long, but I just kept going lol… I decided to post the whole thing rather than separate it and make y’all wait for a part 2, hehe. I take a lot of inspiration from music, if you couldn’t tell. Please enjoy~!

☆

You had always been talkative, a chatterbox, and a yapper. Your mother used to tell people that when you were a baby, you learned how to speak in full sentences before you learned how to stand on your own two feet. You couldn’t help it, you just loved to talk. It took you years to learn how to think before you speak.

You enjoyed talking to people, it genuinely made you happy to learn about others and share your thoughts. It was a form of connection, whether it was a late night heart-to-heart with your best friend or joking around with a stranger in line at the supermarket. If you could list ‘conversations’ as an interest on your resume, you absolutely would.

This trait worked to your advantage when you joined Smosh as a cast member.

“You’re so good at talking”, Ian joked with you after your first month, “you always seem to know what to say.”

“Practice makes perfect”, you grinned back as he laughed again.

You had quickly become a fan favourite, especially on Reddit Stories and as a guest on Smosh Mouth, being praised for the chemistry you had with the cast members and how you played off each other in discussions. You struggled a bit more on the games channel, you had very little video games experience and you found it difficult to remember board game rules when you played them for the first time. But the subscribers seemed to love making video compilations of everytime you forgot a rule or had to quietly ask for help mid-game.

Working at Smosh was so much fun, not just because you loved your work, but because there was such a diverse and interesting group of people you had long and frequent talks with. You had gotten to know everyone so well throughout the past few months, both cast and crew.

Well.

Everyone except for Spencer.

When you joined Smosh and met all the people working there, you had taken to Spencer in a different way than the others.

The crush you developed on him was quick and severe. You had no idea what to do with it. You were never good with romantic attraction, the few times you made the first move with a potential partner, it always ended disastrously. When it came to someone you really liked, you clammed up. Every time you were around Spencer, you panicked, and your heart sped up when he spoke to you. All the words that normally flowed out of your mouth got all tangled up in your head and stuck in your throat. Even when you two were doing your jobs and he was directing you on a game video, you responded to his directions with a silent, tight-lipped smile without making eye contact.

You did not handle cute guys well. And Spencer was cute. With his big green eyes, cheeky smile, and quick-witted humour, he was exactly your type to a T. It infuriated you, the person you wanted to have a connection with the most was so distant from you, and it was your own fault. You wanted to be close with him like everyone else, having lunch together, hanging out after work, you wanted it all. He definitely noticed how weird you were about him, because he drew back, hardly ever reaching out to you and only speaking to you when absolutely necessary. You couldn’t blame him.

The invisible wall between you guys that you had accidentally built seemed to get taller by the day, and you wished there was some way to knock it down.

☆

“Cut!”

That was a wrap on the most recent Board AF video and it was finally lunchtime. You and the other cast members hopped up from your seats as the room was filled with post-recording chatters.

“Good job, guys!” Spencer clapped his hands, “Amanda and Chanse, that was amazing teamwork. Shayne, super funny, as per usual.” He was wearing his green Smosh merch cap and a white T-shirt today. God, he looked so good.

You pretended not to notice he praised everyone else in the video besides you.

“And great banter, Y/N”, he added before turning to Alex to debrief.

Nevermind. You almost skipped out of the room from the high you got from him complimenting you.

You could really enjoy your lunch break after that. Sitting down between Angela and Amanda, you dug right in, conversing with the others at the table as you did everyday.

“I was watching the shoot just then, you know?” Angela nudged you, speaking between bites, “what’s up with you and Spence?”

You almost bit down on your tongue in surprise.

“What?” You laughed to cover the worried feeling that rose inside you, “what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean”, she spoke quietly, this was between you two. The rest of the table were not paying attention, holding their own conversation about the schedule for the rest of the week. “You, like, don’t look directly at him and you just silently do what he says. No reply, nothing.”

“I didn’t think I had to reply to every direction given”, you shot back, eyes on your food. You were dreading where this situation was heading.

“Okay, okay, no offence”, Angela lay a hand on your leg, eyebrows raised so high it made you laugh, “I have never seen you skip an opportunity to say something.” When she saw your jaw drop, she quickly added, “I’m saying this as a fellow yapper, okay? It takes one to know one. You seem to talk non-stop to anyone until it’s with Spencer, then you shut right up. Are you mad at him? Did he do something to piss you off?”

You sighed and put your fork down.

“No, Angela”, you both leaned back in your chairs, facing each other, “I’m not mad at him, he did nothing wrong.”

“Then?”

“I-”, you quickly glanced around you, checking nobody was paying attention to you two, “I don’t know. Like, I just can’t talk to him.”

“But why?” Angela had her hands out inquisitively, like this was a great mystery she had been thinking about for a long time. “How are you not able to talk to somebody? You start chattering when you hear someone enter the stall next to you in the bathroom. It’s disturbing. Nothing stops you.”

“I don’t know”, you were a lying liar. You knew damn well why you struggled to speak to him. “I just can’t!”

She eyed you suspiciously. She was squinting at you so hard, you resisted the urge to ask if she needed her glasses. This was one of the rare times you actually wanted a conversation to end as soon as possible.

“Right”, she finally conceded, a strange expression on her face, “totally. Yeah. You just don’t know.”

You nodded, smiling like nothing was bothering you. You could tell she wasn’t satisfied with your response but you were just glad she wasn’t pushing it anymore. She was very empathetic, so she could probably feel you were getting uncomfortable.

“Anyway”, she shook her head, poking you gently as she changed the topic, “what are you scheduled for tomorrow morning?”

☆

“And then I told him that I didn’t know where his wallet was and that I was sorry”, you explained, hands gesturing wildly.

“I mean, yeah”, Tommy responded while nodding, “you literally met him five minutes before, how were you meant to know?”

You were telling him a story about some guy you befriended at a bar a while ago when you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You spun around to see Spencer standing there, holding his laptop. You didn’t even hear him approaching while you were talking, how long had he been there?

“Hello”, he waved, you silently waved back and Tommy replied with his own ‘hello’. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but I need to speak to Y/N about an upcoming video. Sorry, Tommy.”

“No problem, don’t worry about it”, Tommy replied before heading back to his desk, “see you guys later.”

You wanted to yell for him to come back so you wouldn’t be alone with Spencer, but you were left with no choice but to quietly follow Spencer to the games set. He was going to quickly go through how to play a new board game you were set to play with a few of your cast mates because your schedules didn’t line up and you couldn’t be there when he taught the others.

“Okay”, he sighed, plopping down on the large grey couch. “Please sit down”, he nodded his head at the space next to him.

You carefully sat a respectable distance away from him, close enough to properly listen to him but far enough to not get you flustered. As he began to teach you the rules and show you the different cards, you tried your hardest to focus. He made it so difficult, he just looked so gorgeous. His curls were sitting just right today, one stray strand dangling down his forehead, and he was wearing that Creed shirt he always looked good in. His glasses slowly slipped down his nose when he leaned down and you bit your tongue as he adjusted them. You were trying to remember what each card did in the game, but your thoughts kept going back to how nice his voice sounded. He didn’t speak too fast and he kept the volume low since it was just you two sitting on the set, it tickled something in your brain.

“Y/N? Y/N!” His voice calling your name drew you out of your own thoughts.

A single ‘huh?’ was your clever response.

He sighed, seemingly a little frustrated.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Yes”, you responded defensively, vaguely repeating some of the main points you managed to retain from when he was talking.

“Okay”, he nodded, “you did remember a few things. Sorta.”

He picked up the deck of cards and slid them back into their box as you silently watched his fingers work.

“Any questions?”

You looked up at his face to see him looking back at you with his eyebrows raised in question.

“Uh… no”, you flatly replied. You could feel your face and neck gradually get warmer the longer he looked at you.

“No? Any comments? Anything at all?”

You shook your head. Hopefully, this interaction would be ending soon before something devastating happened, like him noticing how red your face was or how clammy your hands were. You looked away and your eyes darted around the set. You didn’t like being speechless, it was an uncomfortable feeling for you.

“Y/N”, he gently pressed. You froze in place, eyes glued to the small table in front of you. “Why…”, he trailed off, not finishing his question before he stood up, “uh, nevermind. We’re done here, I guess. See you around.”

And then he was gone.

You felt relief and anxiety mix together at the bottom of your stomach. You wanted to talk to him so bad but you were so in your own head about him, about your feelings for him. In another world, where you could get over your feelings for him, you could be best friends. You could be talking all day long, asking about each other's days, how your families were going, what your weekend plans were.

Instead, right now, you were the only person in the room, left sitting alone on an empty set.

☆

“What is their problem?” Spencer grumbled, partly to himself, partly to Alex and Shayne, interrupting the conversation they were having right next to Spencer’s desk. They both turned to look down at him, borderline sulking in his chair.

“Y/N?” Shayne hit the nail on the head immediately. Spencer didn’t often talk about his strained relationship with you, but the few times he did have been with these two in particular.

“Yeah”, he lifted his glasses to rub his eyes, “I just met with them to explain the new game we’re playing tomorrow.”

“Awkward?” Alex grinned.

“So awkward”, Spencer threw his hands up, “I really don’t get it! They just refuse to say anything to be besides ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘huh?’”

They could tell Spencer was getting frustrated, not quite angry, moreso confused and unsure on what to do.

“It’s been months since they started”, Shayne crossed his arms, tone neutral, “have they not had a proper conversation with you even once?”

“Never”, Spencer replied, “what about you guys?”

“All the time”, Shayne replied sheepishly.

“Yeah, all the time”, Alex nodded, almost apologetically. “I talked to them this morning about Fortnite for like half an hour. They asked me to explain it to them.”

“You’re kidding me”, Spencer whined, he just could not wrap his head around why you guys just didn’t click. “I would have killed to explain Fortnite to someone for the first time.”

The other two seemed bemused by his turmoil. Spencer feared they may not be taking this seriously. It was serious. Over the past months, he had watched you grow close with other people at Smosh, chatting and bonding so naturally it was as if you had worked there for years. Whenever he saw you, you were always in the middle of a lengthy conversation with someone; you had gained a reputation around the office as an amazing listener who would be easy to talk to for hours. Spencer thought you two could get along great, he was not the most talkative, but he loved to chat and loved to listen. However, Spencer seemed to be the one person in the company that you refused to talk to.

It didn’t help that he thought you were very attractive. It drove him insane, he felt this inexplicable draw to you and yet you avoided even making eye contact with him. Did you find out about his crush on you? Were you grossed out? Was that why you avoided speaking to him? There was no way though, he hadn’t told a single person about how attracted he was to you.

“Look, man”, Shayne gained his attention again, “if it really bothers you, you have to talk to them. They can’t read your mind, they might not even realise they’re doing it.”

That made Spencer laugh, you definitely knew you were doing it.

“Yeah, what Shayne said”, Alex chimed in, “talking to them is going to be a way better approach than sitting on your ass, ripping out your hair trying to solve it.”

“Maybe”, he groaned, turning back to his computer to continue his work, “I’ll think about it.”

Alex and Shayne shared a knowing look before leaving him alone.

☆

The next time you spoke to Spencer alone, he accosted you in the break room.

You were stirring the tea you had just made when you heard footsteps behind you slowly coming to a stop.

Before you could turn around and greet whoever it was, you heard Spencer’s apprehensive voice, “Alex mentioned you were showing an interest in Fortnite.”

You almost dropped your mug, but you managed to keep a firm grip on it as you turned around to face him. You tried to say something but faltered before closing your mouth and nodding. You already knew this was going to be another failed attempt at a conversation. You might as well have run for it then and there.

“Okay, well”, he put his hands in his pockets as he continued, “we could play together sometime? Or I could arrange for us to play on the channel in the future or something.”

You blinked a few times. He was asking to play Fortnite together. You felt so excited, you wanted to chug your tea down like a beer and give him a huge kiss but you controlled your impulses. You were curious about the game because of Spencer talking about it all the time and showing Angela how to play, so you enquired about the game from Alex a few days ago. You saw a chance to get through the invisible wall, conquer your feelings, and really get to know Spencer. You were determined to get over this stupid crush of yours for the sake of befriending him, you were tired of being the only person that didn’t get to enjoy his company.

“That sounds fun”, you managed to blurt out, both you and Spencer seemed shocked that you were actually speaking to him. “I mean, I’m not very experienced with video games, but it looks like a lot of fun”, your voice was quivering from nerves and you just prayed he didn’t notice, “I think all the cosmetics are really cool too.”

“Yes!” Spencer seemed to almost jump at the opportunity to talk to you, “they released a Sabrina Carpenter skin. You like her, don’t you?”

Your heart was going a mile a minute, were you actually managing to talk to him? And how did he know you were a fan of Sabrina Carpenter?

“Yeah, I love her!” You found yourself actually smiling, even though you were resisting the urge to find the nearest escape route like some kind of prey animal, “I didn’t know she had a collaboration with them. I actually just ordered the Short n’ Sweet Deluxe vinyl record I’ve been wanting for ages, it took me, like, an hour to decide which colour to get.”

“And which colour was that?” He asked.

“The blue one”, you quickly replied, “the white pearl one was pretty but I wanted the brighter colour. I thought it would look cuter on my record player.”

You were so excited that Spencer seemed interested in talking to you, it almost outweighed the incredible amount of nerves you were experiencing in that moment. You were trying your absolute hardest to form normal words and sentences in his presence. Having his whole attention on you as you spoke was so foreign and just as scary as it normally was, but it was also sort of thrilling. You felt like a teenager again, trying something new and rebellious that you figured you might regret later. There was a paradox of wanting to talk to him like this more to aid in your mission to get over your feelings for him, but the more he looked at you and spoke to you, the more you felt yourself falling.

You were making crazy progress on holding a conversation with him, though. You were definitely being more reserved than when you chatted with other people in the office, but this was breaking the record for longest talk you’ve ever had with him. It made your heart beat so fast you were scared you would pass out.

You had moved onto the topic of music and your record collection, the one you had been working on ever since you moved into your own apartment.

“I have about 30 now”, you had a small, proud smile on your face, “it’s growing slowly, I try not to blow all my money on them.”

“No, I get it”, he said back, grinning, “that is so cool, frankly.”

You felt your entire upper body flush with heat when he said that, your face feeling red and tingly. Part of you wanted to squeal at his compliment and the other part wanted to disappear, dig a hole into the floor and hide in it. Yapping came so naturally to you, but it was still proving difficult to speak to him. Your brain was in overdrive, trying so hard to pick the right words to say and string them into coherent sentences, stuff that was as easy as breathing when you spoke to anybody else.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Spencer sounded worried all of a sudden. When you looked at him with a confused expression, he pointed at your mug, “your hands are shaking pretty bad right now, you might want to put that drink down.”

You hadn’t noticed, you were indeed shaking, little ripples running through your tea from the movement.

“I’m okay”, you tried to grin widely, but it felt like a grimace. You tightened your hold on your tea, willing yourself to stop trembling. You realised you had probably reached your limit on talking to Spencer for today. Any more and you may have a heart attack. “Just a bit of the shakes, I have weak arms”, you lied.

“Are you sure-“

“Yes!” Your reply was too hasty and too loud, “yes, of course! I really need to get back to work though.”

He nodded as you cautiously stepped past him and almost jogged towards the exit, careful not to spill your drink.

“Talk to you later, Y/N.”

You paused, looking at him over your shoulder. You could have sworn he looked worried, nervous even. You felt extra light on your feet knowing he wanted to talk to you again.

“Yeah”, you couldn’t help the smile that took over your face, cheeks red and hands damp with sweat, “yeah, talk to you later, Spencer.”

He smiled back in a way that made your chest hurt and you couldn’t figure out if there was actually a halo of glowing light around him or you were hallucinating. You had to turn away and keep walking or you would have burst into flames with how warm your entire body had become. The gentle way he spoke to you replayed in your head over and over and over.

How the hell were you going to get over him?

☆

Spencer couldn’t help smiling to himself as he typed. He was a little distracted from his work today.

“What’s gotten into you?” Alex asked, alarmed at his behaviour. “You’re acting weird and happy and giddy.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, it’s just… did something happen?” Alex abandoned their desk and came over to him. They could be such a gossip sometimes. “Did you finally ask Y/N what the problem was?”

“No”, Spencer stopped doing his work too, turning to look at them, “but we had, like, an actual conversation.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot up, “wow, really?”

“Yes, dude, we talked about Sabrina Carpenter in Fortnite and their record collection”, he was obviously excited, “and it wasn’t a long talk, but they spoke actual sentences to me.”

“Good for you, buddy”, Alex patted his back, trying not to laugh as Spencer turned back to his monitor with a huge smile on his face, “good for you.”

☆

It had been a week since you had that discussion with Spencer and you were still reeling from it. You both got very busy and you didn’t really find yourself alone with him after that. You were both excited and very scared about the next time you could potentially talk. You had been mentally hyping yourself up before work everyday, just in case. You were determined to push your feelings down as far as possible, so you could have a longer conversation next time.

It was a sunny Friday morning when you breezed through the door, mood high because the barista at the cafe remembered your order and gave you a dollar discount. You greeted every single person you walked past and gave Courtney a huge hug when you saw her.

“You’re in a good mood”, they laughed, “happy Friday, huh?”

“I just feel like today’s gonna be an amazing day”, you hummed, pulling away and grabbing her hand. You swung them around between you wildly as you spoke, “the weather’s gorgeous, my coffee tastes extra good this morning, you look beautiful. It’s been great so far.”

She leaned forward and laughed hard.

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re filming with Spence later?”

“What?” You stopped swinging your arm, looking at her with wide eyes, “that’s not why- no, I didn’t even know, no, well, I did know but, that’s not a reason to- like, I don’t even…”

“Okay, breathe”, Courtney was wheezing with laughter now, “I was just teasing, Y/N. You’re okay.”

You fanned your face lightly, why was it so hot in here all of a sudden? Did they know about your feelings for Spencer? You swore you were working on that. Hopefully, the mention of him won’t make you feel like this soon.

“I’ve never seen you stumble over words like that before”, they started swinging your arms again, “what was that about? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him”, you explained, shaking your head, “I like him! I like him a lot!”

Another weakness of yours that came along with being a yapper was your bad habit of over-explaining. You couldn’t shut up if you tried, unfortunately.

“You… like him a lot?” Courtney raised a single eyebrow, “never heard you admit that before. That’s very interesting.”

“No!” You let go of her hand to wave yours in front of her in a panic, “no, not like that!”

“Yeah”, she replied, slowly stepping away from you and heading back in the direction she was originally going, “totally, yeah. You didn’t mean it like that.”

You rushed away to your desk, cheeks flared up and your head down to hide it. You didn’t see Courtney look back at you with a mischievous smirk.

☆

“Y/N is on one today”, Courtney gasped as everyone was trying to catch their breath. You had told an off-hand, low-brow joke that you did not expect to land, but apparently everyone at Smosh had the humour of a 12 year old boy. Your chest swelled with pride, not from making everyone at the table laugh, but for making specifically Spencer laugh so hard, he was covering his face with his hands.

You silently thanked the heavens that you got to film a Moose Master video with Spencer today without going through the emotional and physical torture of sitting directly next to him. In your opinion, he looked super hot today, he was wearing a hoodie and pushed the sleeves up instead of taking it off when the game really heated up. All you wanted was to stop looking at the cameras and just stare at his tattoos to commit them to memory. Making him laugh while he looked so good was like doing crack. Or what you imagined doing crack was like.

As the game continued, the volume in the room only increased, more rules making people screw up and yell at each other. It was getting intense.

“You said her first name!” You pointed at Noah accusingly, interrupting the tirade he was on, “you broke a rule! I got your ass!”

“Y/N”, clearly frustrated, Noah put his hand up in your face, “shut up for once!” He then continued with the argument he was having with Amanda.

The comment was played for laughs, clearly all in the lighthearted spirit of the game. You had to admit the way he worded it hurt a little bit. But at the end of the day, you knew he didn’t mean it, you had all said stuff you didn’t mean in the heat of the moment. It wasn’t a big deal, so you got over that twang of pain pretty fast.

Seeming to notice you had become uncharacteristically silent for a moment, Spencer locked eyes with you from across the table. He silently raised his eyebrows and gave you a miniscule nod, you knew this meant ‘are you okay?’ Your cheeks flushed at him paying attention to solely you amongst the chaos and you nodded back in assurance before returning to the game.

His consideration unleashed a thousand butterflies in your stomach, it was clearly not a big deal, but he still wanted to check on you. You almost wanted to be mad at him for being so cute and sweet. He really was not going to let this ‘getting over your crush’ thing easy.

☆

After an hour, filming wrapped and everyone slowly dispersed. You lingered back a little, discussing something random with Courtney. You two walked off the set a little slower than the others, and once you were back in the main section of the office, you bid Courtney adieu as they went off to take care of something else.

“Hey Y/N”, you jumped a little in surprise, you hadn’t realised Spencer was standing by the door, just out of sight. “Can we talk for a second?”

Oh my god, here we go. You had been gearing up for your next one-on-one conversation with Spencer, you wanted this one to go off without a hitch, leaving him thinking you were charismatic and clever. The problem lay in the fact that when you were finally alone with him, and his beautiful eyes were gazing into yours and only yours, your mind went completely blank.

“Yeah”, you replied, exhaling. You didn’t even realise you had been holding your breath. You were glad nobody else was around to see you embarrass yourself.

“Did…”, Spencer scratched the back of his neck, “did what Noah said during that video upset you? I mean, I know you nodded like you were okay, but I just wanted to check on you to make sure, because that was a pretty rude thing to say”, his eyes were avoiding yours this time, “even though I know you know he didn’t really mean it. That doesn’t make it okay, though. Okay, I’m rambling right now, I’m gonna stop…”

You stared at him speechlessly. He was being so unbelievably cute right now. The care he was showing for you and your feelings endeared him to you so much it hurt.

“Spencer, you’re making this so hard”, you groaned without thinking. When you realised what you said, you wanted to run again. Flight or fight activated.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, “making what hard?”

Now you’ve gone and done it. You were incredibly embarrassed, searching the floor for some sort of way out of this situation.

“No, Noah didn’t make me uncomfortable”, you said in a monotone voice.

“Y/N, what am I making hard?” He ignored you and took a step forward, you started to panic.

“That’s what she said”, you couldn’t even laugh at your joke. He didn’t laugh either, and that made you feel even worse.

“Y/N”, Spencer slowly reached for you, as if you were a skittish wild animal. You tried your hardest not to flinch when he gently put his hand on your upper arm. “What’s going on? You can tell me.”

You finally looked up at him. There was an entire galaxy in his eyes you wanted to explore. He had gotten so close to you, but you wanted him even closer.

“I know you don’t really like talking to me, but”, he swallowed, “I really want to change that. You just need to tell me what to do.”

“I do, though”, you mumbled, your face felt so hot, you could probably cook an egg on it. “I want to talk to you all the time, it’s just-”, you shut your mouth, not daring to say anything further.

“What am I making hard for you, Y/N?” He was whispering now.

There was a beat of silence. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, but it felt like it stretched on for hours.

“Getting over you”, you whispered back meekly, hands balling into fists by your sides. “Getting over my big, fat crush on you”, you said a little louder, you were diving into the deep end, laying bare your soul for him.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, entire body almost recoiling in surprise. “That doesn’t make sense. I thought you didn’t like me. You talk to every single person in the office like they’re your best friend except for me.”

“Y-you make me nervous”, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, “I’ve never been any good at talking to cute guys I like.”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red. He seemed almost as flustered as you.

“But!” You were fighting to save the situation, the last thing you wanted was to completely fuck up the work environment for both of you because of your schoolyard crush. “I promise I’m trying my best to get over my feelings for you. And then it’ll be so much easier to chat, and we can yap all day long together! I just need some time to work on it, that’s all.”

“Stop”, he murmured, tone pleading. He had stepped even closer, you could feel the heat coming off his body. Or it was just the heat your own face was generating. You were pretty sure you were visibly sweating. “Stop that.”

“What-”

“I don’t want you to”, he gently took your hand and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, a shiver ran up your spine, “I don’t want you to get over me.” His green eyes bore into yours, your heart thudded against your ribcage as you willed yourself not to break eye contact. “I haven’t been able to get over you, you know”, he spoke to you in a quiet tone you had never heard from him before, “ever since we talked in the break room, I’ve been thinking about you all the time.”

You opened your mouth and closed it a few times, completely in shock and searching for words that were not coming to you. You were so accustomed to knowing what to say in reply to pretty much anything, the constant flow of conversation buzzing at the back of your head came to a screeching halt. There was nothing but a heavy silence in your head as the man you’ve been pining for was metaphorically grabbing your heart out of your chest and claiming it as his.

“Just… thinking about you and how funny and bright you are”, he kept going, you had never heard Spencer word-vomit like this and it made your heart soar, “you talk so loud, but I love it because I can still hear you even though you won’t talk to me”, that made you laugh, your free hand coming up to cover your red face. “Your jokes always get me, and I love how you laugh with your whole body. I’m just always thinking about your smile, and your humour, and how kind you are to everyone, you’ve been driving me crazy.”

You covered his mouth with your trembling hand. You were so flustered, you felt like you were going to melt into a puddle any second. He looked at you with expectant eyes, round and imploring, like he was asking a silent question.

“You’re talking more than me for once”, you inspected every part of his face, you rarely had the opportunity to do that, you had been avoiding being close to him all this time after all. He chuckled behind your hand, the way his eyes crinkled a little in the corners when he smiled made you want to scream. You worried that he might be able to feel your racing pulse. “I never thought you would like me back.”

He slowly pushed your hand away from his mouth, “and I never thought you would like me. You acted like you hated me.”

“Okay”, you started, cutting yourself off with an embarrassed chortle, “I was panicking every time I saw you, I’m sorry!”

You joked with each other like that for the next few minutes, your heartbeat slowing slightly as you calmed down. Your chest tightened with excitement as you realised he had inched even closer, almost touching you. He looked at you with so much affection in his eyes when you laughed at something he said. You felt like you were on cloud nine.

“So”, you looked down at your fingers still interlocked, “what does this mean for us then?”

“Well”, Spencer pretended to think really hard, “if you can actually stand talking to me for more than five minutes,” he ignored you as you smacked his chest in fake offence, “would you like to go on a date with me?”

You hummed, also pretending to think really hard. He grinned at you, eyes fond. You wondered if he had been looking at you like that all this time.

“Yes, I think I’d like that”, you answered softly.

Feeling bold, you leaned in slightly, wondering if you could get away with kissing him on the cheek. He had other plans, tilting his head so his lips were almost grazing yours. He stayed still, waiting on you, always waiting on you. Both of you had your eyes half closed, transfixed on each other’s lips. Your stomach flipped as you took the leap, moving forward and pressing your mouth against his. It was absolute bliss.

Just like that, the invisible wall between you came tumbling down. It was like it was never there in the first place as Spencer’s hand squeezed yours tight.

☆

Note: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think! Also, I am happy for people to send requests, I want to try writing shorter fics, so that would be perfect! If you have sent me an ask, please be patient with me as I work through them, thanks guys. <333

♡ masterlist

[reidrum]

one of me is cute, but two though?

A/N: …no explanation for this i fear. probably ovulating again. stream short n sweet, happy kinktober !

cw: *cracks knuckles* smut 18+ minors dni, softdom!spence, fingering, oral (m receiving), breeding kink, praise kink, marking?, cr**mp*e, edging, aftercare, pet names, mentions of hypothetical pregnancy, fem!reader, a very real research paper that i actually looked up and read, this is filth but at least it’s prn with plot!

wc: 3.2k

summary: spencer can’t wait to have kids with you, in fact he wants to start right now

i love feedback! and talking to people!!! especially about spencer!!! pls interact with me it would make my entire existence okay thank you also this isn’t proofread

Spencer having baby fever wasn’t new to anyone, as the godfather of two of his closest friends’ children and known to be a crowd favorite to the kids at parties, he always had a longing desire to have children of his own to love and raise.

He’ll admit that at the start of your relationship he didn’t know how far the two of you would go, what kind of future was out there for you both. But the more you integrated into his life, his routine, his values, the more he knew for certain he would spend the rest of his life with you.

That brings you to today, you and Spencer were having an errands day making stops at the grocery store and target. As you’ve finished shopping around you both stand in line to checkout, and you’re standing behind a mother holding her little baby staring at you with her big green eyes. Your face melts as you coo gently at the baby, making silly faces and enjoying her little giggles.

A completely normal moment for you, but absolutely world changing moment for Spencer. It’s like something turns primal in him watching you play with the baby. Suddenly he’s picturing you rocking cradles at night, taking your kids—his kids—out to the park, how you’d look with a round belly carrying his child.

He looks at you with an adoration fueled by need, as in he needs to get you home right now before he attacks you in the middle of target.

A gently nudge pulls him from his daydream, “Hey, you okay? Lost you for a second.”

He shakes his head and steps forward to place the items on the conveyor belt and goes up to pay, “Yeah, no I’m okay.” he says mindlessly swiping his card and grabbing the bags.

You furrow your brows and walk to the car, tabling his weird behavior for another time to discuss, “I’m too hungry to question whatever that was right now, can we get pho?”

“Sure, baby. Whatever you want.” He wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your head before getting into the driver’s seat, absentmindedly still thinking about what your little ones would look like.

After you get lunch it’s a short drive home, but Spencer can’t help but wonder how the hell he got to this point. He wanted children with you, and yet you weren’t even married, not even close to it. You had just moved in with him only a few months ago, but he’s still firm in knowing he wants to spend forever with you.

You open the door to the house, Spencer following behind imagining little footsteps pattering throughout the house, a mini you and mini him. He’s so into his daze he doesn’t see the dining table and bangs his hip against it.

He groans in pain as you rush into the room, “Are you okay? I heard a bang.”

“No, I’m fine I just hit my hip.” He winces in pain.

The suspicion from earlier rises again and you can’t help but bluntly ask, “What is going on with you? You’re being spacey and weird with me. If it’s something I did please tell—“

“Do you want kids?” he blurts out interrupting you.

Your eyes widen, “Wh—what?”

Spencer’s eyes widen too, why the hell did he just say that? “I—um…Okay, not as in right this second. But, is that…something you’d want in the future?”

You pause for a few seconds before speaking softly, “Yeah, it is.”

“Okay. Cool.” He tries to say as nonchalantly as someone who downed an espresso shot.

Then it all starts to click for you, the lingering touches, the looks at the store when you’d see little babies, on walks in the park he’d stare into the playground.

“Spencer…do you… want to have kids…with me?” You ask so softly he subconsciously moves closer to hear you better.

He tries to pull every psychology and behavior tactic he can to read the expression on your face, to decipher what you’re truly feeling, but he comes up empty and is left to grapple with the emotions of the moment on his own.

“Are you mad?”

“Mad? Oh baby, no I’m not mad. Just a little surprised, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” You move to stand right in front of him at arm’s length, to let him know you’re right there, that you’re always there.

“How could I not? You are so beautiful, kind, and smart. I think I’d be the luckiest dad in the galaxy if my kids turned out like you.” He says softly, grabbing your hand to thumb at the palm in a soothing manner, more to calm his nerves than yours but it’s really working both ways. You couldn’t look any softer to him than right then.

He continues, “I’m sorry if I made things awkward, but I love you, and I want a future with you. House, kids, taxes, all of it.”

You fake gasp, “Even taxes?”

“Especially taxes,” He smiles as he plays into your dramatics, “Like I said, I don’t mean right now. I know there’s like thirty steps we have to take before then. But I’m here for all of it.”

“Spence…” You tearfully smile, “I love you, and I want all of it too.”

Spencer couldn’t be more happy as he slowly leans in to kiss you, lingering so you know just how happy he is. He pulls back and peppers kisses all over your face while you giggle, “Okay, okay!”

He presses one last big kiss on your forehead, cartoonish noise and all, and he wraps you up in his arms tightly.

“So…did something happen today that made you tell me?” You ponder. Of course you’d been thinking about a future with Spencer. but you didn’t know that he felt the same way, and so seriously at that.

He mumbles into your shoulder, “You were playing with that baby in the Target checkout line. And I’m not kidding, all day I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d look like carrying our child.”

You grin wickedly, “You really wanna knock me up that bad, huh?”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea the restraint I had today to not pounce on you in the middle of the store. I would have risked the life ban in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah?” You glide your finger down his chest, “What did you wanna do?”

Spencer smirks, seeing the game you’re playing. “Well, I was thinking about this book I read on the best positions for maximum fertility.”

“So you read porn—“

“It’s not porn!” He chuckles, “It’s a real scientific study they did in Cambridge about if different positions induce fertility due to the variances in angle of the male ejaculation, and whether it would increase the rate of fertilization. It was actually really fascinating. They had the subjects do it inside the MRI machine.”

You can’t help but feel flustered, “I can't believe that turned me on.”

“I also know that you’re ovulating right now, so all your sexual senses are heightened.”

“I know I should find that funny, but it’s actually so fucking hot that you know that.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders to bring his head closer to your ear as you whisper, “Wanna go try them out?”

Spencer’s eyes darken and he immediately reacts, “Jump.” holding your thighs up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. You giggle a little above his head, cupping it with both hands as you lean down to kiss him while he walks to your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed with a squeal before working his shirt off, watching you slowly peel your own shirt off and shimmy out of your pants leaving you bare in a bra and panties.

He lets out a groan, “I think you’re trying to kill me.” He climbs over your body and leans down to attack your neck, one hand holding one of yours above your head the other trailing its way down. A finger traces the outline of your panties, pressing down on the wet patch near your entrance.

You moan languishly and he smirks at your reaction, “I got you, okay baby? Gonna make you feel so good.”

His finger finally slides past the fabric and makes contact with your cunt, gathering the slick and spreading it all over you. Breathless moans escape you, and by the time you’re used to one finger the fucker adds another finger and rests his thumb on your clit drawing soft circles.

The feeling of his fingers sliding so easily in and out of you is terrifyingly intoxicating, and you can’t seem to get enough. He can feel you squeezing his fingers and by your increased moans he knows you’re close, “C’mon pretty girl, you can do it.”

The little praise he gives you is enough to send you over the edge, and you’d be embarrassed at how easily it affected you if you weren’t so overcome with coming down from your peak. You slowly regain your bearing through heavy breaths and look up at him above you with hooded eyes, “Jesus, Spence.”

A wide smirk plasters on his face as he stands up from the bed, “Just getting started baby.” He makes work of his belt buckle and slides it off while you crawl over to help him with pulling his zipper down. You tug his pants down enough to expose his bulge, and you lightly palm him through his boxer.

A deep groan rumbles through his throat, his hands coming up to gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail as watches you slowly pull him out of boxers. He’s achingly hard, tip red and throbbing. You coo at him, “Poor thing, must’ve been painful today keeping this in, when all you wanted to do was come inside me, hm?” a strangled noise leaves him as you continue, “I know you really wanna sink your dick in me, but can I have just a little taste?”

The doe eyes you give him as you speak your lewd words has him nearly teetering over the edge and you haven’t even put your mouth on him yet. He nods vigorously, not trusting words to do him good and watches himself slowly disappear down into your throat, further and further back until he hits something hard and you gag a little. He mutters a sorry that sounds like a half cry half moan, but the way his hips are subconsciously thrusting into you and the hand that’s gripping your hair guiding you so, tells you he might not actually be that sorry.

“Fu—uu—uck.” his head tilts back as the overly enunciated curse flies out of his mouth. Your head bobs with a ferocity on his cock, using your hand to pump whatever you can’t comfortably fit into your mouth. Spencer thinks this is what heaven must be like, that you an angel personified have brought the pearly gates down onto the Earth and blessed him with your mouth.

You continue to take him into your throat for a few more seconds before you feel a sharp tug on your hair that wasn’t meant to hurt but might’ve felt that way with how desperate Spencer needed you off of him.

“What happened?” you ask, voice raspy and confused.

He breathes heavily, “Don’t wanna come in your mouth.” you giggle and sit up on your knees and Spencer closes the distance by reaching for your head in both hands and pulling you in for a long kiss.

“Turn around.” he whispers low, gently pushing you onto your stomach the second your back is to him. The anticipation builds as you can hear him remove the remainder of his clothing, and he climbs over you to unclip your bra and gently pull your panties over and off your legs.

He tosses them to the side and returns to looming above you while you’re splayed out on your stomach in front of him. You get on your forearms and arch your back, letting your ass and cunt be on full display for him knowing this was a position he loved. He can’t help himself but lean forward and swipe his tongue through your folds, groaning at how sweet you taste.

When he pulls off of you, you’re fully expecting his next move would be to finally be inside you. What you don’t expect, is him backing up a little and pulling your legs back towards him so you’re back to lying fully flat on the bed. Before you even have a chance to question him he’s crawling back over you and lowering his head to whisper hotly in your ear, “Have you ever tried this one?”

The long and soft whine you let out goes straight to his cock as he lines himself up at your entrance and slowly pushes in. Pushing past the folds of your cunt that wraps so perfectly around him, he’s in awe watching it enter you. You, on the other hand, are on a different planet from the feeling the new position is giving you. He’s deeper than he’s ever been in you, reaching spots you didn’t even know existed, his hands pressing onto your back so hard you know there’s going to be imprints later.

The moans escaping from you are consumed by the sheets beneath you, his pace unrelenting as he holds you in place and ruts into you.

“Spence..” you whine softly.

The weight of his hands press your body further into the mattress as he leans down right next to ear and whispers hotly, “Yeah, baby?

The emotions builds in you fast and the need to kiss him becomes stronger, “Wanna see you…Need to see you.”

His hips stutter at the tone of your voice, so whiny and desperate, all for him. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, how he became the object of all your desires, how everyday you wake up and it’s him you choose repeatedly, and will continue to choose for the rest of time. You’ve always loved him, it was a fact you made sure that he knew every single day.

When he flips you over with a gentleness, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, hoping that the synergy flows between your contact and you can feel it in every nerve ending, just how in love he is with you. He think you got the message as he watches you move your hand between your bodies to grab at his cock and slowly guide back inside you while you both watch him push fully into you again.

He looks down between your bodies and watches his cock move in and out of you, mesmerized by the ring of slick that reappears with every pull out. It’s nearly automatic the way his thumb reaches for your clit and moves his eyes upward to watch you completely unravel at the hands of his touch.

Your brows are furrowed together in pleasure, “Fuck…’m close.” you mutter through a whine.

His hips snap to meet yours rapidly, “Yeah? Me too…” he taps your leg to lift it onto his shoulder, deepening his angle and circling you around the throes of your release. He grunts out, “Gonna let me put a baby in you?”

You clench down on him hard with a loud moan, neither of you expecting the effect his words had on you. Spencer chuckles and bends down to press love bites into the crook of your neck before trailing back up to your ear and whispers, “Didn’t think you’d be into me talking like that…you really want everyone to know who fucks you good every night? Want them to see you walk around with our baby in your belly?”

Your moans are uncontrollable at this point, it’s a miracle you can still hear him over the incoherent, borderline babbling sounds you’re making. He doesn’t relent as his hand slides up your neck to grip your jaw to hold your head in place, “Say it, I wanna hear you say it.”

A whimper falls out of you, “I—fuck—I want y—you…”

His hips slow down their pace, “Not good enough, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

The tiniest panic rises in you at the thought of him stopping, “No, don’t stop! Spencer, please. I want a baby, please want it all with you, please, please.” You realize in that moment you were never above begging to begin with, not when he’s between your legs offering you the world from the comfort of your sheets.

His pace quickens and groans at your pleas, leaning down closer so he’s chest to chest with you, “Oh, sweet girl,” he pants, “You’ll look so pretty carrying our kid, gonna drive me crazy watching you walk around.”

A string of moans trail out of your mouth, encompassed by the feeling of him inside you, the thoughts of your future together only adding to the intensity of the moment.

You weakly breath out, “Come inside me, please. Wanna make you a daddy.”

That was all Spencer needed to hear reach his peak and release into your cunt, rhythmic moans punctuating every thrust. Your grip on him tightens as you squeeze out every last drop of him. He feels himself become soft and gently pulls out, watching his come drip out of your hole. With a whimper he delicately picks up the excess with two fingers and enters you again, eliciting a languished whimper to match his.

“I know, I know, baby. Did so good for me, ‘m so proud of you.” he mumbles, watching the white coat his fingers as they move inside you. “Can you give me one more? Just one, I promise. Look so pretty like this, I can’t help it.”

You’re about to protest, feeling the sensitivity get the better of you when the pleasure hits again, another moan escaping you clearly telling him you can take it.

It’s a softer orgasm this time, a smaller peak but still lust filled and has you panting heavily as you come down from it. Spencer finally collapses on the bed next to you, his chest also heaving.

“You okay, baby?” he mumbles after a few minutes.

Words can’t fulfill you right now and all you can offer is a nod as you lazily lull your head over to him. He nods and reluctantly gets up from the bed despite your pout with a promise to be so quick, and returns with a wet cloth, a water bottle, and a fresh set of clothes for you. You let him gingerly clean you up before he helps dress you and slips right back into place beside you with a kiss to your temple.

“I love you…so much,” he whispers while pulling you into his embrace, “I really can’t wait to start a family with you.”

You hum contentedly, tilting your head up to press a kiss to his jaw, “I love you too.”

A few moments pass before he speaks again, “But…you’re still—“

“Still on birth control, baby. Don’t worry.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

Make it Steamy

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

A weekend at a cabin with your best friend, Simon makes the both you decide to take your friendship to the next level.

cw: MDNI (18+) fingering, oral (f receiving)

You let out a sigh of relief when you enter the cabin you’re going to be sharing with Simon. He brushes past you as he comes in behind you, holding your suitcases that he insisted on carrying. Tension between the two of you was high the entire car ride and you’re wondering if being here alone will finally cause everything to crack and you wonder who will be the first to break. 

You’re sure it’s probably going to be you. You’ve been feeling this way about Simon for so long and you think this is going to be the weekend where you finally make a move. You wonder if he feels it too. You see the looks he gives when he thinks you’re not looking. His hand was on your thigh the entire way up here so that has to mean something, right?

While he sets your bags in your rooms, you decide to take yourself on a tour, checking the place out. Simon booked the reservation and wouldn’t tell you anything so it’s all a surprise. Considering how spacious and nicely decorated the whole thing is, you just know that it had to cost a pretty penny even though it’s not very big. 

You make your way through the kitchen where there’s a sliding glass door that leads out onto a deck. Your eyes see nothing but the giant hot tub and you let out a sigh at how good that would feel on your aching muscles. Your job has been stressing you out and you can literally feel the knots in your shoulders. 

And you can’t help but let your mind wander, letting yourself think about Simon joining you in the hot tub, straddling his waist and-

“I’ve got some bad news,” he says, pulling you out of your dirty thoughts and you’re so startled that you feel like cold water has just been poured on you. 

“What is it?” You ask, turning to face him and he has that face that lets you know that you’re not going to like what he’s going to say. 

“There’s only one bed.” You resist the urge to bite your bottom lip, fighting off the smile when you hear those words. You’ve shared a bed more times than you can count so you don’t see why this is any different. He’s been acting weird the entire day and you can’t figure out why.

“So? We share a bed all the time. I missed your snuggles.” Simon normally loves sharing a bed with you. He loves that you let him hold you, but this time, it’s different. Seeing you in that tank top and short shorts is making his brain short circuit and if he’s around you for too long, he’s afraid of what he’s going to do. 

He wants to pull you close, to feel every inch of your naked body, to bend you over the counter and-

“Hello, Simon?” You wave your hand in front of his face and he shakes his head, reluctantly bringing himself out of the delicious daydream he’s been having for days. If only he was able to stop thinking with his cock. Then maybe he’d actually be able to be around you and not have to constantly go to the bathroom to adjust himself. He’s debating taking a shower and putting on some loud music so he can jack off to get it out of his system. 

“I think I’m gonna get in the hot tub if you want to join,” you tell him as you make your way to the bedroom to change. You don’t have to ask him twice. He makes a beeline for the bedroom and you’re already in the bathroom, surely getting changed. He wonders what little number you’ve packed this time, if you’ll let him take it off of you. 

You stand in the mirror, the bright purple bikini looking a lot better on you than it had in the dressing room. You’ll wonder if he’ll like this one, if it will be left floating in the water as you ride him. Part of you wonders if you should just take a cold shower instead to make yourself a less horny mess. 

You come out of the bathroom, feeling more confident than ever as Simon’s eyes catch on you, slowly moving over your body and your skin burns under his gaze. He looks like he wants to eat you alive and you think you might let him. 

He stands there, frozen and you make your way towards him, batting your eyelashes like you have no idea what you’re doing even though you can clearly see the outline of his cock in his swim trunks. 

“How do I look, Simon?” You ask and his mouth goes dry, all the words he’s ever known fleeing from his head. You look so good, so much so that he’s close to bending you over the bed beside you and having his way with you. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, his eyes moving down to the tops on your breasts. God, what he would give to be able to reach out and touch them. 

“You can touch me,” you tell him, your voice soft as you arch your back ever so slightly. “You can touch me any way you want.” You grab hold of his hands and rest them on your waist, your mind racing with all of the dirty things he could do with just his fingers. 

He doesn’t even care that you’re calling the shots-he actually prefers it. He loves being told what to do, knowing that he’d do whatever command fell from your pretty lips. He’s so in love with you, needs you so badly that he’ll do whatever he needs to in order to please you. 

He’s hypnotized, feeling dizzy as you stare up at him, his eyes now shifting to your lips that he so desperately wants to know the taste of. But he decides he won’t let himself until you tell him to. He just doesn’t want to overstep, to do something that you don’t want even though you’re looking at his lips too.

“Maybe we should get in,” he gulps, jerking his thumb in the direction of the hot tub and you wordlessly take his hand and lead him that way. 

You feel like you’re on a high. You’ve somehow made Simon nervous and you kind of like it, that you were able to completely disarm him with just a few words. You wonder what he’d do if you straddled him in the hot tub, if he would let you fuck him right there. Your mind swirls with all of the possibilities as you both get in, the water bubbling as you sit across from each other. 

The tension is palpable and you can’t help but smirk at the fact that he looks like he wants to eat you whole but he’s restraining himself, holding onto the edge of the bench so hard that his knuckles are white. 

You don’t even last five minutes before you’re making your way over to him. You straddle his lap, each leg landing on each side of his thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands hesitantly land on your waist. You stare at each other, both of you thinking about all of the nasty things you want to do to each other but neither of you are willing to make the first move even though you’re staring at each other’s lips again. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper and he does as you command, not holding back, pouring out everything he’s feeling for you into this kiss. It’s hungry, and desperate as you both take exactly what you want from each other. It’s teeth clinking and hands in hair, filthy moans. 

You can feel hard he is underneath you and you grind against him as a way to tease him. He looks like he’s about to bust and before you can even register what’s happening, he’s carrying you inside, lips still attached as he takes you to the bedroom. 

Once inside, he sets you on your feet, his lips moving down to your neck, kissing his way down your body until he’s on his knees. He goes to untie your bikini bottoms, letting them fall to the floor as he brings his fingers up to your cunt, moving them back and forth in a teasing manner and because you just need some relief, you grab hold of his wrist and shove his fingers inside you, moaning loudly at the sensation and Simon swears he’s going to bust right there. 

“Fuck,” you whine, when he begins to pump harder and harder, seeing how easily you’re able to come undone just from his fingers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you hold onto him for dear life, feeling your legs already turning to jello. 

“So tight,” he groans, his fingers moving at an even more rapid rate. “Let me fix that for you.” He keeps going, watching you as he fingers you, eating up your pretty moans and the way your throw your head back because of how good it feels. 

He’s hard beyond belief and despite how badly he wants to get inside you, he wants to taste you even more. He wants to watch you writhe as he eats you out, to fuck his face the way he knows you will, you scream with pleasure when you eventually come, his name falling from your lips. 

He watches you orgasm, his ego even bigger because all he used was his fingers. You’re so close to falling to the floor so he pulls his fingers out and steadies you, making sure to lick his fingers clean before he does so. 

“Can I eat you out?” He asks, and you look down at him, your eyes darkening as you do so. “Please.” He’s begging now and you never thought you’d ever get to see Simon Riley in this position. 

“How about it sit on your face?” You ask and he’s on his feet in an instant, throwing himself onto the bed and you join him, kneeling beside him as you take off your bikini top and throw it to the side. 

Simon can’t help but stare at your bare chest, your hard nipples, wondering how someone can be so beautiful. He swears that you’re more beautiful than he imagined, the star in all of his late night fantasies. But even those can’t compare to what’s happening now. 

You lean over and press your lips to his and he can’t help but think about how natural this feels, how he could kiss you for hours and never get bored. This could be what you do for the rest of the night and he wouldn’t complain. 

He’s so in love with you and he wonders how you would respond if he told you the truth. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep with anyone else after tonight, not that he wants to. You’re it for him and he wants to spend the rest of his life with you if you’ll let him.

You pull away before he’s ready then move up by his head, swinging one leg over and before he knows it, you’re sitting on his face and he doesn’t need to be told what to do. He begins at your clit, teasing it with his tongue and just that makes you moan loudly, the sounds almost pornographic and he pulls it into his mouth, giving it a rough suck. 

You must like that because you’re riding his face now, the prettiest sounds falling from your mouth as you do so. His hands move your ass, giving it a squeeze which makes you squeal and Simon can’t help but be amused by that. He then begins to knead, desperate for something to do with his hands. 

You grab hold of the headboard in front of you, as he bites down on your clit, going at it like a man starved and and you can’t help but think that this is the best head you’ve ever received and don’t think you’d ever let anyone do this after tonight. 

Once his mouth moves down to your slit, you already know that you’re going to come again, it’s rapidly approaching and the three words that have been on the tip of your tongue for years are blurted in a breathy confession as you reach yet another orgasm and as soon as the words are out of your mouth, your eyes widen, realizing what you’ve just said. 

You’re quick to climb off of him and his expression matches yours, his eyes just as wide as he takes in the words, really letting them sit. The silence is deafening and you’re silently begging, pleading for him to say something. 

“I meant what I said,” you’re quick to say, not wanting him to think it was just because of the orgasm he just gave you. Before you can even overthink, he smiles, and matches the way you’re sitting, getting on his knees as well. 

“I love you too,” he smiles as a hand reaches up and cradles your face in his hands as he pulls you into a kiss that’s nothing but teeth and giggles because of how happy you both are. “So fucking much.” His swimsuit is off in an instant and he lays you down on the bed, fully intending on showing you just how much. 

You stay like that the rest of the weekend, tangled up in the sheets, whispering just how much you love each other between giggles and sharing stories of when you first fell for each other. The weekend is nothing like you anticipated but you can’t say you’re upset with that. This is everything you ever wished for and exactly what you’ve been wanting your entire life. Needless to say you’ve both earned it.

[hsangel64]

can you write an Ellie x reader where Joel finds out they’re dating please 🩵

had a feeling

pairings: jackson!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: a small timeline of joel slowly finding out you and ellie have been together this whole time

warnings: slight angst, use of y/n, mild cussing, mostly fluff!

a/n: i hope i did this justice! i had so much fun writing this!

joel was a little oblivious when it came to ellie’s relationships, it wasn’t that he wasn’t aware who she hung out with, he just didn’t care to notice the times she snuck you in her garage or snuck out at night to go and see you. he never noticed until you became a bigger figure in her life, you were basically joined at the hip. joel watched from afar but didn’t ever think much of it, he’s met you and talked to you before, seems like a really good friendship.

you and ellie were good friends, dina had introduced you two but you only would really hang out with everyone else. that was until you both got drunk and made out, like a lot. after that you both decided it might be fun to just fool around, but little did ellie know is that you were basically in love with her. it had been countless nights of you pinning over her and the amount of times you would go to dina and just cry to her about it. you eventually made ellie realize a few things….with the help of dina. you and ellie had a long talk and she ended up asking you to be her girlfriend. she didn’t think she had to tell joel, she thought he could just find out on his own. its not like you guys were very secretive, he just didn’t pay attention sometimes.

the first time joel sensed something between you two was when ellie switched her patrols to be with you, basically begged tommy to switch with her every week. he didn’t think to ask her because he didn’t want to overstep but he did ask tommy.

“hey tommy.” he caught him in the stables.

“hey old timer whatcha need?”

“i’ve got a quick question for ya.”

“shoot.”

“is there a reason ellie’s been beggin’ for you to switch patrols with y/n?” tommy’s eyebrow quirked up in confusion and realized why he might’ve been asking.

“ellie just had told me that they’ve been talking more about that comic and wanted to get more time to hang out…why?”

“oh its nothing just been curious.” tommy nodded and said his goodbyes making his way out to get ready for his patrol, shaking his head at joel’s question.

after the conversation they had, joel kept his eye on the both of you, he didn’t want to pry but he couldn’t help but be curious. he noticed the touches and glances out in public, he noticed the she would pull you in for hugs.

a different time he thought it was a little suspicious was when ellie had went around trying to find someone to trade with to get some flowers. he was out one day helping people around town and he had seen ellie speaking to someone about flowers. she hadn’t noticed him so he stood close by and kept an ear open.

“hey do you have any idea where nancy is with her flower stand…is she not out today?”

“nope not today but you can probably find her at the greenhouses, why do you need flowers? you finally got a girl?” ellie laughed at the other girl and thanked her running past him and making her way to the greenhouses. he didnt want to be weird and follow but he remembered this, he noticed it all but like any time before he didn’t pry, he didn’t ask and he left it alone. that is until the day he accidentally walked in on you two…

he had made a big feast of food and was bringing ellie some of the leftovers for her to have. it was about 8pm at night so everyone should’ve been home, ellie usually has her door unlocked but he always knocks. he made his way over shivering from the cold wind, rubbing his hand on his arm. he sighed out and brought his hand up to knock, he heard loud music and made sure to make a mental note to tell her to turn it down since it was late. he knocked once, and then again, and then again but no answer. he leaned his head towards the door to see if he could hear anything but he could only hear the music. he figured she must’ve fallen asleep so he slowly opened the door to peak in, he was confused because she wasn’t in her bed so he opened the door more and saw the sight in front of him. it took him a bit to comprehend what was happening but once he did ellie noticed him and yelled at him to go away. you were laid on the couch and ellie was on top of you, you both had no clothes on and joel immediately covered his eyes.

“joel!”

“im sorry im sorry-“ he didn’t move from the doorway so ellie yelled at him more.

“what the fuck leave!” he frantically left the container on her nightstand by the door and quickly made his way back out. running back into his home and just trying to rub away the image of you and ellie. he groaned loudly and grumbled out ‘fuckin’ kids.’ making his way into his bedroom and getting right to bed.

the next couple of days ellie purposefully ignored joel and tried any chance to not be caught alone with him. after he left her face was beet red and was so embarrassed knowing that he had just caught them. she did not want him talking to her about it, it would be far too much for her to take. it would be even worse because she hadn’t talked to him about her sexuality, she figured he had some idea but she was worried he wouldn’t have accepted her for who she was if she confirmed that she in fact was gay. ellie turned to you during the rest of the week trying to figure out how to approach him, considering she had a dinner planned with him….with just him.

“els you just have to tell him, i know he loves you and would support you. plus you said that he probably knows and i think by now he would’ve stopped making an effort to talk to you.” ellie knew you were right, she knew, she just didn’t want to admit it. she was having a crisis and could only find you as an outlet.

———————————————————————————

the day had finally come and ellie was no where near ready to talk to him. she felt sick and paced her room the whole day just thinking of a way to tell him. you were busy that day helping with the little farmers market that was held every sunday so it made ellie’s anxiety even worse not having you there to calm her. when the time came she got up from her couch, grabbed her coat and the small tupperware of cookies you helped her make to ease the blow a little and shortly walked to the back of joel’s house knocking on the door and taking a the biggest deep breath. joel answered fairly quickly and welcomed her in.

“dinners almost ready if you want to just quickly set the table.” ellie nodded and grabbed the plates and silverware, they stood in a comfortable silence but they both felt that smallest bit of tension. the topic of conversation lingering in the air, feeling like ellie was going to suffocate. as dinner finished and they sat down, plating their plates and sitting for a second in silence before they both started to eat.

“this is delicious joel thanks..” he nodded at the girl in front of him in agreement.

“yeah i tried this new recipe for stew that maria gave me.”

“how’d you get her to give you that?”

“not too happy at what she made me do…that stays between me and maria.” he chuckled.

“oh come on.” and just like every sunday their conversation flowed like nothing was wrong, ellie nerves calmed and she was just there.

the topic still lingered between pauses of speaking but no one brought it up. they both thought it wasn’t the right moment to mention it, they were laughing and enjoying each others presence. as they finished dinner ellie helped joel bring the dishes to the sink and offered to wash them.

“eh don’t worry about it kiddo, ill do it tomorrow been on my feet all day.” she nodded at him and he proposed an idea. “hey let me make myself some coffee and lets sit on the porch for a bit, go on and set up that heater for us its a lil chilly.” she knew this was his way of coming up with a time to have this talk, so she took yet another deep breath and made her way out, grabbing a blanket on the way out and turning the heater on. she sat on one of the two chairs he had outside, he specifically made the other one just for her to sit with him on sunday nights especially during the summer.

ellie wasn’t sitting for long until she heard the door next to her open and close, joel placed his mug on the table and groaned as he took his seat. they enjoyed the sound of jackson on a sunday night, the soft music playing from the tipsy bison and the soft laughter of children playing outside by the house. they both had the same idea of speaking first.

“i have a- sorry go ahead- no you- sorry-“ they went back and forth both giving up and laughing at each other, ellie then mimicked her mouth being shut and gave him the stage to talk.

“so the other night…im sorry for walkin’ in like that i just figured you’d fallen asleep-“

“i promise its okay, it was a simple mistake.”

“good, thought you were mad at me.” ellie’s face dropped slightly and shook her head at him.

“no no i promise it was just a little awkward after..” they both nodded at each other and joel took another second before responding back.

“so you and y/n…are you guys….a thing?” it was now or never.

“um uh yeah we are…she’s my girlfriend.” joel nodded again and tried to find the words to respond back but it seemed too long for ellie.

“its okay if you don’t support it…i mean me being gay and shit, i just…there never was a right time to tell you.” shaking his head at her and waving his hand up.

“well that’s certainly not the case…i will support you no matter what you like, and if its girls ill be here to support you. plus i like that girl, shes very lucky to have you.” ellie’s eyes filled up with tears, quickly wiping them and nodding. they made eye contact with each other and joel let out a small ‘oh kiddo.’ he got up from his seat and pulled her up into a hug, kissing her forehead. they stayed there for awhile until ellie pulled back and looked at him.

“i don’t tell you a lot but i really do appreciate you joel, i’ve never felt this accepted with anyone and i’m glad its you that is there supporting me.” pulling her back in for a hug he chuckled slightly. she mumbled into his chest, ‘what..’

“i finally made you show some emotion…” she pushed him away and they both laughed at each other.

“oh fuck off!”

“hey why dont you invite her over next sunday for our dinner.”

“but you’ve met her before.”

“i know, but it’ll be the first full family dinner we can have.”

“id like that.”

“me too.” they went back to their playful selves and basked in the last bit of sunset they had left, sitting on the porch while ellie told him about the new comics she found. he happily sat and listened, the first time in a while where he felt good about life.

———————————————————————————

a/n: this went in a completely different direction than i had thought but i actually really enjoyed it and i think i did good! i hope you enjoy!!

[goorgeousz]

so close to what | aaron hotchner

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner x rossi!reader summary: almost two years after meeting (and falling for) aaron, you face him again at your dad’s party. and then he meets your new boyfriend. content/tw: alcohol, r and aaron get drunk-iesh, jealous aaron,  word count: 2.7k a/n: hey you guys, meet dbf!hotch and rossi!reader :) i’ve been working on this couple for a while and they finally made it out of the paper (out of my head, actually)! i know i should’ve posted how they met first, but that scenario only happened in my mind so i still have to write it down. lmk what you think <333 dbf!hotch request here! the idea of this came to me while i went through my shatter-me notes, and i found this scene that i absolutely loooooooooove with my other aaron husband (aaron warner). hope you enjoy it!!!!💗🪽

masterlist

It took you about five-to-eight small talks to find your father in his book release party, which was currently happening in the massive backyard of his lake house.

David Rossi was talking to a few other people, but as soon as his eyes found you everything else became secondary to him “There she is! Carissima, it took you long enough!” he said, grabbing your face and kissing both of your cheeks. You chuckled, hugging him back.

“The party is amazing, dad. Everything is perfect.” you said sincerely, looking around and taking in the whole thing. Expensive drinks and fancy snacks being served by well suited men, musicians playing jazz on the back and not one single person could be seen without a smile on their face.

“You look stunning, as always. Did you bring that boy of yours?” 

“Kyle is on his way.” you explained, getting a drink from one waiter and downing it on sight. David arched his eyebrows in question, but before you could find an excuse, a couple of old friends of his arrived, and he got busy playing host.

After talking to a few other guests, — because, apparently, the daughter of the hostess is a host herself — you moved to find the buffet, settling next to the finger food station and picking out your favorites. Just as you were about to try the third flavor of the bruschettas, you heard a voice right behind you.

“You should try the one with pesto and burrata.” even before you turned in his direction, even before that scandalous scent of his cologne found your nostrils, and even with the loud noise of the music and the people, you recognized him.

You recognized that voice, that raspy and low tone, and especially the way it made your whole body shiver in response. Your father’s best friend, a.k.a. the man you spend the past couple years obsessing over, after a summer trip. You haven’t seen him in person after that, and apparently there was no getting over him in sight. And the worst part? He knows it. He knew it back then, and you were sure he knew it right now.

But even though your feelings for him remained intact after two years, you weren’t going to act the same way you did back then. So, waking up from your – very brief, mind you – daydreaming, you realized he said something about a bruschetta. Realizing you were already going to pick the one he suggested, you hesitated, thinking – not in a stubborn way! Of course not – that now that he said it, it looked like you chose it because of him. Since your hand was already hovering over the table, it would have been weird if you just pulled it back without grabbing anything, so you just picked up the damn bruschetta with pesto and burrata, making a point of explaining yourself — because why wouldn’t you?

“I was already going to. Before you suggested.” you explained, turning to face him and getting startrucked by his appearance. He looked devilishly handsome with his expansive suit and his perfectly fixed hair, standing behind you with that signature stance of his that somehow screamed relaxed-but-ready-to-take-out-his-gun-and-protect-his-country all at the same time. One of his hands hung deep inside his trousers pockets and the other held a glass of scotch, probably picked out by your dad himself for his best friend ever(!!!)

Hotch just stared at you, decently nodding and pretending that you didn’t just embarrass yourself, which somehow made things worse. To try and change the focus of the interaction, you taste the bruschetta and the groan you let out with a muffled “Oh my god.” made him chuckle.

“Told you. I’ve had probably five of these by now. And I’m just getting started.” he confided, leaning in like he was telling you a secret. Damn him and his need to make you feel better. Fuck him and his great sense of humor. As you needed any more reasons to be attracted to him.

“Right.” you tried to smile in return. Having a feeling it didn’t work, you just cleared your throat, trying to take another sip of your drink – that, guess what, was empty.  “So… Long time no see.” you mentioned, not so subtly hinting that you remembered very well what happened the last time you saw each other.

Being the gentleman that he was, in a matter of seconds Hotch motioned to a waiter passing by and grabbed another glass, handing it to you. “Yes.” he agreed, not giving in if he remembered as well “You look great.” he smiled politely and you rolled your eyes, not being able to control yourself. You regretted it as soon as you catched the look in his eyes and the way he noticed it, stepping close “Is there something wrong?”

“Sorry, just a headache.”

“You should rest a bit. Do you want me to take you…” he asked, pointing to the house behind you. The feeling of being this close to him again, and the mere thought of being inside that house alone with him again, even after years, made you slightly panic. That’s the only reasonable explanation to why you said what you said after.

“I have a boyfriend.” he stopped in his tracks, his finger pointing to the house hanging in the air for a second before he shoved it back into his pocket. Hotch tilted his head to the side, squinting his eyes at you for a second.

“I know. Your father introduced him.” he then said, and something in the way he said it sounded like a scoff. Before you could dive into what that tone meant, you focused on the other part – which should be the important one – your boyfriend was there.

“Oh, Kyle’s here?” you asked, glancing around trying to seem like you were looking for him, not just relieved to not being trapped under his attentive gaze anymore. “I should look for him, it was nice talking to you!” you said, waving as you walked away to find your boyfriend.

You pretended you didn’t hear Hotch saying your name, trying to stop you from walking away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Using your boyfriend as a human shield – except for the fact that you were trying to hide from your own feelings – was how most part of the evening went on. The two of you walked around, drank together and connected with the sea of people there.

You and Kyle made a great couple. People wanted to approach you, and they weren’t just curious about Hollywood’s favorite new couple, you just were that good. And despite the fact that you were Rossi’s daughter, you had to give credit to Kyle. He was a sight for sore eyes. Tall, handsome, with that boyish charm that left people eager to be in his good graces. 

The two of you connected in one event, and became attached at the hip ever since. You had fun together, and for the first time after Aaron walked into your life you actually felt interested in knowing someone.

Despite all of this, because of the universe’s sick humor, everything you fought so hard to build immediately crumbled after one single interaction with Hotch. You were well aware that you grew up rather spoiled, with your dad doing pretty much everything in his power for you to have the life of anyone’s dreams. So it made sense for you to get attached to the one thing you couldn’t have.

But that wasn’t just it. Yes, you wanted him. Desperately. Yet, the thing that hung you to him, to this feeling, was the fact that you felt him wanting you too. Perhaps, just as much. You could sense his affection, his lingering eyes. You remember seeing right through him, noticing how hard he had to fight his own desire to not give in. 

And the fact that you got so close to getting it… it nearly drove you insane.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After a few hours, a whole speech and more drinks you couldn’t count on one hand, you felt yourself getting a couple stages over dizzy. The dangerous kind of dizziness that made your mouth pronounce words before you mind registered them.

Lucky for you, – and honestly, for him too – Kyle had another event to attend to, and had to leave a little early, leaving you alone with your thoughts – and the person who owned them.

Sensing you needed a break from all the talking, clutching a now refilled glass of wine, you paced around the backyard, moving away from the party and further into the property, finding an empty spot near the lake. It wasn’t as illuminated as the center of the event, and that, added to the lack of body heat, made you realize how cold it actually was.

You weren’t helping yourself though, having chosen a backless silky dress, it’s fabric doing a poor job in keeping you warm. As you leaned yourself on the little empty table, resting your glass of wine on its top and hugging yourself to keep your arms warmer, you heard someone approaching.

Before you needed to turn around you felt the weight of his presence, and you knew before you even saw it that it was Aaron. When you did face him, he was already closer, taking off his suit jacket – somehow without spilling his drink – and placing it on your shoulders.

The heat was so welcome that you didn’t even try to dismiss it, and if you actually thought of doing so, the way his cologne attached to the expensive fabric and surrounded you in a cloud of his scent, all coherent thoughts immediately left you.

“How is your head?” you heard him ask, and your mind completely blanked – because how on earth did he know that your mind was currently clogged with his cologne?

“Huh?” you bravely managed, not wanting to give yourself away too fast.

“The headache?” he offered, and you felt yourself blushing.

“Yeah, much better, thanks. I was probably just hungry.” you explained, and he nodded, humming in understanding. You tried to ignore the feeling that he was just mocking you.

“Thank you.” you said, tugging the jacket closer, really appreciating the heat “Now for the jacket, I mean.”. 

He dismissed with a shake of his head, “I thought I saw your boyfriend with two… three jackets?”

When you turned to face him, he had an eyebrow arched and the corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to stifle a smile.

“It’s part of the outfit…” you explained, your own voice dying in embarrassment. Because it made sense before, but now, under Aaron’s attentive gaze and the way he so easily gave up his own suit to keep you warm, the fact that your boyfriend couldn’t hand you one of his jackets for the sake of his appearance felt silly – and a little humiliating. And to down the embarrassment, you took another sip of your wine.

“Oh.” he simply said, and the sound amused you. When you looked at him again, you realize he did in fact look amused.

You noticed the little smirk playing on his lips, which he tried to hide taking a sip from his glass. For some reason, he didn’t take his eyes off you while he did it. Neither did you, and while you took in his appearance you realized he wasn’t as sober as you first thought.

No, better than that. Aaron Hotchner was drunk.

Not that kind of drunk, though. If it was anyone else that was drunk, you would call it being tipsy, but knowing Aaron and his usually – freakily-like – controlled nature, it was something to take a step back. Sure, he still looked perfectly tidy-ed up even without his suit jacket, his hair still in place apart from a few strands on the back that loose themself with the strong wind of the night. But what really gave him away was the permanent tint on his cheeks and the mischievous glint in his eyes, giving away the thoughts inside his mind, differently from his usual behaviour.

You stared at each other for longer than you counted, and when he broke eye contact to look away for a second, you watched the way his jaw tensed, the light and playful demeanor giving place to a sterner version of him. He furrowed his eyebrows as he faced the lake, his gaze way beyond everything in front of him.

He swallowed hard, and you watched the bob of his throat in a trance, almost missing when he asked, his voice hoarse and intense “What was he doing here?”

Silence.

You knew he was talking about Kyle, there wasn’t any room left for doubts, but the way he sounded so bothered made you stop for a second. Thinking he would come up with an explanation, you stayed silently watching him. But the way he stood there, maintaining eye contact with you, his furrowed brows in a look of exasperation, you knew he wasn’t going to take it back, so you had no other option than to answer.

“He’s my boyfriend.” you said bluntly. He nodded, seeming more impatient than before.

“Fine, let me put it this way: what is he doing with you?”

Your breath hitched, searching in his face any form of explanation to what he meant by that, and finding nothing other than raw denial, like he couldn’t grasp the fact that you ended up with Kyle. He was in denial, and it was killing him.

You were no stranger to the fact that Aaron did have feelings for you back then. Maybe not so pure and romantic feelings, but feelings nonetheless. And you could say the same thing about him: he was very well aware about how you felt towards him. In some ways, it was less embarrassing this way. Both of you knew about each other, but there was nothing you could actually do about it.

At least that’s how Aaron thought. Because he was the reason why you didn’t get together then, he was the one, and only one, who put his foot down and announced that you two could never happen.

Which honestly just made it even worse, because who the fuck did he think he was to make you fall for him, crush your expectations and almost two years later come up to you and bitch about your relationship that he wasn’t even a part of, and he had only himself to blame.

And you wanted to be mad, you really, truly did. Maybe deep down you were angry at him, but right now the thought that really occupied your mind was confusion. And that maybe, just maybe, the reason why he was so bothered by that was because he still felt something for you.

“Because… we like each other.” you tried, your voice sounding weaker than you wanted it too. Aaron laughed bitterly, looking away from you to face the lake.

“You like each other.” he repeated your words, and you grimaced at how unsure the sentence sounded.

“Y-yeah it’s very new. But he’s cute.” you started pointing, and he turned to face you again “And he’s smart. I like being with him, we go on walks together. And he’s good… He’s nice to me.” the fire in his eyes caused your mind to melt a little, and even though you tried to sound coherent, you failed miserably.

“It sounds to me like you should just get yourself a pet.” he then says, an evil smirk on his lips.

“What?” 

“They have the same qualities.” he shrugged, amused at your reaction.

“Wh… You… That’s not…” you tried, so fucking doubfounded at his words that you couldn’t get out a proper response. In your mercy – as if –, Aaron raised a hand, stopping your failed attempt at a dialogue.

“Just think about it.”

Before you could get it together, he turned around and walked away, not even bothering to get his suit back. You groaned, the anger finally making its way up into your heart. And what made everything worse was the fact that you were actually thinking about it.

taglist: all hotch @winyourheartemma all cm @s0urw00lf @deeninadream @khxna

[girlgenius1111]

my business

barcelona femení x teen reader after losing her best friend, r gets a meaningful tattoo, but gives her teammates no details about it. her older teammates, especially alexia whom she lives with, are furious that she didn't talk to them first. angst city, sprinkles of comfort [loss, grief]

—

It had always been the two of you. From the first day of kindergarten, when you’d both found yourselves playing with the toy cars in the corner of the room. You were fast friends; probably because there was something about the other that drew you together. You both came from broken homes, barely enough pieces of parents to craft together a family between the two of you. She’d been your family, for as long as you could remember. 

Even when you’d moved across the continent to Spain to play for Barcelona, you’d remained close. You facetimed at night, scrolling through tik tok compatible silence. As everything changed for you, things remained the same for her. She was stuck in that broken home, a mirror of the one you’d escaped. Football had saved you, but Jackie hadn’t had a savior. And when you left, she was all by herself. 

Now you were too. 

—

You lived with Alexia, which wasn’t quite your choice. You’d started off in an apartment in the same building as some of the other younger players, but an amalgamation of circumstances had you moving into Alexia’s only a month into your first season at Barcelona. 

The call had, ironically, come in the middle of a very long 10 days all by yourself in Barcelona. It was just your luck that you’d picked up a strain in your calf the week before, leaving you off the squad for your own national team. Initially, you’d been looking forward to some down time. Then the call had come in, and you were thrust into the painful realization that you were all alone. 

Olga was kind, above anything else, and she hovered a lot less than her partner did. The first five days had been a nice break from the rush and chaos of your regular schedule. Maybe you would have told her, when you got the call, if she’d still been there. Olga had to go to Madrid for work. After dropping Olga off at the airport in Alexia’s cupra [though you had an identical one, you swore hers was better], you’d gone home, the prospect of complete freedom very appealing, not that you’d really do anything crazy. 

The soft jingle of your ringtone broke through the silence, a silence that felt full of opportunity, even if it was just cooking in the kitchen with the music blaring. Sometimes, as you lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you wondered what would have happened if you hadn’t answered the phone. It wouldn’t have changed anything. Jackie would still be dead. The car that sped through the crosswalk without looking would still have slammed into her.  

You answered the phone. Jackie was dead. Your world fell apart. There was nothing more to it. There was nothing you could do, no way to think yourself out of the pain. It was there, hot and searing. All for you to deal with, all by yourself. 

It was a weird form of karma, perhaps, that you were now just as alone as you’d left Jackie to be. 

—

It wasn’t entirely a conscious decision that brought you to the tattoo shop. One minute you were looking back through your texts with Jackie, and the next, you were in the chair, shirt pulled up as the buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room. 

It was a small black and white illustration of a lemon tree. The school where you’d met each other had a lemon tree in the back, next to the playground. The two of you would sit there together at recess and talk. As you got older, you still returned to the lemon tree, even once you were both much too old to be sitting next to a playground. 

Under the lemon tree had been the last place you’d seen her in person. You’d gone home to visit her for a few days, and you’d spent your last few hours under the lemon tree together, talking about everything and nothing. That had been months ago, now. 

Your calf injury had not only taken you out of the international break, but it had ruined your plans to see Jackie whilst you were back home. It had been a long time since you’d seen your best friend, and you were more than a little disappointed that you couldn’t. After several profuse apologies, Jackie had told you not to worry about it. She’d see you sometime soon, and she didn’t need to watch you play in person to be proud of you.

 ‘I’m always proud of you,’ she’d said. 

There were about 2 months until your 18th birthday, but it turned out that in Barcelona you didn’t need to be 18 to get a tattoo, you had to be 16. So, off to the tattoo shop you’d gone, with nothing more than Jackie’s last text repeating in your head over and over. You didn’t think about the consequences, didn’t really think about anything until it was done, until the tattoo artist was carefully laying the second skin over the raw patch on your upper arm. 

Lost in your head, you left the tattoo shop. The habit you had of not watching where you were going, instead staring at the ground under your feet as you walked, was something that had caused you trouble more than once. And now, it seemed it would again as you practically crashed into someone the minute the door shut behind you. 

“¡Oye, cuidado!” 

You stumbled backwards, eyes still fixed on the ground, opening your mouth to apologize before you froze. You knew that voice. Your head snapped up and, ironically, the first thing you spotted was ‘looks can be deceiving’ inked into your teammates neck as her tattooed arms flew into the air with exasperation. Her face turned from annoyed to surprised, and then she broke into a wide grin.“¿Pequeña?” 

“Hola, Mapi.” You replied quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.” 

“No, no, it’s–...” Mapi trailed off, something on your face, something raw and painful catching her attention. She studied you for a moment, both of you blocking half the sidewalk as people grumbled and stalked past you. You waited for her to realize, her eyes flicking up to the sign above the door behind you. 

Mapi’s jaw dropped, her hand coming to grip your elbow and pull you over to sit at a nearby bench. “Did you get a tattoo?!” She hissed, surprise and concern etched deep into the lines of her forehead. 

She was downright floored. You were the team’s resident well behaved teen. Not since you’d moved in with Alexia had you stepped a toe out of line. Undertaking the extra film sessions and disgustingly high protein dinners with little complaint, you were practically a miniature version of your captain. 

And it wasn’t that everyone was opposed to tattoos or something, it was just that you were so young. You’d talked about getting a tattoo before but Alexia and Mapi had convinced you to wait until you were older. For you to break that promise, to go behind Alexia’s back while she was out of town… it was completely out of character. And it was for this reason that Mapi wasn’t upset. She was concerned. 

How you could have forgotten Mapi was still in Barcelona, seeing as though she wasn’t playing for Spain any longer, you weren’t sure. But that miscalculation had backfired greatly. Something in the very back of your head begged you to take the hand that was suddenly outstretched, trying to pull you out of the ocean you were drowning in. Mapi was right there, and she’d listen. Mapi always listened. You didn’t have to be alone anymore, but the thought of saying it out loud… that Jackie was gone and you were broken, you just couldn’t do it. Letting Mapi in would hurt too much, you decided. 

“Yes.” You answered shortly. 

The defender looked taken aback, her brow knitting together. She seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment, her concern for you doubling as she took in your appearance. You looked like you had barely slept in days, eyes red and puffy. It seemed impossible for you to sit still, your knee bouncing rapidly as your hands fidgeted with the sleeves of your sweater. Eyes anywhere but on her face, Mapi realized that whatever was wrong with you was serious. 

“Are you… what’s wrong, pequeña? What’s happened?” María inquired gently, her hands resting on your knee. You shifted away from the touch, your whole body suddenly seeming to tense. 

“Nothing. Nothing happened. I just wanted a tattoo.” You replied mechanically. 

“But… we talked about this. Me, you, and Ale. I thought you were going to wait–”

“Well, it isn’t up to you and Ale, it’s up to me.” You hated how hostile you were being whilst simultaneously having no idea how to behave any differently. Your body was in fight or flight, refusing point blank to admit to Mapi that you were very far from okay. 

To your chagrin, Mapi only seemed to soften further, the sympathy and concern on her face making your chest feel like it was on fire. “Nena, I don’t think–”

“I have to go, María. I have… I have an appointment. I’ll see you at training on Monday.” Abruptly, you stood, only just catching the way Mapi tried to reach out for you again. You didn’t listen as she tried to stop you, didn't look back once you turned around and speed walked away from her. 

You weren’t sure what you were doing, and maybe that was just what life would be like from now on. You weren’t sure. You just knew that verbalizing the grief and emotion you felt would make it unbearable. 

And behind you, still sitting bewildered on the bench, Mapi wasn’t sure what to do either. She could follow you home, insist you talk to her. That didn’t feel right, because you clearly wanted space. 

You’d been fine when she saw you at training last week, which made her think that the rest of your teammates wouldn’t know anything either. Mapi knew you loved your younger teammates, the ones much closer in age to you, but she also knew how careful you were about bothering people. No, you wouldn’t have called one of them for help. 

She’d definitely be calling Ingrid, but that was more for her own sake than yours. Ingrid wouldn’t have the answers, because she’d been gone, too. 

The most likely option of who would have more information was Alexia. Obviously, because you lived with her, you were close. But if Alexia knew something was wrong, she never would have left you behind without a word to Mapi to check on you. Likely, Alexia didn’t know anything either.  

And of course, María could call Alexia, but she knew her captain well enough to know that whatever overbearing reaction Alexia would have to try to figure out the problem and solve it would be suffocating to you. 

That left only one person.  

—

The noise of your rather melodramatic playlist must have drowned out the front door opening. You weren’t expecting anyone home today, so you froze when you heard footsteps beginning to ascend the stairs. Terrified, you grabbed the bat you kept under your bed and crept closer to the door, allowing the music to keep playing. 

Counting to three in your head, you grabbed the knob and twisted, flinging the door open and holding your bat up in the air at the ready. Olga jumped back, her hand raised as if to knock. 

“¡Joder!” 

“Jesus!” 

You both exclaimed simultaneously, Olga putting her hand over her heart and you dropping the bat to the ground. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow?” You questioned. 

Olga had been looking at you in alarm, evidently still startled from the scare she’d just had. But as soon as you asked why she was home early, she seemed to gain control of herself, her body language softening as she stepped closer into your room. 

“Mapi called me.” The brunette said gently. Instinctually, you took a step back from her, trying to put space between you and the wrecking ball that was trying to break down the walls you’d so carefully crafted over the past few days. Olga didn’t move any closer, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. “Can I see your tattoo?” 

Her question caught you off guard enough that you nodded rather dumbly, rolling up the sleeve of your sweatshirt so that your bicep, and its new lemon tree, was exposed. 

Olga studied it for a moment, reaching out to grab your arm and have a closer look. “It’s pretty.” 

“Thanks.”

There was a beat of silence, both of you waiting for the other to address the elephant in the room. The brunette broke first, raking a hand through her loose hair. 

“Alexia is not going to be happy about this, pequeña.” Olga sighed, running her thumb over the pink tinged skin. 

You shrugged, pulling your arm from the older woman’s grasp. You didn’t care if Alexia wasn’t happy about it. In fact, that was the absolute last thing on your mind. 

“María told me that–”

“I don’t care what Mapi said.” You snapped. Olga simply raised her eyebrows at you. “I have a headache, Olga, I really don’t want to talk right now.” 

You turned, walking back over to your bed and sitting on the edge. Your posture was stiff, everything about your body language screaming to Olga that Mapi had been right, that something was really wrong. 

“But you know you can talk to me, yes?” Olga called after you. Freezing, the words sent a pang of anxiety through your chest. Another hand, the same ocean of grief. You couldn’t take it. Forcing a smile, you looked up at the brunette. 

“I’m good, I don’t have anything to talk about.” 

Olga sighed again, a sound you were beginning to hate. Her eyes bore into yours, and you knew she didn’t believe you for a second. “I can tell something is not okay. You are not okay. I came home to help you, pequeña.” 

Something between a scoff and a huff of air escaped you. “I am okay. I don’t need your help.” 

Olga shook her head, pulling the sleeves of the oversized Barcelona sweatshirt she was wearing down over her hands and crossing her arms. She looked so concerned, and it made your skin crawl. You couldn’t. You couldn’t. If you said it out loud, that made it true, and a part of you wasn’t prepared to accept that truth yet. 

A beat of silence, then another. Finally, Olga broke eye contact, resigned. 

“Well, if you change your mind, I’m here for you. And I won’t tell Alexia about that,” she nodded her head at your arm, “but you need to.” 

That, at least, you already knew. 

—

As luck would have it, no one’s paths really crossed the day Alexia came home. She’d stopped at her mother’s house for her Uncle’s birthday dinner, and by the time she got home, you were in bed, asleep. It had been oddly quiet on your end while she’d been gone, which she had chalked up to frustration with your injury. 

Alexia cracked open your door, finding you fast asleep in your bed before walking into her bedroom, body drooping with exhaustion. Captaincy duties had kept her in Madrid for an extra day, and she’d gone straight from the airport to her Mami’s house. She was more than ready to take a quick shower and collapse into bed before she inevitably had to get going again for the training session in the morning. It was just recovery, but still. 

As she entered her room, feelings of both love and sadness washed over her. The bed was still made, a soft pair of pajamas and a soothing face mask laid out on the bed for Alexia by her girlfriend. It made her smile, just briefly. Though Olga had gone to spend the night at own parent’s house, she’d thought to do something so simple and so kind for Alexia. 

Alexia stepped in closer to the bed, her lips quirking up into a small grin as she noticed the pajamas Olga had laid out were her favorite pair. Something on her nightstand caught her eye, though, a piece of paper with Olga’s familiar neat cursive marking it. 

Something is up with pequeña. I promised her I wouldn’t say anything, but go easy on her, and see if she’ll talk to you tomorrow after training. I love you. Olga. 

Alexia studied the note closely, feeling like she was missing something. You’d been fine when she left… and now you weren’t? Something was so wrong Olga felt the need to warn her yet still wouldn’t give Alexia a clue as to what was wrong because she’d promised you she wouldn’t? It was all odd, to say the least, but Alexia truly didn’t have the energy to try to figure it out at the moment. Instead, she set the note aside to be dealt with in the morning, and began her nighttime routine. 

Completely unaware that on just the other side of the wall, you were sobbing into your pillow, wishing for anything at all to make the pain stop, even if it was just for a second. 

—

You managed to keep it a secret until the next day, at training. Alexia had kept a very close eye on you all morning, which was odd, but you weren’t really paying attention to it. It was obvious you were just going through the motions, numbly and robotically hugging Alexia back when you wandered into the kitchen for breakfast, politely listening to Alexia’s stories from camp in the car. Still, her eyes were on you, and you didn’t think she was the only one watching. 

You’d almost made it through training, in fact, just pulling on a fresh shirt before you headed home when you heard Alexia’s sharp voice ring out through the locker room. 

“What is that?” She hissed. 

You jumped away from her like her words had scalded you, immediately tensing and crossing your arms over your chest. Your shirt was fully on, now, so the rest of your teammates were looking at you in confusion. Well, all of them except for Mapi. 

Alexia stomped closer, grabbing your arm and shoving your sleeve up once again. “You got a tattoo!” She gasped. “What were you thinking?! Who did it? Who would do this to a child? This is unacceptable, you are too young to be making a decision like this–” 

“Well, in Barcelona, actually, the age without parental consent for a tattoo is 16, and nena is 17.” Pina piped up from behind your captain. You shot her what you hoped was a grateful look, but you were pretty sure it just came across as terrified. Alexia turned slowly in Pina’s direction, glaring at the young forward for a moment. 

She was visibly fuming, nostrils flared, face red, vein in her forehead beginning to pop out. Angry Alexia was not a person anyone wanted to cross, and before she even had to speak a single word, Pina was throwing her bag over her shoulder, grabbing Patri’s hand, and all but dragging her out of the locker room. It would have been amusing if you weren’t so utterly terrified. 

You shrunk under Alexia’s gaze, and she tried to remember Olga’s note, telling her to go easy on you because something was wrong. All Alexia could think about, though, was when you’d promised her, sworn to her that you wouldn’t get a tattoo before you turned 18 and had properly considered what you wanted. It wasn’t so much the tattoo as it was the blatant breaking of a promise you’d made her. Well, it was the tattoo, too. 

Wordlessly, Alexia grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the locker room and into the hall. You knew better than to try to pull away. She was going to yell, it was just a matter of location. 

“What were you thinking?” Alexia asked, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at you. All she saw was a kid, a kid who had been left alone for a week and broken a promise she’d made. A kid who’d just permanently inked something into her skin without so much as running the idea by anyone who cared for her. 

And you… well, you were a shell of yourself, truly. Somewhere deep inside you, anger began to bubble up. 

“I was thinking that I am legally allowed to get a tattoo.” You stated plainly. 

“You promised me that–”

“Well, I changed my mind.” You interrupted. “I am an adult, I’m allowed to change my mind.” 

“You are not an adult! Are you insane? This is not a decision an adult would make, I do not understand how you can stand here in front of me without any guilt–…”

 You began to tune your captain out, because she’d gotten that one part wrong. You felt guilt. Guilt and regret and pain. She didn’t even know the half of it, and she hadn’t even tried to ask. 

Olga and Mapi, they’d known something was wrong, but you hadn’t wanted to talk to them. If Alexia had asked, you would have told her, but instead she was shouting, yelling at you like you’d done something wrong and it was all too much for you to take. Without thinking about the consequences, you shoved past Alexia and made a break for the door, breaking into a full sprint as you exited the building. You weren’t sure where you were going, just somewhere far. Far away from questions and feelings and disappointment. 

—

Somehow, you ended up sitting under a tree in a park near Alexia’s house. It was an unconscious decision. Sometimes you’d come here to facetime Jackie, and both of you could pretend you were in the same place, back home. Pretend you were under the familiar branches, sitting in the patchy shade the tree provided. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine the trunk behind you, with both of your initials carved into the bark. 

But this wasn’t a lemon tree. Jackie wasn’t next to you. She wasn’t even on the phone with you. Jackie was gone. And for the first time, you felt the gravity of what that meant hit you fully in the chest. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. 

Jackie would never get to leave your hometown like you had. You wouldn’t grow up together. She wouldn’t come see you play at Camp Nou. She’d never become a vet like she wanted to. She’d never hug you again. 

And you… you’d never have a chance to tell her the truth. To grab her hand in yours and whisper the words you’d been terrified for years to say. You’d never know what it felt like to have her lips on yours, to hear her heartbeat in your ear as you fell asleep. You’d never know what she would have said when you told her that you’d been in love with her for years. That there wasn’t anyone else on earth for you. All you wanted was her. 

She’d never get to know that.

You’d never get to know if she felt the same way. 

The not knowing… that was almost as painful as her being gone. But not quite. Because you’d make a deal with the devil in a minute if you could, settle to just be her best friend if you could have her back. Having her in your life, in any capacity, would be better than the aching emptiness that currently suffocated you. 

You hadn’t known life without Jackie since you were very small. And secretly, you’d hoped you’d never know life without her. You dreamed of her moving to Barcelona, into an apartment the two of you shared. Bickering over the decor, and making sure she didn’t study too hard. 

With Jackie gone, she took that dream with her, and the reality you’d suddenly give anything to have back. 

Your best friend was never coming back. You didn’t care about football, or Alexia, or tattoos, or any of it. You just wanted Jackie back. 

It wasn’t entirely clear to you when the tears had started, but you didn’t think they’d be stopping anytime soon, and it was starting to get dark out. Crying your eyes out under a tree in a park as the sun set below the horizon didn’t seem like a phenomenal plan. And though it felt like a gargantuan task, you sat up and took a few deep breaths. 

It wasn’t lost on you that while your entire argument hinged on being an adult, you were not acting like one right now. You swiped at your face, trying to rid it of tears while you pulled your phone out of your pocket. You had 15 missed calls from Alexia, 10 from Olga, and a handful from a few of your other teammates. It was mostly annoying, honestly, until you opened your text chain with Alexia. She was panicked to begin, beside herself after her 6th test. 

Come home, now.

We need to talk about this.

Tell me where you are, I will come get you.

Nena, this is not funny. Answer the phone.

I know you are upset with me, but you need to answer. Now.

Just tell me that you are safe, please.

Nena?

You felt bad for worrying Alexia, and disappearing, but somewhere in between your sadness and your guilt,  anger had taken root. Replying to Alexia over text, as opposed to calling her, was fueled by your anger. And maybe a bit of fear. 

It was a short walk home, not nearly enough time for you to rid your face of all evidence of your emotional breakdown. Maybe, though, Alexia would stop and listen, if she saw the state you were in. 

Gripping the knob in your hand, you took a deep breath. You pushed the door open warily, and Alexia stopped her pacing to turn just in time to see you walk into the house. You were still a bit tearful, and still very angry, but Alexia didn’t care. She crossed the room in a few long strides, placing her hands on both your cheeks. 

“Are you okay?” She asked urgently, eyes flitting over you to check for injuries. Honestly. You’d been gone for two hours. 

“I’m fine.” You snapped, shoving her hands away from your face. That was all it took for Alexia’s face to drop into one of anger. Or maybe, the anger was just veiling her hurt. Either way, she was suddenly just as furious as you. 

“What were you thinking? Running off like that, not telling me where you went. You are irresponsible and thoughtless, and this is exactly why you are not mature enough to be making permanent decisions about your body, like getting a tattoo. I am so angry with you, nena-” 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” You scowled, shoving Alexia’s hands even further away from you. “I am an adult,”

“Adults do not storm off for several hours. Adults do not act like you are acting, and I-”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t understand!” You knew you sounded like a teenage cliche, but you were past caring. 

“I do understand. You want to feel like an adult, so you make a stupid decision you think is mature-”

“It’s not stupid.” You snapped, anger growing by the second. The insult felt like a knife to the chest. Your lemon tree wasn’t stupid, your Jackie wasn’t stupid. 

“Well, it wasn’t smart! You are going to regret this, look back on it and wish you hadn’t gotten a ridiculous, idiotic tattoo for no reason other than-”

“Shut up!” You yelled. “Shut up Alexia! You have no idea why I got it, you haven’t even asked, you don’t get to yell at me when you haven’t even tried to understand.”

Olga had moved to hover in the doorway, motioning wildly for Alexia to calm down. Alexia’s eye twitched, and she took a few calming breaths. “Then tell me. Help me understand.” 

You didn’t even want to tell her anymore. You didn’t care if she understood or if she forgave you or stayed mad at you forever. You didn’t care about anything. All the fight seemed to drain out of your body, eyes fixing on your shoes as you finally told the truth. 

“My best friend from home… she died, last week, while you were away. I got it for her.” 

Alexia’s jaw dropped in horror, regret hitting her like a train. God, what had she done?

“I… oh, nena. I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t. I don’t need your pity, I just need you to leave me alone.” With that, you turned on your heel and headed for your room, 

—

You wished you didn’t need Alexia. You wished you could take the space you’d asked for, wished you could hold onto your anger and make her hurt the way she’d hurt you. As it was, though, you couldn’t. You managed 20 minutes alone in your room, sobbing into your pillow before you pulled your phone out. It was too much, it was all too much, and you knew that despite the colossal fight you’d just had with her, Alexia would want to help you. And you needed help.

Your breaths were coming in short gasps, spots dotting your vision. You weren’t even sure if you were still crying, or just hyperventilating, or maybe dying, but you had tried and failed to calm yourself down. You threw your pride to the side, and sent the text. 

Help please.

It had barely been marked delivered for a second before you heard Alexia’s thundering steps heading for the stairs, pounding up them, and then she was throwing your door open. She took one look at you before turning and shouting down the stairs to her girlfriend. 

“Olga, get her medicine from the cabinet please!” 

And then her hands were pulling yours away from your face, her comforting voice breaking through the deep ringing in your ears. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You just need to breathe, slow down and let yourself breathe.” She encouraged, shifting so that she was sat next to you. Her hand began to slide up and down your back, and you gripped at her free hand in panic. 

“I-I can’t-” 

Your captain shushed you softly, using her free hand to turn your face in her direction. “You can, just slow down, everything is okay.” 

How could she say that? How could anything be okay? 

“It hurts,” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands and leaning into Alexia’s embrace. 

“I know.” Her voice sounded choked up, her hands shaking just barely as she pulled you in tighter. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Your chest burned with a need for oxygen, but just in time you heard footsteps rushing into the room, and Olga was pulling your hands away from your face, your anxiety medication in hand. Everything seemed slightly blurry, slightly out of focus, as you took the small pill and a sip of water from the glass in Olga’s hand. You could hear both of them talking, but the words weren’t processing in your head, which was pounding with an incessant headache suddenly. Flopping back onto the bed, you shut your eyes tightly, pressing the heels of your hands to your face. 

It seemed as though the unintelligible voices quieted, Alexia probably realizing you weren’t quite there with her anymore. You felt her grip your hand in hers, and you focused on the rise and fall of your chest, picturing your lungs steadily filling and emptying over and over until it no longer felt like someone had your chest in a vice. Alexia’s voice began to filter through again, soft reassurances whispered in the very quiet room. 

“You’re okay, hermanita.” Alexia murmured. She slipped and called you that sometimes; little sister. You pretended to hate it, normally, but now you just squeezed her hand tighter. 

 “You can breathe, you are safe.” Her voice was comforting in a way you couldn’t explain, washing over you and reinforcing the similar mantras you were repeating to yourself. You were okay. You could breathe. You were safe. 

Somehow, you felt yourself getting drowsy. Probably a combination of the anxiety medicine, the intense emotional stress of the day, and the fact that you’d barely slept the last few days. Eyes falling shut, you felt the bed shift next to you. Soon, a blanket was being draped over your body, a gentle kiss pressed to your forehead. 

“Rest, nena. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” 

You let yourself drift off, hoping somewhere in your head that you’d dream of Jackie. 

—

It felt like hours had passed when you woke, and the numbers on the clock agreed with that sentiment. Your body felt stiff, your head still ached, but you didn’t feel as though you were suffocating anymore. Gingerly, you rose from your bed. You had to face the music; better to get it over with now than wait and make the anticipation worse. Unsure of what awaited you, you cautiously crept downstairs, hearing the soft murmur of several different voices. They fell quiet as you shuffled down the hall and turned into the living room, Finding Alexia and Mapi sitting in the armchairs next to the window. 

Wordlessly, you moved over to the sofa, falling down onto it and waiting for the impending… well, you weren’t sure. Maybe they’d yell. More likely they’d have a billion questions. You’d almost prefer the yelling. 

“Feeling better?” Alexia inquired, shifting in her chair to face you instead of Mapi. Her fading blonde hair was in a lopsided ponytail, as if she’d thrown it up while pacing, something you’d seen her do more than once. Mapi, too, looked stressed, her fingers fidgeting and pulling at her cuticles in her lap. 

“Yeah.” You shrugged. In a very general, baseline way, you supposed you did feel better.

It was quiet for a moment longer, and you really couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was heavy, weighted, and it was grating on your nerves. “Just you two here? I expected half the team.” 

Mapi, bless her, cracked a smile, but Alexia remained solemn. 

“They wanted to come, but we decided it would be better just us for now.” Mapi explained. You were about to reply with another quip when Alexia seemed to burst, unable to contain her questions for a moment longer. 

“Nena, why didn’t you tell me about your friend? Why didn’t you tell anyone about it?” 

You shrugged. “You were all busy with your national teams. I didn’t want to bother you, and you were all far away. I dealt with it myself, it’s fine.”

“It is not fine. You lost someone important to you, and you did not tell me. You did not tell Olga, you did not tell Mapi when you saw her. You were all alone dealing with this.” Alexia’s voice seemed to waver and you flinched. This was why you hadn’t said anything. You didn’t want to burden anyone else with your issue. 

‘Did you not think we’d care? I would have come home in an instant if you’d called–”

“I know you would’ve. I didn’t want you to.” You cut in, trying to assuage Alexia’s guilt, but somehow only making it worse. 

“But why?” 

“I just needed to… process. I need to figure it out, and I didn’t want to talk about it.” 

Alexia still looked bewildered, but Mapi was nodding sympathetically. 

“That’s okay. I know Ale is doing a really bad job of showing it but we aren’t mad at you. We are just worried, we just want to help.” 

You nodded mechanically, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. How you weren’t cried out to the point of dehydration, you weren’t sure. 

Alexia cleared her throat. “I.. I’m just so sorry. This was Jackie, yes? Your best friend?” 

Best friend. Yes, she was. She’d never be more than that. You’d lost the person you loved and your best friend in one fell swoop, and the agony of that reminder didn’t fail to bring tears to your eyes again. wordlessly, you nodded, resting your elbows on your knees and putting your face in your hands. 

You felt both Alexia and Mapi move closer, squeezing onto the sofa on either side of you, but the comfort suddenly felt suffocating. 

“Please, guys, just leave me alone. I just need a minute and I’ll get it together.” You mumbled, trying to stand and make a break for it. Two sets of hands pulled you back down, though. 

“No. You are crying, I am not going to leave you alone. I am going to sit right here. We can talk or we can just sit, but I am here for you, okay? You do not have to deal with this alone.” Alexia promised, her voice thick with emotion. Mapi’s hand rested on your back, hand running soothing circles over your shirt. 

It was at this moment that you knew you couldn’t keep it in any longer. try as you might, Alexia and Mapi weren’t leaving you to deal with this on your own, weren’t letting you deal with this on your own. You’d never been able to tell Jackie your true feelings. But they had to be shared, had to exist outloud or you were sure the love you had for her would fade in time, and you never wanted that to happen. 

“I loved her.” You admitted quietly. 

“I know. She was your best friend–” Mapi soothed, squeezing your knee with her free hand. 

You interrupted her, pulling your hands from your face and looking between your teammates with bloodshot eyes. “No. I.. I loved her.” 

Mapi and Alexia froze almost simultaneously, matching shocked looks etched into their faces. Then, Alexia was wrapping her arms so tight around you that it hurt, pulling you into her. 

“Oh, nena.” She whispered. 

You were crying again before you could even try to stop it. 

“I never got to tell her. She never knew. And now she’s gone, and she’ll never know.” 

It was too much pain for one person to carry, more than both Alexia and María knew they’d be able to handle well. And you were so young, and so shattered. They didn’t have the right words to fix this, at least they didn’t think they did. All they could do was try. 

“She knows now. She knows how much you love her now.” María said quietly. 

Your bottom lip quivered as you looked at her, so much hope in your eyes that Mapi almost cried herself. 

“Do you think so?” Maybe you were desperate to believe anything that would make you feel better, at this point. But you didn’t really care. 

“She knows.” Alexia affirmed. 

Nodding shakily, you fixed your gaze on the fluffy white carpet underneath you. “I don’t know how to do any of this without her. I don’t want to.” 

Your teammates sighed, exchanging a glance as they shifted closer to you. 

“I don’t know how to help you.” Alexia admitted. “But we’re going to figure it out together, sí? Whatever you need, however you need to process this. We’re here. You aren’t alone, pequeña.” 

Mapi hummed her agreement, and you seemed to relax for the first time all day. Perhaps this whole time, that was all you needed to hear. 

That even if no one could make it better with a snap of their fingers, you weren’t alone. 

You settled back onto the couch, squished in between your two teammates, somehow knowing that fact, even if they hadn’t said it. 

Nothing was fixed, your very soul still hurt. But you weren’t alone. 

—

i did not proofread and i dont love the ending but here we are! i hope you enjoy <3

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝒷𝒶𝓇𝒾 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You and Geo have always been so close that sometimes you wonder if there’s an unspoken thing between you two.

Are you just really good friends? Or is there something deeper neither of you is willing to say out loud? Of course, you could always just ask him. That would be the normal thing to do. Instead, fate—or your own questionable choices—ties you to a much more hands-on way of figuring it out.

So, is this just another weird chapter in your situationship or the moment that finally forces you both to admit the truth?  

Only one way to find out.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Sooo, I stumbled across a header picture by @mint0hhh on Twitter, then commented, "HELP, I’M WRITING A FANFIC ABOUT THIS!" …except I never actually did. So a promise is a promise; I made this fanfic EXTRA LONG, so even though I’m very late—here it is.

Also, I included @alienfreak124 OC, Perssila Keithens as the reader’s friend and Crowe’s girlfriend. Sorry, not sorry to the Crowe fans. I HAVE officially switched sides to the tall, silent type.

Geo stole my heart~

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: geo x afab!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn (but with tension), mutual pining but make it stupid, light bondage, small smut part, awkward intimacy, geo is soft (but not really), and perusal absolutely is done with you.

No one really knows Geo. 

People just accept his existence as a natural phenomenon. He’s there, he does things, he’s filthy rich for some reason, and he knows how to handle a weapon with the kind of ease that makes you wonder if he was trained in a secret underground assassin program as a child. 

No one dares to get on his bad side. No one knows his hobbies. No one knows his personality. No one knows anything.  

Except you.  

For some reason, you made the cut. Congratulations. You’re one of exactly two people in Geo’s life that he actually likes. Maybe not in front of Crowe because, let's be real, he plays favorites, but it’s pretty damn close. 

To this day, you’re still baffled by the fact that when you casually admitted you liked being around him, he just... agreed. Like, straight-up nodded and went, “Same.” No hesitation. No sarcasm. Just acceptance.  

Which was shocking, because Geo does not, under any circumstances, like people. He barely tolerates society. 

The only reason he’s slightly more bearable now is because of Crowe, his first friend—who, let’s be honest, probably deserves a medal for putting up with his cryptic nonsense for so long. But let’s rewind—why did Geo allow you to be around him?

According to him, you’re "interesting." Which is bullshit, because compared to his lifestyle, you’re about as interesting as a blank piece of paper.  

See, there’s this saying: the quietest people have the weirdest interests.

And oh boy, does Geo live up to that. Over time, you’ve picked up on his oddly specific, borderline ancient-man hobbies: potted plants—a whole collection, opera music—who even listens to that willingly?

Theatre—he could quote Shakespeare in his sleep, cats—makes sense, and reptiles—also made sense, but in a ‘he’s definitely plotting something’ way.  

Everything about this man screams, ‘I am a young adult but my soul is a retired professor who sits in a leather armchair and contemplates the meaning of life.’

And yet, despite his old-as-hell interests, his quiet judgmental stares, and the fact that he could probably take you out in 0.3 seconds if he wanted to—you still love him.  

Old-ass hobbies and all.

As time went on, you started noticing something about Geo—most of his hobbies, the ones he actually lets you see, seem to be deeply tied to his Japanese culture.

Like, ridiculously tied to it.

The way he listens to opera music when he’s focusing? Turns out it’s specifically Japanese opera. His appreciation for theatre? Kabuki and Noh. Even the way he arranges his potted plants—it’s not just some random aesthetic choice, it’s done with an almost ritualistic precision that makes you wonder if this man has secretly mastered the art of bonsai pruning in his free time.

But here’s the thing—Geo never talks about his family.

Like, ever.

And when someone does bring it up?

He effortlessly sidesteps the conversation like he’s dodging arrows in slow motion. The man could be the heir to some untouchable, secretive empire, and no one would ever know because he simply refuses to acknowledge it.

Despite being filthy rich, he lives like someone who’s been independent his whole life—fully in control, fully detached.

No explanations. No unnecessary details.

No personal history. And, well… you’re curious.

Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little—but more in the "I am slowly realizing how little I actually know about my closest friend who, by all logic, should have kicked me out of his life by now, yet for some reason tolerates my presence despite allegedly hating people" kind of way.

It’s been picking at your brain for a while now, but there was no one you could talk to about it without sounding weird. Who were you gonna ask? Crowe?

Absolutely not.

Because Crowe—your usual go-to source for all things Geo—has been utterly, completely, and frustratingly useless. Not in a mean way, of course. No, it’s like he refuses to tell you anything in the most annoyingly polite way possible.

"Oh, sorry, can’t talk—buried in paperwork." The first time you ask. "Ah, you know how it is—so much to do, so little time!" The second time you ask. "Oh wow, would you look at that? Another report to file!" At this point he was just fucking with you.

Like Sir. Just say no and move on. At this point, you’re convinced the paperwork is a myth—just an excuse so he doesn’t have to answer any questions. 

Which is how you found yourself out at a chill bar, drinks in hand, with the one person who might actually give you answers—Perssila Keithens. The manic pixie dream girl. The alternative-broke-college-student-in-heavy-debt. And quite possibly the coolest and best girlfriend Crowe has ever had.

Actually, scratch that. She’s not just his coolest girlfriend—she’s one of the coolest people you know, period.

You adore her.

Understand that Perssila and Crowe were the first people to help you when you ended up in the Low-Class building, and honestly? You might not have survived that transition without them.

They made it easier. Better.

And while Crowe is the reliable, big-brother type, Perssila is the type of person who somehow always knows exactly what to say—whether it’s life advice, existential ramblings, or just some insane conspiracy theory that somehow sounds plausible when she says it.  

Need life advice? She’s got you.

Existential ramblings at 2 AM? She’s down.

Random conspiracy theories? She makes them sound weirdly plausible.

And right now? You need help. If anyone could help you figure out the absolute mystery that is Geo, it was her.

You take a slow, contemplative sip of the deep red wine in your hand, watching Perssila as she processes everything you just dumped onto her. She stares at you. Blinks once. Tilts her head. Opens her mouth—closes it. Squints.

Then, without warning, she snorts—an ugly, loud snort that startles the guy sitting at the table behind her.

And then she loses it. Like, full-on wheezing, slapping the table, looking like she just heard the funniest thing in the entire world.

“Oh my God,” she chokes out between gasps, “you’re—you’re stalking him.”

You nearly choke on your wine. “What?! No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!” she howls, wiping tears from her eyes. “You’re out here piecing together this man’s entire existence like you’re some detective in a slow-burn mystery novel, and for what? Because he likes plants and doesn’t trauma-dump on you?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “I barely know anything about him!”

“Oh, boo-hoo!” Perssila mimics fake crying, dramatically dabbing at imaginary tears. “You poor thing, your filthy rich, ridiculously handsome, archery-prodigy friend won’t trauma bond with you. How tragic.”

You groan, letting your head fall back. “This is serious, Perssila.”

“Is it?” she shoots back, grinning like the devil. “Or do you just have a little crush on Mr. Mysterious?”

You almost drop your wine glass. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t you ‘excuse me’ me,” she smirks, leaning in. “I’ve seen this before. The accidental obsession, the need to figure him out, the sudden interest in his culture like you’re about to write an essay on it—classic pining.”

You scowl. “I do not have a crush on Geo.”

“Uh-huh.” She takes a slow, smug sip of her drink. “And I totally don’t owe six months of rent.”

“Perssila.”

“I’m just saying!” she grins, propping her chin up with her hand. “If you wanna get all up in his business, just ask him out already. You’d get answers and possibly a rich boyfriend. Win-win.”

You groan, dramatically slumping forward. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me,” she sing-songs, swirling her drink. “And you love Geo, too. It’s okay. You’re in a safe space.” Perssila is still grinning like she just won the lottery at your expense when you sigh and swirl the wine in your glass.

"First of all, I don't love Geo. Second of all, Crowe is also lowkey rich. You know that, right? He was in high society before he got kicked out—same as Geo."

Perssila snorts and leans back in her chair, balancing on the two back legs like she has no regard for gravity or her spinal cord. 

"Yeah, but Crowe humble with it. You can tell he grew up rich. Man’s got that ‘I was raised with money but still humble enough to not be a complete dick’ energy." She explained, "Geo, though? Geo acts like he just spawned into existence one day with a full bank account and a bow. He’s a smug asshole."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Okay, but seriously—you know anything about Geo's past? I feel like Crowe knows, but he just refuses to tell me. Like, I get it—privacy and all that—but it’s weird how little anyone knows about this guy."

Perssila tilts her head, tapping her chin. "Mmm... Well. Yeah. I know a little."

You nearly choke on your drink. "Are you serious?”

"Why do you think I let you buy me this wine?" she says, smirking. You narrow your eyes. "That was not the deal."

"It is now," she shrugs, taking a slow, smug sip. "Anyway," she continues, resting an elbow on the table, "Geo’s the same as Crowe. Formerly ranked as High Class—was probably on his way to being untouchable, too. But then there was this incident—a near accident or something—and Subaru’s status plummeted. Next thing you know, he's been transferred down to the Low-Class building, and boom—mystery man appears."

You sighed, listening, "Okay and…?"

She rolled her eyes at you. "And my point is—dude went from being top of the world to low-tier real quick. So yeah, it makes sense why he keeps to himself. Probably doesn’t want people prying into his past. Which, by the way—" she levels you with an amused look, "—is exactly what you're trying to do."

You groan, sinking into your chair.

"I just want to understand him."

Perssila snickers. "Yeah. That’s what they all say before they fall madly in love." You consider throwing your entire glass of wine at her.

Just for a second, anyway. Perssila twirls her wine glass between her fingers, watching you with the kind of smirk that suggests she’s having the time of her life watching you suffer.

"Look," she says finally, leaning forward. "If you’re that curious, why not just hang out with him more? I mean just go over his place, bothering him about Japanese culture of all things—might as well keep the momentum going."

You shoot her a dry look. "Bothering?"

She grins. "Annoying. Pestering. Loitering in his presence like a cat that refuses to be kicked out—take your pick."

You take a long, long sip of wine, debating whether or not it's worth the effort to argue. Spoiler: It’s not.

Perssila props her chin on her hand, watching you with an unreadable expression. "But honestly? I think he might actually be more willing to talk if it’s you."

You blink. "…What?"

She gestures vaguely. "I mean, I’ve seen the way he acts around you. The way he actually responds instead of just ignoring people into oblivion. He listens to you. He pays attention to you. You think I don’t notice the way his eyes flick over when you’re talking? Like he’s actually engaged?"

You scoff. "He insults me half the time."

"Yeah, but in a constructive way," she says, dead serious.

"What does that even mean?"

Perssila shrugs. "I dunno, man. He doesn’t tolerate anyone unless he has to, but you? You’re like this weird exception. He puts up with you—voluntarily. That’s gotta mean something."

You stare at her, processing. "…So what, you think if I just keep hanging out with him, he’s gonna start spilling all his secrets?"

She smirks. "I think if anyone’s gonna get him to talk, it’s you."

You squint at her. "You’re saying this. You, who just five minutes ago was laughing at me for giving a single shit about this man’s life."

Perssila grins, sipping her wine. "Yeah, but now I’m having fun watching you spiral."

You groan, slumping onto the table. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," she sing-songs.

You do not dignify that with a response. But as much as you hate to admit it… She might have a point.

You’ve spent most of your time around him, yet most of what you know about him has been pieced together through sheer observation, like you’re some amateur detective tailing a particularly secretive suspect. 

Sure, you’ve figured out some things—his absurd wealth, his love for bow and arrow, his absolute refusal to react to most human emotions—but beyond that? The man is practically a ghost.  

So one day, curiosity gets the better of you. Instead of coming at him with a grand interrogation plan—because, let’s be honest, he’d shut that down immediately, you decide to start small. Real casual. Real low-stakes. Just like what Perssila said. 

"Hey, Geo, can you teach me more about Japanese culture?"  

You brace yourself. You expect something—a deadpan stare, a scoff, maybe even a sarcastic ‘Oh sure, let me clear my nonexistent schedule for that.’ But no. Geo doesn’t even blink. He just looks at you, considers it for all of one second, and says—  

"Yeah, sure."

Just like that. No hesitation. No follow-up questions. No cryptic conditions or exasperated sighs. Just a casual agreement, like you’d asked him to hand you a napkin or something.  

And now, here you are.  

Dressed in a dark purple velvet top, the fabric rich and soft against your skin, its lace-trimmed V-neck adding just the right touch of elegance without feeling overdone. Sleeveless, effortlessly stylish, yet comfortable enough to move in.

Then there are the denim shorts. Not the stiff, awkwardly long kind that makes you look like you borrowed them from a lost tourist. Not the aggressively high-waisted ones that practically scream ‘I’m trying too hard’. No, these fit just right—cuffed at the hem, hugging your thighs in a way that’s both flattering and casual. The kind of fit that feels natural, like they were made just for you.  

To pull it all together, you pair them with deep purple tights, perfectly matching your top—subtle, yet polished. A balance between laid-back and put-together, casual but undeniably ‘intentional’.

You weren’t dressing to impress, per se. But if Geo happened to take notice? Well… that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

What...?

Don’t look at yourself like that.

It’s not like you're not here for a date or anything. It’s just a casual cultural lesson, nothing more. But let’s be honest—if you’re going to spend time with Geo, a man who looks effortlessly cool even while glaring at people, you might as well put in some effort.  

Now, getting to this moment? That was a whole other battle.  

Standing in front of his door now feels like a victory because getting into this building was a nightmare. 

First of all, Geo’s place isn’t just some high-end apartment. No, this place is fortified. Locked down tighter than a government facility. You half-expected to see snipers on the roof and retinal scanners at the entrance.  

The lobby alone had more security than an underground vault. And let’s talk about the front desk—the lady sitting there? She took one look at you, scanned you up and down like she was a human lie detector, and immediately hit you with:  

"Do you have an appointment?"

And, of course, because Geo is Geo, he wasn’t answering his damn phone.  

The first call? Ignored.  

The second? Straight to voicemail. 

By the third, you were starting to wonder if you should just accept defeat and go home before you got physically removed from the premises.  

“If you don’t have a resident escorting you in, I’ll have to ask you to leave—"  

Then, finally, Geo picked up. "Yeah?" 

"Geo, open the damn door before I get tackled by security."  

There was a pause. A long one. You could feel him debating whether or not he actually cared enough to let you in.  

Then, at last—the golden words. 

"You can come up." Click. 

No ‘sorry for the wait,’ no ‘I was busy,’ just those four words, and he hung up. And now, after making it through what felt like a high-security clearance checkpoint, here you are. Standing in front of his door, mentally preparing yourself for whatever the hell this cultural lesson is going to entail. 

The door swings open, and there stands Geo—towering as usual but looking noticeably different from his usual composed, almost untouchable self.  

Black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. A tight, black sleeveless workout shirt that clings just right to his broad chest and toned arms. And the finishing touch? A white towel lazily draped over his head like he’s some kind of retired warrior fresh out of battle or, more accurately, a guy who just took a shower and couldn’t be bothered to dry his purple-bluish hair properly.

"Hey," he says, voice deep and casual. "Sorry, I just got out of the shower."  

Your brain? Gone. 

Just poof, Out the window.  

Because first of all, when the hell did Geo have muscles like that? You always knew he was strong—archery class legend and all—but this is next-level. Broad shoulders. Defined arms. That tight shirt clinging like it was custom-made for him. The kind of physique that makes it very clear he doesn’t just train for precision—he trains to kill. 

And second of all—this man really just answered the door looking like this, completely unfazed, like he didn’t just hit you with a full visual assault. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, struggling to form a coherent thought, your brain short-circuiting like an old Windows XP system.  

Geo, of course, notices immediately. Because of course, he does. He quirks an eyebrow, giving you that unreadable, slightly judgmental stare of his. "...You good?"  

You blink rapidly, realizing you’ve been staring for way too long. "Huh? Oh—yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Totally normal. Yep."  

Geo doesn’t look convinced. "...You sure?"  

"Yes, absolutely, 100% fine, nothing weird happening here at all," you say, definitely not sounding like someone who just had an internal crisis over their best friend’s post-shower look.  

Geo shrugs, seemingly letting it go, before stepping aside with that effortless, unbothered grace of his. "Come in. Make sure to take your shoes off."  

The moment you step inside, it’s like entering another world—one that is so distinctly Geo that it almost feels surreal. His apartment is nothing like the cold, modern, minimalist penthouses you’d expect from a ridiculously wealthy guy.

No obnoxious glass walls or sterile, personality-devoid furniture. Instead, it’s an elegant, traditional Japanese-style home, infused with warmth and quiet sophistication.  

Dark brown wooden floors stretch across the space, polished to perfection, so smooth they practically reflect the soft, ambient lighting. The walls are lined with beautifully crafted wooden panels, accented with shoji screens that subtly filter the sunlight, giving everything a serene, almost dreamlike quality.

It smells faintly of cedar and something else—maybe incense? Or maybe it’s just the natural scent of the place, like old books and earth after rain.  

Everything is arranged with the precision of a man who either has way too much self-discipline or secretly enjoys interior design.

The furniture is low to the ground—traditional tatami mats, a perfectly placed chabudai table in the center of the living room, and plush zaisu chairs without legs inviting guests to sit comfortably.

A bonsai tree sits on a small wooden stand near the window, pruned so meticulously that you wouldn’t be surprised if Geo meditates over it in complete silence for hours at a time.  

And the plants—oh, the plants.  

Lush, thriving, impossibly well-cared-for.

A variety of potted greenery lines the corners of the room, each one placed with almost suspicious intent as if they weren’t just decoration but rather a carefully curated collection. They look too healthy, their leaves glossy and vibrant.  

You narrow your eyes. 

This man definitely talks to them when no one’s around.

No dust. No clutter. Nothing out of place. It’s so perfectly maintained that you wouldn’t be surprised if he has a precise time schedule for cleaning, organizing, and making sure everything remains in its exact position.

Even the books on the low wooden shelves are arranged with an almost obsessive precision—some in height order, others in a specific color gradient.  

It’s the kind of home that feels like it belongs to someone with complete control over every aspect of their life. Someone disciplined. Someone who doesn’t let chaos seep in.  

Geo doesn’t give you time to keep gawking at his ridiculously well-put-together apartment. Instead, he just gestures lazily toward the open sliding door leading to his private balcony.  

"You wanna sit outside? The weather’s nice."  

You nod, mostly because you're still trying to process the fact that you're even here in the first place. Geo invited you over. He didn’t scoff, roll his eyes, or hit you with the usual "Why do you care?" deflection. Nope. He straight-up agreed. 

And now, you’re in his very Japanese—let’s not overthink that—ich-person apartment, about to learn more about him in the only way you could think of—by asking about his culture.  

Because let’s be real.  

You had no clue what else to ask him.

You could've asked him about his interests, his childhood, his favorite color—literally anything that would make this mission of ‘Figure Out Geo’ easier. But no. Your brain completely short-circuited, and the first thing that tumbled out of your mouth was:

"Teach me about Japanese culture."

Which, looking back, is hilarious.

Because let’s be real—Geo’s entire life is already Japanese culture. That’s not some hidden interest of his; that’s just his reality. It’s like walking up to a fish and asking it to teach you about water.

But hey—if nothing else, at least it gave you a solid reason to be here. And considering how rare it is for Geo to willingly spend time with anyone, you were not about to waste this opportunity.

"Is there anything specific you wanna learn?" Geo asks, already making his way toward the kitchen, rolling his shoulders like he’s still shaking off the remnants of his shower. "Or are we just gonna chill until something comes up?"  

You thought for a moment, “Not sure yet, still thinking about it.”

You follow him, stepping out onto his private balcony—because of course he has one. And not just any balcony. No, Geo’s balcony is a whole experience.

The dark wooden floors extend outward, resembling a carefully crafted deck that seamlessly blends into a patch of neatly maintained artificial grass. It's modern but still carries that traditional Japanese touch, like the rest of his immaculate apartment. 

A soft breeze rolls through, bringing with it the scent of greenery—mini bonsai trees placed with precision, a perfectly arranged rock garden that looks like it belongs in a meditation retreat, and even a few bamboo plants swaying gently as if they, too, had been trained to stay in line with Geo’s whole aesthetic.

And then, there's the setup.  

Off to the side, there’s a neatly spread blanket on the ground, surrounded by a few pillows that look way too comfortable to be casually ignored. You squint at it. Did he… did he actually set this up ahead of time? For you? 

Geo, the same man who doesn’t even like answering basic questions about himself, prepared for this? You glance at him, but he doesn’t acknowledge your obvious staring.

Instead, he casually lifts the towel from his head and drapes it around his neck like some kind of makeshift scarf before heading toward the kitchen.

As if he didn’t just casually prove that he does put effort into things when he wants to.  

"I’ll make lunch," Geo calls over his shoulder, already moving with the kind of quiet efficiency that tells you he’s got a plan. "Might as well feed you while you’re here."  

You blink. "You can cook?"  

Geo stops mid-step. Turns his head slightly. Levels you with an expression so flat it could press a shirt. His eye twitches. Just a little. The slight downturn of his lips—the barest hint of a frown—tells you everything.  

He is not happy.  

"Of course, I can." His voice is sharp, clipped—cool in that ‘I’m one second away from throwing you out’ kind of way. "I’m not so useless that I don’t know how to cook."  

Right. Of course. Rich, hyper-competent, and mildly terrifying. It was stupid to assume he wouldn’t know how to cook. What else was he going to do in his free time when he wasn’t being a god-tier archer or brooding in corners like some tragic anime character?  

Geo gives you one last, unimpressed glance before continuing toward the kitchen, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the audacity of your question.

He pulls open a cabinet with precision, grabbing ingredients with the same efficiency you’ve seen him use with a bow. There’s no hesitation, no wasted movement—like he’s trained for this.  

You watch as he moves, effortlessly switching between prepping ingredients and heating up the stove, his focus entirely on the task at hand. He doesn’t need a recipe and doesn’t even pause to think.

Everything is second nature.  

You settle onto the blanket outside, still processing the fact that this is actually happening. You are here. Geo is willingly spending time with you. And now, he’s cooking for you.  

All right. Step one of ‘Figure Out Geo’ is officially in motion. Now, the real fun begins.

With Geo busy in the kitchen, you take the opportunity to ‘explore’—not snooping, of course.

Just… observing.  

You step lightly down the hallway, the soft padding of your feet barely making a sound against the dark wooden floors. The place is eerily silent, save for the faint sounds of chopping from the kitchen. Geo’s apartment is massive, and yet it feels too orderly like every single item has been placed with careful intent.  

The walls are adorned with sleek, traditional touches—dark wooden beams, sliding shoji doors, and minimalist decor that screams expensive.

The warm glow of soft lighting casts gentle shadows across the space, adding an almost serene atmosphere. Potted plants rest in the corners, each one thriving in a way that suggests meticulous care. 

Everything about his home is clean, and precise.

Just like him.

But as you move deeper, something feels …off? Like there’s l no family photos. Not a single framed memory, no candid snapshots, no evidence of a past beyond the person he presents to the world. Instead, the walls are lined with framed art—landscapes, abstract pieces, and traditional Japanese prints. Beautiful, sure. But impersonal.  

No childhood photos. No family portraits. No friends. Just silence and a carefully curated existence. Weird. Your curiosity gets the best of you, and before you can fully think it through, your fingers move on their own—lightly gripping the handle of a sleek wooden dresser drawer and pulling it open just enough to peek inside.  

What you find makes you pause. Rope. A lot of it. Neatly coiled, stacked with precision, different thicknesses, and textures. Some of them have knots already tied—intricate, practiced, deliberate.  

Your brain short-circuits.  

Why… does Geo have so much rope?  

Is he an extreme camping enthusiast? A *very dedicated climber? Does he secretly moonlight as a sailor?  

…Or worse.  

Has he been preparing for something?

Your mind spirals through every possible scenario, and none of them make sense. You reach for one of the coils, running your fingers over the smooth, tightly wound fibers. The knots aren’t random; they’re specific—intricately done, almost decorative. Like whoever tied them had skill.

That’s… concerning.

You need an outside opinion. Grabbing your phone, you quickly type out a message to Perssila. 

You: Hey, random question—what does it mean if someone has, like… a concerning amount of rope in their dresser?

You hover over the send button, still staring at the strangely organized collection of rope. Your thumb twitches, hovering just above the message. What the hell is Geo into? You can't help but wonder. You're so lost in thought that you don't even notice the heavy silence settling in around you.

And then it hits you.

That presence.

The unmistakable, terrifyingly silent presence of Geo standing directly behind you.

You freeze. Your heart leaps into your throat, and your phone feels suddenly too heavy in your hand. You don’t dare move—just stare at your phone, unable to even blink, your thumb still lingering a breath away from sending the text.

Slowly—very slowly—you turn your head.

Geo stands there, towering over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that seems to fill the entire room.

He leans slightly forward, his hands pressed flat against the dresser, a move that traps you in place.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, the slight tension in his muscles that only emphasizes just how much bigger he is than you. 

His presence alone is overwhelming—an unspoken dominance that somehow manages to feel both protective and intimidating. His expression is unreadable—his features smooth, his eyes sharp, with that cold intensity that’s become all too familiar.

But his gaze? Heavy. Like he’s weighing you, evaluating you, and you’re not sure you’re winning this game.

"Aren’t you nosey," he murmurs, voice impossibly calm, almost too soft. "You find something you like?"

You swallow hard.

Oh. Oh, you messed up.

You don’t even get the chance to respond. The next thing you know, you’re gently nudged out of the room and back onto the balcony, your feet barely brushing the floor as Geo wordlessly leads you outside. You sink onto the blanket, feeling the cool fabric beneath you like it's somehow a symbol of your failure.  

Geo follows you out with a tray in hand—cut-off sandwiches—seriously, did he cut these into perfect triangles just to mess with you? And a steaming cup of green matcha tea that looks like it could’ve been brewed in a high-end Japanese teapot or straight from some Zen temple. 

He sets the tray down next to you, and you swear you feel the weight of his gaze even before you look up. You sit with your arms crossed over your chest, awkwardly trying to look like you're not completely out of your depth here.

The sandwich corners are a little too neat, and the way the matcha steam rises is almost a little too calm. Your eyes avoid his—because the last thing you want is to see that expression.  

Geo sits right next to you, arms crossed, then turns and looks down at you with a silent intensity that feels more like a lecture than anything else. His gaze isn’t soft. It’s deliberate, calculating like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything, that doesn’t sound like an awkward mess.  

You stare at the sandwiches. They’re perfectly arranged—just like everything else in his life.  

He doesn’t break the silence.  

Finally, after a moment that feels like an eternity of pretending you’re not absolutely freaking out, you glance up at him. You have to. He’s just sitting there, legs spread wide, shoulders broad, looming over you, radiating a sense of control that makes you feel even smaller than you already do. His eyes—cool, dispassionate—lock onto yours.  

"Are you going to eat or just sit there and stare?" His voice is as sharp as ever, but there's a hint of something you can’t quite place.  

You blink, then look down at the platter again. The sandwiches look innocent enough. You pick one up, hesitating for just a second before taking a bite. It’s delicious—of course it is.

The kind of simple yet elegant meal that somehow makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a high-class tea ceremony instead of a quiet afternoon with a guy who’s clearly got way too many layers for your brain to handle.  

Geo keeps watching.  

Geo’s eyes don��t leave you as you struggle to form a response. The air between you both is thick, every second stretching longer than it should. He doesn’t even blink, waiting for you to find your words.

"You know," Geo’s voice cuts through the silence again, low and sharp. "You came here to learn about Japanese culture, right?"

You nod, though it’s more of a reflex than any solid commitment to the plan.

"But..." He raises an eyebrow, his voice turning slightly more curious, but still with that edge. "Do you actually want to learn about Japanese culture, or is it just an excuse to figure me out?"

The question hits you like a bucket of ice water. Your breath catches in your throat as you freeze, staring into his unreadable eyes. You open your mouth, but no words come out at first. You’ve got no idea how to respond. Not without sounding like a total idiot.

"Well?" His voice is quieter this time, the same calm tone, but there's something deeper—something that feels a little too close to the truth for comfort.

You shift uncomfortably, your fingers nervously tapping the side of your tea cup. Your heart rate picks up, and your mind starts scrambling. 

What did you even come here for? 

To understand him? To learn about his life and mind? Or maybe—just maybe—you were trying to learn something else. Something about Geo that you knew he wasn’t just going to hand over easily.

The silence stretches on. And then, all at once, you give in.

"Okay, fine," you blurt, not caring how much it sounds like you're confessing something you’ve kept hidden for a while. "I… I wanna know more about you…” You started before adding, “Not just Japanese culture. I mean, I do want to learn about that too, but it’s kind of hard not to get curious about you when you're this impossible to figure out."

The words tumble out of you faster than you can stop them. The rush of honesty almost makes your head spin. You haven’t admitted this to anyone, and now it feels like you've exposed yourself in front of someone who could probably read you like an open book.

You finally glance up at him, expecting some kind of judgment or mockery, but instead, Geo’s expression doesn’t change. He’s still watching you closely, not saying anything. His eyes are calculating, sharp as ever, but there’s a faint softness in them. Just a flicker of understanding. 

And then, just when you think you’ve completely bared your soul to him, Geo does the unexpected. He leans back slightly, a small but knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Mhm,” he says again, but this time, it’s not quite as cold. "So you’ve been trying to figure me out all this time, huh?"

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you quickly take another sip of matcha to hide the embarrassment.

Geo shifts, his posture still relaxed but somehow more at ease now. "Well, you’ve got a whole rest of the day. But I’ll warn you," he adds, his voice low and serious, "I’m not as simple as you think I am.”

You narrow your eyes at him over the rim of your teacup. "Yeah, no kidding. You’re like one of those 5,000-piece puzzles with no edge pieces and half the picture missing."  

Geo snorts, just barely, but you catch it. A tiny victory.  

"I’ll take that as a compliment," he said.

"Wasn’t meant to be," you mutter, stuffing a sandwich into your mouth before you say something else that could get you kicked out.  

Geo watches you chew like he’s evaluating your life choices, then tilts his head slightly. "So, since you’re so determined to learn about me, go ahead. Ask something."  

You swallow your bite too fast and nearly choke. Great. Fantastic start.  

Geo waits, unimpressed, while you regain control of your breathing. You rack your brain for something that won’t make you sound like an idiot. "What’s your favorite color?" Too basic. "Have you ever been in love?" It’s too invasive—you’re not trying to get kicked out twice in one day.  "Why do you own an unsettling amount of neatly coiled rope?" 

…Yeah, no. That’s gonna have to stay a mystery for now.  

So instead, you blurt out, "Do you talk to your plants?" Geo blinks. Slowly.  

Then, in the most deadpan tone possible, he says, "Do you talk to your plants?"  

"That’s not an answer!" 

He raises a single, judgmental eyebrow. "That’s not a real question."  

You gape at him. "Excuse you, I think it’s a very real question. Considering the fact that your plants look like they get more love and affection than most people." Geo doesn’t even try to argue. He just shrugs, gaze flickering out toward the balcony where his suspiciously thriving potted plants bask in the sunlight like spoiled little creatures.  

"I read that talking to them helps them grow," he finally admits, voice casual, but his eyes dart to the side like he knows you’re about to make this a Thing.  

"Oh my god," you gasp dramatically, leaning forward. "What do you say to them? Do you whisper sweet nothings? Give them motivational speeches?"  

Geo exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a sigh you’ve heard from him so far. "You are unbelievable.”  

"I need to know. Do you call them by name? Compliment their leaves? Tell them you’re proud of their progress?" He levels you with the flattest look imaginable. "Are you done?"  

You beam. "Not even close."  

Geo stares at you for a moment longer, then—without a word—reaches forward, plucks a sandwich from the tray, and shoves it directly into your mouth. Your muffled protests do nothing.  

"You talk too much," he mutters, leaning back like he didn’t just feed you like a disobedient pet. You chew aggressively, glaring at him the entire time, but you can’t even be that mad. Mostly because the sandwich is good.  

Geo lets out a deep, drawn-out breath like he’s regretting every decision that’s led him to this moment. Instead of answering your barrage of ridiculous questions, he shifts positions, stretching out fully onto the blanket, arms folded behind his head as he gazes up at the sky.  

The warm sunlight filters through the clouds, casting soft shadows across his face. His aquamarine eyes catch the light, the color deep and almost translucent—like the ocean before a storm. You take in more details now that he’s still, noticing the sharp structure of his jaw, the slight upturn of his nose, and those plumper-than-expected lips.

The dark bluish-purple strands of his neatly tied ponytail contrast against the light fabric of the blanket. His long, rectangular earrings shift slightly as he settles/ 

And, well… you definitely staring.  

Geo cracks one eye open. "If you’re going to hover like that, at least make yourself useful and block the sun." He exhales sharply through his nose, something between a sigh and a quiet laugh, before tilting his head back against the blanket. His eyes flicker to yours, sharp and assessing, before he shuts them completely, soaking in the sun once more.  

You, on the other hand, are very aware of how precarious this position is. Your knees are dug into the blanket, your hands braced beside his head, your face way too close to his. You hadn’t even realized how low you were leaning over him until now.  

Your body jolts slightly when the realization hits, and the movement doesn’t go unnoticed. 

His lips twitch, just barely. "Something wrong?"  

"No," you say, too quickly, shifting slightly, but not enough to actually move away. His eyes are still closed, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. And then, because you refuse to lose whatever this weird battle of wills has become, your mouth moves faster than your brain.  

"Just wondering when you’re going to start interrogating your plants since you're obviously dodging my questions."  

His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a noticeable pause before he speaks. "They’re still better questions than yours," he mutters.  

You gasp in mock offense, shoving at his shoulder—not hard enough to move him, just enough to make a point. "Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t come prepared with an official interview sheet, Mr. Mystery."  

Geo finally cracks an eye open, unimpressed. "Maybe you should’ve."  

You huff, shifting again, but instead of moving away, you lower your weight onto your elbows, your face hovering just a little closer over his. You don’t miss the way his brows twitch slightly at the movement, but if he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it.  

Your gaze flickers over his features. His dark bluish-purple hair is fanned slightly against the blanket, framing his face in a way that makes him look softer, and more relaxed. The sunlight catches on his aquamarine eyes as they track your expression, the color so vivid it almost looks unreal. His septum piercing glints when he shifts, and the earrings dangling from his ears sway slightly with the movement.  

You clear your throat, trying to steer your thoughts back on track. "So what, you want me to ask—what? Your deepest fears? Your worst childhood memory?"  

Geo hums thoughtfully, tilting his head just enough to make it obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing. "Better than whatever nonsense you’ve been throwing at me."  

"Fine," you challenge, narrowing your eyes. "What’s your biggest regret?"  

For a second, just a second, something shifts in his expression. His gaze sharpens like he’s considering whether or not to answer. Then, his lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smirk but isn’t entirely neutral either.  "Letting you into my apartment."  

You gasp, scandalized, pulling back slightly. "You’re so mean!" Geo exhales a long-suffering sigh and drags a hand down his face. "You really don’t know when to quit."  

"Not when I sense weakness." You grin, watching the muscles in his jaw twitch. Slowly, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, closing the space between you again. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes glint with something that makes your stomach flip.  

"Then I suggest you stop poking at things you’re not ready to handle," he murmurs, voice low, deliberate.  

Your breath catches for just a moment. You narrow your eyes at him, shifting slightly but still keeping your position above him, bracing yourself on either side of his head. 

His answer doesn’t really answer anything, and that smug little smirk tugging at the edge of his lips tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. You hum, pretending to think. Then, because you know you’re pushing your luck, you grin. "Fine. Why on earth do you own so much rope?"  

Silence. 

Geo’s expression doesn’t change. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t so much as flinch.  

And yet, you feel a distinct shift in the air as his eyes half-lid in something that looks suspiciously close to amusement. "Why do you think I own so much rope?" he asks, voice smooth—too smooth.  

You immediately regret your curiosity. Your brain conjures up a hundred different answers, none of which you should be saying out loud. Unfortunately, silence isn’t an option either, because Geo is just waiting, watching, unblinking, and enjoying this way too much. You shift, eyeing him with exaggerated suspicion. “…Rock climbing?"

A barely-there twitch of his lips. "Try again."

"Crafting?"

"Be serious."

You narrow your eyes, gaze flicking toward the closet where you first spotted the neatly coiled bundles of rope. "Do you… tie up intruders?"

Geo exhales sharply, a breath of quiet amusement through his nose. "Depends on the intruder."

Your body stills, heartbeat ticking just a little louder in your ears. His tone is too even, too unbothered. He didn’t say no. Your eyes flick back to his, scrutinizing. "That is not a denial."

And then—he smirks. A slow, lazy, knowing half-smirk. One that curls at the edges just enough to make your stomach dip slightly before you shove the feeling away.

"Geo," you say, scandalized. "Are you—are you a kidnapper?"

He groans, tilting his head back against the blanket, hands covering his face like the sheer force of your stupidity is physically painful. "Oh my god."

"You are!" You gasp, jabbing a finger into his shoulder. "I knew it. You totally—"

You don’t get to finish. Because a hand moves. Fast.

Before you can react, your wrist is caught in a firm grip, momentum flipped with practiced ease. The world tilts abruptly, breath-catching as your back meets the blanket in an unceremonious sprawl. You barely register the shift before you’re caged. Geo looms above you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still securing your wrist against the fabric. His weight barely touches you, yet the closeness—the gentle control—presses into the air between you like something tangible.

You blink. His expression is unreadable. Calm. Studying. There’s no smugness, no teasing grin—just a quiet, sharp scrutiny that makes your breath hitch despite yourself. A test. A silent now what?

Your throat bobs as you swallow, suddenly very aware of every inch of space—or lack thereof—between your bodies. Geo tilts his head just slightly, watching you in that infuriatingly composed way, before finally speaking. "Instead of throwing random questions and assumptions at me," he murmurs, voice low, measured, "I need you to think—why do I own rope?"

Your lips part, mind racing through every possible implication before landing on the most obvious one. You stare up at him, blinking rapidly, feeling the heat creep up the back of your neck.  

Geo doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word—just waits, eyes closed, basking in the sun, perfectly content in his victory while you sit there malfunctioning.  

Your breath catches slightly as you shift beneath him, just enough to test the hold he still has on your wrist. His grip is firm but not painful, a simple, unspoken reminder that he had flipped you onto your back with barely any effort. You feel the weight of his presence, the way his body shadows yours, his long fingers still loosely wrapped around your wrist.  

You swallow. Then, in a moment of pure, unfiltered realization, your eyes widen. "Oh." Geo hums, the sound deep in his chest, a silent acknowledgment that he knows exactly what just clicked in your brain. "Oh." You swallow again, blinking up at him. "You… you like tying people up."  

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t deny it. Your stomach does something weird. Not bad, not unsettling—just… weird. Geo finally opens his eyes, looking down at you with an expression that is both unimpressed and deeply entertained. "That took you longer than I expected."  

You huff, willing the heat in your face to die down, but it’s no use. "I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt."  

He sighed, tilting his head slightly. "That was your mistake."  

You scoff, shoving at his shoulder with your free hand, and to your mild frustration, he doesn’t budge. "So what, you have some secret collection of knots you practice? Like, ‘oh, here’s my specialty hostage tie’—"  

"Shibari."

You freeze mid-sentence, your brain hitting a wall. "What?"

Geo’s gaze remains steady, unreadable, his voice a little too casual—too smooth. "The word you’re looking for. It’s called shibari."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. "Oh." A pause.

Geo just watches you, waiting, his expression calm—expectant. The realization fully dawns, your mind short-circuiting as pieces snap together at an alarming rate. And because your brain has officially abandoned all common sense, your mouth moves before you can stop it. "You practice?"

Geo exhales a sharp, amused breath that’s almost a laugh before he finally releases your wrist. He shifts effortlessly onto his side, propping his head up with one hand while the other rests lazily against his stomach. He looks relaxed—too relaxed—like he’s completely enjoying watching your mind self-destruct. "Wouldn’t you like to know?" 

You groan, dragging your hands down your face, already regretting everything. “Fuck. You totally do." Geo just smirks��entirely unbothered—as he reaches for a sandwich from the tray, taking his time, fingers deliberate as they pull it apart slightly before bringing it to his mouth. He chews, slow, unrushed as if this entire conversation hasn’t completely derailed your ability to function.

You watch him, brain still spinning, words refusing to string together properly. Finally, you take a deep breath, collecting yourself, sitting up slightly. Your eyes narrow. "So…" You tilt your head. "How good are you?" 

Geo stops mid-bite. For the first time, his composure cracks—not much, just the briefest flicker of something in his expression before he chokes on his sandwich. He coughs once, sharply, hastily covering his mouth, eyes momentarily widening as he tries to recover.

Geo’s gaze sharpens, his smirk turning razor-sharp, like a cat that’s just cornered something far too cocky for its own good. He stretches his fingers slowly, considering his next move with the kind of deliberation that sends a shiver down your spine. Then, he tilts his head, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Since you’re so curious," he muses, voice smooth like silk, "Want me to show you my skills?"

Your stomach does a flip. A nervous flip. This could go very, very wrong.

Without thinking, the word slips out of your mouth before your brain has a chance to catch up. "Yes."

You instantly regret it. Almost.

Geo looks at you, his gaze flickering with something unreadable, something that makes your heart skip in a way you really don’t want to acknowledge. Then, he exhales through his nose, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Brave."

No. Stupid, actually. You realize just how far you’ve gone now.

Geo moves with an ease that shouldn’t be this intimidating. One moment, he’s leaning back on the blanket, casually finishing his sandwich, and the next, he’s pushing himself up onto his knees with the same fluid grace he’d exhibited when first walking into the room.

Suddenly, the air feels heavier. You blink, realizing you’ve just entered a zone you didn’t even know existed. And now, standing over you, Geo looks… dangerous.

His fingers brush against your wrist with startling precision, his touch cold and deliberate as he gives you a look that sends an unspoken message straight to your gut.

Without a word, he takes your wrist, his grip firm, like he’s done this a thousand times before. You go rigid for a moment, heart racing. It’s not that you’re scared—well, not exactly—but there’s something about the way Geo moves, the way he controls every single moment, that sends a chill down your spine.

He stands up, pulling you gently yet firmly along with him, leading you towards a door at the far end of the room you hadn’t noticed before. There’s something darkly intriguing about it—something about the way he moves, how confident he is in his space, that you can’t help but be drawn to it. 

Geo opens the door to reveal a room you can’t even begin to process at first. 

The air smells like straight rope, and in the center of the room, there a different types of ropes and several other tools--neatly arranged on shelves. "Welcome to my practice space," he says casually as if this is all completely normal. 

Your brain takes a moment to catch up. This is real. This is actually happening. 

You’re standing in Geo’s personal bondage room.

He looks at you, sensing your hesitation but not saying a word. Then, with the flick of a wrist, he unhooks the nearest length of rope, a purplish one, and begins unraveling it, the motion fluid practiced.

"So," he starts, voices casually again as he turns to face you. "You were curious. You want to see how it’s done?"

You swallow, trying to regain control of your brain which seems to have temporarily shut down. "Do you practice on others?" you ask, voice more steady than you feel.

Geo doesn't answer right away. He simply raises an eyebrow and finishes pulling the rope taut in his hands. When he does speak, it’s calm, but with an underlying tone of something deeper, something that makes your heart rate spike again.

"I used to take classes," he admits, his gaze never leaving you. "But eventually, I taught myself. After a while, I didn’t need anyone else." He steps closer, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst ways. "I practice on myself now."

The words settle like ice in your stomach.

"You practice… on yourself?" you repeat, trying to grasp the weight of what he’s just said.

Geo nods, his expression unreadable. "It’s... efficient." He moves towards the bench, the sound of the rope sliding against itself making your chest tighten. "But if you really want to know what I’m capable of, you’ll have to trust me."

You blink, realization dawning on you. 

This is no longer hypothetical. No longer a curiosity you can walk away from. 

This is real, and you’re in it now.

Geo watches you for a moment longer, waiting for your response. His fingers gently twirl the rope, giving it a little snap as if to remind you of its presence.

"I think you’ll find that trust is a pretty key ingredient here," he adds, voice low, almost predatory.

Your heart skips a beat, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. 

Trust. 

The room feels smaller now, and your breath seems louder as you take in the ropes and tools scattered around the space. It’s not like you hadn’t known what you were walking into when you’d asked—no, you were fully aware—but actually being in this moment, in this room, with Geo, makes everything feel so much more... real.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something patient but knowing, as if he’s watching you carefully, measuring your every move. He’s not in a rush, and that’s what makes it worse. You know he’s waiting for you to make the next move, and yet you’re caught in this swirl of confusion and curiosity.

"I..." you start, but the words feel clumsy in your mouth. You don’t know what to say, how to ask, or if you even want to ask any more questions. You were just playing around before, throwing out a joke, trying to break the tension. Now, it feels like you're treading water in a deep ocean, and you're so out of your depth.

Geo doesn’t speak for a moment, just watches you, his expression unreadable. It’s like he’s giving you space, the kind of space that feels so heavy you can’t even breathe. Then, he moves again. It’s fluid, and smooth, with the same effortless grace as before. He steps closer, narrowing the gap between the two of you until you can feel the heat of his body in the space just in front of you. 

"Would you like me to tie you up?” he asks, his voice a soft drawl, almost teasing. His words send a ripple of something sharp through your chest. You’re dying to know more, to ask more, but something in the pit of your stomach warns you that diving deeper into this conversation might lead you somewhere you can’t come back from. 

You glance at the ropes hanging from a hook by the wall, the tools that could easily be used to restrict, to bind, to hold. But the question still lingers in the air: Are you willing to be tied up?

"So..." you murmur, trying to keep the shakiness out of your voice, “That”’s what you gonna do to me? …Tie me up?”

Geo tilts his head slightly, watching your eyes flicker between him and the room around you. He knows exactly what you’re doing, exactly what’s running through your mind. He sighs and steps even closer now, reaching for the ropes, his fingers curling around the smooth, coiled lengths as if they’re an extension of him. 

"I’m not going to do anything with you," he says, low and almost comforting, as if trying to ease some of your panic. “I can tie you and explain to you how this works, we can go through it. If not, we can pretend none of this happened,” 

And with that, he steps back, letting the ropes fall slightly into his hands. His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. 

“I’ll let you decide how deep you want to go,” he says again, his tone calm and almost soothing. “No pressure. No rushing into anything. I’m not going to force you, okay?” His eyes are steady on you, searching for any sign of hesitation, and you can feel the sincerity in his words. 

You nod, understanding the subtle care behind his words. He’s not trying to control this moment; he’s giving you space to back out if you need to. But, something inside you makes the decision, and you meet his eyes with quiet determination. 

Trust, like he said, is mutual. 

You don’t have to dive into something you’re not ready for.

After a breath, you whisper, “Okay. Please show me, Geo.”

Geo’s lips quirked into a soft hum, a sound that almost felt approving, but it was casual, with no force behind it. He nods as if you’ve passed some kind of unspoken test. 

The rope in his hands makes a satisfying snap as he tightens it, and his movements are slow, and deliberate, like he’s trying to make sure you’re okay with everything that’s happening. “Let’s take it slow, all right?” he murmurs as he guides you down to the floor, gently encouraging you to kneel. He follows your lead, his body moving with purpose but no rush.

“Is there a specific way you want me to tie you?” Geo asks, watching you closely. His gaze is soft, but the way his eyes study you says he’s waiting for your answer, giving you control in this situation. His voice is unhurried, and there's no pressure behind it—just genuine curiosity.

You swallow, feeling a sudden warmth spread through your chest. 

"Not sure," you admit, your pulse quickening as the anticipation starts to settle in. "Pick for me." A flicker of something crosses his face—maybe interest, maybe amusement—but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he just nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. 

Without skipping a beat, he reaches for the coil of rope beside him, his movements fluid and practiced. He holds the rope for a moment, running it through his fingers like it’s second nature. “Ushiro takate kote,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself, as he gathers the rope in his hands.

It’s a technique you don’t fully know yet, but the sound of it, the way he says it, almost feels like an invitation to trust him completely. Then, meeting your gaze, he explains, "It’s foundational. Classic. It controls the upper body, secures the arms behind the back in a balanced U-shape… and it’s one of the first ties I ever learned."

You swallow, watching his hands with quiet intensity as he begins to unravel the rope. The fibers slide smoothly through his fingers, each coil effortlessly falling into place like a dance. There’s a calm, steady confidence in his movements as if this is second nature to him—no hesitation, no rush.

“Hold still,” he says, voices soft but firm, and you do as you're told, heart, picking up just slightly.

Geo moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence without him touching you. His breath brushes against your neck as he reaches for your wrists in front of you, and for a moment, you freeze. His touch is gentle, but firm as he guides your arms behind you, positioning them to rest one on top of the other. 

His fingers brush your skin as he pulls the rope taut for the first time. It’s not painful, but you feel the pressure, the way the fibers bite into your skin just enough to make you acutely aware of each movement. His touch is careful, deliberate, adjusting and readjusting, as if he’s taking the time to make sure everything aligns perfectly.

"This tie," he says, voice low and smooth, "is the foundation for a lot of shibari forms. It's about balance. Control. Presentation." The rope winds around your arms, pulling them into position. Each pass tightens just a little more, and you feel the steady pressure increase, the sensation settling across your muscles. It’s precise and controlled, and you can feel the thought behind each knot, each loop.

He doesn’t fumble, doesn’t hesitate. 

Every movement is calculated and effortless.

You shift slightly, feeling his breath warm on the back of your neck. You move just enough to give him space, and he works, tying the rope around the top of your arms, and lacing it across your chest. The rope swings behind you, crossing over your back before he brings it back to the front again. Each movement is purposeful, each knot placed with a careful consideration that leaves you breathless.

Geo’s hands never rush. There’s something almost meditative in the way he works, his fingers moving with quiet intention. He pulls the rope under your arms, adjusting, making sure the fit is even. The rope brushes against your skin in a way that feels almost too intimate, but it’s not uncomfortable. There’s a raw emotion in the way his hands move—each tug, each twist, feels like it has its own weight, its own purpose. It’s not just about tying knots; it’s about creating something—something deeply personal.

Your fingers twitch slightly, the only sign of your growing awareness of how tightly secured you are, but the pressure is balanced—just enough to feel the restraint, but not so much that you’re overwhelmed. 

As Geo finishes the final section of the knotting, he shifts slightly in front of you, his hands moving with a practiced, fluid grace. He pulls the rope snugly, adjusting the tension with precision, focusing on each curve and contour of your body. 

You can feel the weight of his careful attention, the way he enhances the shape of your breasts with the gentle pressure of the rope, each loop placed with purpose but never rushed.

The quiet in the room feels heavier now, almost suffocating, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, a soft, rhythmic thrum that echoes against the stillness. 

“You’re really good at this,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Geo pauses, his hands lingering on the rope for a beat longer than necessary. A soft exhale escapes him, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, as if amused by your comment. “I should be,” he replies, his voice smooth and warm with amusement, but it’s not arrogance. No, there’s just a quiet acknowledgment, a hum of experience behind his words. 

You can’t help but notice the way his touch seems to linger a fraction longer than required, his fingers grazing your skin as he double-checks his work. Every motion is careful, almost reverent, ensuring the ropes are secure but never too tight, and that everything sits just right. He moves like this is second nature to him, yet with an intimacy that makes you feel as if you’re the only one who matters at this moment. 

When he leans back slightly to admire his handiwork, you feel the subtle shift in the air—the space between you expands, but it feels like an unspoken agreement that this space, this connection, is something shared. 

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment on the knots, his eyes scanning the ropes with the quiet intensity of someone making sure everything is perfect.

You shift a little, testing the ropes again, feeling the tension and the tightness wrapped around you, but there's a steady calmness that follows. You meet Geo’s eyes and ask, almost shyly, "Hey, can you... can you take a few pictures of me? I want to see how it looks, like, all of it. My phone’s in my back pocket." 

Geo’s expression softens, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. He doesn’t respond immediately, just watches you with a quiet intensity as if weighing your request. His hands, which had been making final adjustments to the ropes, now still for a moment. 

"Yeah?" His voice is low and thoughtful. "You want to see it that badly?" 

You nod slowly, a faint blush creeping up your neck, suddenly aware of how exposed you are in the moment—physically, sure, but also emotionally. Still, the strange sense of comfort you feel keeps you grounded. 

Geo sighed before his lips curled into that subtle smirk again—the kind that makes you feel like he knows something you don’t. 

"You got it," he says, leaning forward, his hands moving with practiced ease to slide your phone out from your back pocket. His touch is gentle, but there’s a confidence in it, a steadiness that matches the way he’s holding you all along.

As Geo adjusts the phone, getting it in place, you sit still, your breath slowing as you prepare to see the image. You feel strangely exposed, but not in the way you'd imagined. Instead, it’s as if a new part of yourself is being revealed, not just to Geo, but to you as well.

The click of the camera snaps you out of your thoughts, and before you can say anything, he lowers the phone, locking eyes with you. “You ready for your reveal?” he asks, his tone teasing, but there’s a slight softness there too. 

"Yeah," you reply quietly, and when you glance down at the screen, your breath catches for a split second. It’s not just a picture; it’s a snapshot of vulnerability, of a moment you didn't think you’d be able to capture. You’re wrapped in those ropes, but somehow, you look... confident.

Even empowered in a strange, sexy way.

Geo watches your reaction carefully, his fingers grazing lightly over your arm. “How does it feel?” he asks again, a little more curious now as if he’s checking in with you in this new space you’re in together.

You swallow, your heart racing a little faster at the image in front of you, the surreal combination of submission and control. 

"It feels... right," you admit, your voice quiet but steady. "I didn't expect it to. But it does."

Geo’s eyes linger on you for a moment, as if committing the sight to memory, before he sets the phone aside. But before he can move on, you shift slightly against the ropes, tilting your head as an idea pops into your mind.

"Hey, can you take a few more?" you ask, glancing up at him.

Geo raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. "More?"

You nod, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze, but the desire to see more of this side of yourself outweighs the embarrassment. “Yeah, I... I just wanna see how it all looks. Like, from different angles or something.”

Geo exhales a slow, dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "You're lucky you're cute," he mutters, but there’s no real annoyance in his voice—if anything, there’s a hint of fondness.

Still holding you in place, he shifts slightly, reaching for your phone again. With the practiced ease of someone who’s far too used to indulging your whims, he angles the camera, snapping a few more pictures—some closer, some showing the full extent of the bindings.

Every now and then, his eyes flicker back to you, silently making sure you’re still comfortable. And each time, you nod, feeling more at ease than you ever thought possible in this kind of setting.

After a few more clicks, Geo finally sets the phone down for good and shakes his head, smirking. “All right, you got your pictures. Happy now?”

You grin, cheeks warming at the nickname. “Yeah, I think so.”

He huffs, but the corner of his mouth betrays a hint of a smile. Then, without another word, his fingers begin to work at the knots, skillfully undoing them with the same precision he had when tying them. 

His fingers working with the same precision and care they had when tying them, you can’t help but let your mind wander. The way his hands move so naturally, unhurried yet efficient, has you thinking more about the quiet intimacy of the moment. 

Your mind wanders to the question that’s been nagging at you, the one that you can’t quite shake. You hesitate for a second, but then the words come spilling out, almost like an afterthought.

“So,” you start, voice a little tentative, “why are you into this stuff? I mean... I get the skill part, you’re really good at it. But what about the... whole thing?” You gesture vaguely at the ropes, unsure how to articulate the question any better, but hoping he understands what you mean.

Geo doesn’t immediately respond, his hands still working to untangle the ropes with careful precision now behind you. It’s almost like he’s contemplating the answer, taking his time. When he finally looks up at you, his expression is thoughtful, almost distant.

Geo’s hands work methodically, each pull of the rope gentle, his fingers tight and precise. He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s a certain edge in his voice like he's trying to keep control of something else.

“It’s not about... what you think it’s about,” he says, his gaze focused on the ropes, but there’s a subtle tightness in his jaw, as though he's fighting to keep his composure. “It’s the process. The control. The trust. The way it all comes together. It’s calming, something I can’t really explain to anyone else.” His hands don’t waver, but you notice the muscles in his arm flexing just a little more, a slight tremor that betrays his calm façade.

He doesn’t look up as he continues, but his voice falters ever so slightly like he’s trying to keep it even. “I’ve never really... shared this hobby of mine with anyone before, not even Jericho.” His gaze flickers to yours, but he doesn’t hold it, his eyes quickly darting away. The vulnerability in them is fleeting but undeniable—something he doesn’t show anyone.

“This part of me? It’s just... for me. I keep it to myself.”

The ropes fall away with each tug, and even though he’s untying you, there’s an odd sense of tending to you in the way he works. His hands are sure but gentle like he's aware of every inch of your skin, the subtle pressure of the rope, the way it all connects. It's intimate in a way that makes your pulse quicken—like he's paying attention to things that no one else ever has.

The words he shared hang in the air between you two, heavy with meaning. You feel a shift in the atmosphere like you've crossed a line—one that was never meant to be crossed, yet somehow, you’ve managed to find your way through it. 

And you're here. 

With him. 

A place that not even Crowe has been allowed to reach. A small, half-joking thought slips past your lips, an attempt to lighten the mood. “Well, at least I’m ahead on Crowe.”

Geo’s lips twitch in response, the corner of his mouth pulling up into the faintest of smiles. “Don’t get any funny ideas,” he mutters, his voice low and soft, though the amusement is unmistakable. There’s no malice in it, just playful restraint like he’s trying to keep his composure in check despite everything.

You shift slightly, feeling the weight of your body settle against Geo’s chest now that the ropes have been fully untied. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s something almost grounding in the position. Something soothing. His chest rises and falls beneath you, steady, but there’s a tightness in the air, something suspended, like an unspoken tension that hangs between you both.

You glance at his hands again, watching as they smooth over the final knots, the last of the rope slipping away from your skin. You can’t help but lower your voice, soft and thoughtful, as you speak.

“You know,” you murmur, “it’s kind of fitting that you’re into this. I mean, you’re good with your hands, you’re patient. It makes sense.”

Geo’s chest tightens beneath you, the breath in his lungs hitching ever so slightly. It’s subtle, but you feel it—his body betraying something. His fingers twitch, flexing as if battling against some internal war. His voice drops, so low, it’s almost a whisper, and you feel the warmth of his breath against the back of your neck as his arms hover around you, hands frozen, not daring to touch, yet not pulling away.

“You’re right,” he says, voice almost strained. “I’m good with my hands. I’m patient. But... it’s not just that.”

Your curiosity piques, and without thinking, you shift, turning in his lap so that you’re facing him. His breath catches again, just barely, and you can feel the way his muscles tense with restraint, but it’s fleeting. His arms still hover, uncertain, like he’s fighting against something more than just the physical proximity. 

You tilt your head up slightly, eyes meeting his as you wait for him to finish his thought. Your patience is wearing thin, the space between you both growing more charged with each passing second.

"Then..." you murmur, voice soft yet teasing, "What is it?" 

Geo inhales sharply, his body shifting beneath you, muscles tensing as if fighting off the urge to move, to react in ways that would break whatever fragile control he’s desperately clinging to. 

His gaze falters, darting away for a second, like he’s trying to understand the intensity of what’s happening between you two, trying to fight back whatever feelings are rising to the surface. His fingers twitch at your waist, and then, as if losing that battle, they curve around you, pulling you closer.

There’s a slight shift in the air as his face nuzzles against the nape of your neck, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. You can feel the weight of him against you, his body leaning in, pressing against you like he’s desperate for something he’s unwilling to admit. His lips hover near your ear, his words laced with an honesty that surprises you.

“I don’t let people in like this,” he murmurs, voice rough and vulnerable in a way that makes your pulse skip. “Not like this... not ever.” He exhales, shaky, before continuing. “You’re the first.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone, a rawness that cracks through whatever walls he’s tried to build around himself. His admission hits you harder than you expected, leaving a knot in your chest that you can’t untangle. The realization that you’re the first person he’s let in like this—that you’ve somehow managed to get past every guard he’s built around himself—settles over you like a heavyweight. 

It’s a strange feeling, one that both unsettles and comforts you at the same time. For a long moment, you’re still, trying to process everything. You knew something was there, some sort of pull, but this? 

This is something else entirely.

Geo’s grip tightens, fingers pressing just a little deeper into your waist, like he’s trying to anchor himself—trying to hold onto something steady while his world tilts in a way he wasn’t expecting. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, slow and measured, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. 

“I’ve been trying to figure this out... for a while now,” he murmurs, voice rough, hesitant. “I don’t really understand us…”

His words sit heavy between you, threading through the quiet like something fragile. You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, to meet that storm behind his eyes, but you don’t hesitate. 

You don’t second-guess. 

Instead, you lean in, closing the distance and pressing your lips to his—soft, unhurried, but firm enough to leave no room for doubt. It’s not desperate, not rushed, just something real. Something that’s been waiting to happen for longer than either of you probably want to admit. 

Geo stills beneath you, breath catching for just a second before he melts into it, his grip shifting, hands splaying over your back like he’s memorizing the way you feel in his arms. He doesn’t kiss back right away, like he’s trying to make sense of it, trying to process the fact that this is happening. But then, his lips move against yours—gentle, cautious, like he’s testing the weight of the moment. Like he’s afraid to break it. 

And it’s good. It’s slow and warm and careful in a way that makes your stomach flip. His fingers curl slightly against your skin, hesitant but firm, and there’s something about the way he holds you—like he wants to pull you closer but doesn’t quite know how. 

When you finally pull back, you’re both quiet, breath mingling in the space between you. His eyes flicker, searching yours, still trying to catch up with everything that just happened, his cheeks were flushed slightly and he was looking at you with a flustered expression.

“You’re not the only one who’s been trying to figure out what’s between us,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, your fingers still resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “I like you, Geo. I do. The question is do you like me back...”

Geo blinks at you, lips slightly parted like he’s still working through the weight of your words. He remained quiet for a moment before he spoke softly.

"I do... I do like you,” he says slowly, his voice steady but quiet. “But I don’t really know how to show it.” His brows furrow slightly like he’s frustrated with himself. “Not like… like that, at least.”

You watch him for a second, then huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t have to do anything, Geo.” Your fingers brush lightly against his shirt, grounding yourself in the warmth of him.

Geo exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. His arms are still around you, still holding on, even though he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. 

But he doesn’t let go. 

“I still want you,” he mutters after a pause, almost like he’s testing the words, trying them out before fully committing. His gaze flickers to yours, hesitant but steady.

“But you already have me,” you whisper, forehead resting against his. “And that’s okay.”

Geo exhales, his arms tightening around you for just a second before he shifts—sudden, decisive. His grip is solid, and firm, and before you even register what’s happening, your feet leave the ground.  

“What the—Geo?” Your voice comes out half a sputter, half a breathless exhale as your hands instinctively clutch at his shoulders.  

He doesn’t falter. He doesn’t hesitate. Carrying you is effortless like you weigh nothing in his arms. The way he holds you isn’t rushed or careless—his grip is secure, steady like he’s making sure you’re safe, making sure you know he won’t drop you, won’t let you go.  

And yet, his face is unreadable.  

His jaw clenches slightly, his brows drawn together in the way he gets when he’s overthinking something. His arms remain firm around you, one hooked beneath your legs, the other supporting your back, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of your clothes as he walks. The silence between you is thick, charged with something you can’t quite place, and you barely register the way the space around you changes until he steps into his bedroom.  

Wait. His bedroom?  

Your back meets soft sheets as he lowers you onto the bed, his movements gentle, careful—like he’s afraid of startling you, of doing this wrong somehow. His hands linger at your waist, just for a second, before he steps back, rubbing the back of his neck. There’s something hesitant in the way he shifts, something uncertain in the way he avoids your gaze.  

“I—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s trying to gather his thoughts like he’s trying to piece together the right words. His shoulders tense before he finally speaks.  

“Look, I don’t… need this,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “I don’t crave it. Sex. Any of it. I don’t think I ever have.”  

You blink, your brain lagging a second behind. “Okay…?”

“But,” he continues, eyes flickering to yours, hesitant but serious. “If you wanted it… I’d do it. For you.”

You stare at him. And keep staring. Because—what?

Geo shifts under your gaze, growing visibly uncomfortable. “What?” he mutters, crossing his arms like he’s suddenly feeling too exposed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because that makes no fucking sense, Geo.” You sit up, your mind still scrambling to piece together what he’s saying. “You just said you don’t want it, don’t need it, but you’d still do it? For me?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, his expression twitching into something like frustration—at himself, not at you. His fingers flex, like he wants to do something with his hands, but he doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” he finally mutters. “I would.”

Your head tilts, trying to wrap your brain around this. “But… why?”

Geo lets out a sharp breath, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t fucking know,” he admits, his voice edged with frustration, though not directed at you. “I just— I like you. A lot. And I wanna… I don’t know, make you happy?” 

Your stomach flips at that, at the sheer honesty of it, but you’re still trying to piece it all together. “So you’d do something you don’t even enjoy just because I wanted it?”

He shrugs, looking away. “Yeah.”

“That’s stupid.”

Geo whips his head back to glare at you. “Fuck off.”

You snort, but there’s warmth behind it, something fond as you shake your head. “Geo. You know you don’t have to do that, right? I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give.”

“I know that,” he grumbles, rubbing at his temple. “It’s not like I’d be miserable or anything, I just… It’s not something I think about. But if it was with you, I wouldn’t mind.”

You watch him carefully, the way he keeps shifting, the way he refuses to look at you directly, and it clicks. He’s not just saying this out of obligation. 

He means it. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, but there’s no bite to it, no real complaint.

You reach out, grabbing his hand, and pulling him just a little closer. “You really don’t have to prove anything to me, you know.”

His shoulders drop slightly, some of the tension bleeding out. “I know.”

But then—he moves. Before you can process it, Geo’s hands are on either side of you, pressing into the mattress as he leans over, caging you in. His weight shifts just enough to pin you in place, and your breath catches.  

His gaze finally meets yours.  

There’s something unreadable in those deep, aquamarine eyes of his—curiosity, maybe, or something tangled and complicated that even he doesn’t fully understand. His lips press into a thin line, his expression flickering between hesitant and determined.  

You swallow hard. “Geo—”  

“I just…” He trails off, exhaling through his nose. His head tilts slightly, studying you. “I’ve never really wanted it before. Never needed it. But with you…” His fingers flex against the sheets, like he’s testing the waters, testing himself. “I don’t know. I kind of want to try.”  

Your pulse thuds against your ribs, a slow, steady drumbeat of disbelief. Because what the fuck? Geo—the man who barely lets people touch him, the one who’s always kept this sort of thing at arm’s length—wants to try?  

It’s not desire in the traditional sense. Not some burning, uncontrollable need. But it’s something.  

Curiosity, maybe. 

The old saying comes to mind, unbidden. Curiosity killed the cat.

You search his face, trying to find some kind of hesitation, some sign that he’s unsure. But he just looks… focused. Determined.  

You wet your lips, your voice quieter now. “Geo, you don’t—”  

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head slightly. “I know I don’t have to. That’s not the point.” His voice drops just a little, something softer threading through it. “I want to see what it’s like. With you.”  

Your heart stutters. Not because of the words themselves—but because of the way he says them. The way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world.  

Like this—whatever this—actually matters to him.  

His fingers brush against your wrist, light and careful like he’s still figuring out how this is supposed to go, “If that’s okay with you,” still navigating the unfamiliar weight of what he’s just admitted.  

Then, you decide to push your luck. 

You tilt your head slightly, your voice smooth and even, testing the waters. “If you wanna try… maybe you can blindfold me and tie me up, please?”

Geo stills, his reaction immediate, brows furrowing as he processes your words. His grip tenses slightly, his entire body caught somewhere between confusion and intrigue.  

“…You thought of that way too fast,” he mutters, staring at you like you just threw a wrench into his entire thought process.  

You blink up at him, watching as his mind visibly short-circuits, gears turning in real time. It’s rare to see him this thrown off, and you fight the smirk tugging at your lips.  

“What?” you say, feigning innocence. “You did say you wanted to try.”  

Geo narrows his eyes slightly like he’s trying to see through whatever game you’re playing. “And what exactly does that do?”  

You tilt your head, your voice smooth as you explain, “So you can focus on the feeling instead of overthinking everything.”  

His expression shifts—just slightly. His fingers tap idly against your waist, and his lips press together as he exhales sharply through his nose.  

“You’re serious?”  

You shrug beneath him, but there’s no true nonchalance in the gesture.

Soon the room is quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the faint sound of your breathing. Geo sits on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on the silk blindfold as he finishes tying it securely around your eyes. The smooth fabric glides over your skin, cool and delicate, before darkness envelops you completely. 

Your world narrows to the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body so close to yours, and the faint scent of him—something clean and faintly musky, grounding you in the moment.

Your arms are bound behind you, the rope firm but not uncomfortable, a reminder of his control and your trust. You shift slightly, testing the restraint, and feel the subtle bite of the rope against your wrists. It’s enough to make your pulse quicken, your skin tingling with anticipation.

Geo hesitates for a moment, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as if unsure what to do next. You can feel the tension in his touch, the way his fingers flex slightly before stilling. The silence stretches, thick and charged, until you break it.

“Here,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady. “Let me face you.”

You start to move, but your lack of sight makes you clumsy, and you fumble slightly. Geo’s hands are there in an instant, guiding you with a gentleness that belies the intensity of the moment. His palms are warm against your hips as he helps you turn, his touch firm but careful.

When you’re settled in his lap, your legs straddling his, you feel the heat of his bare skin against yours, the intimacy of the position making your breath catch.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his gaze on you, tracing the lines of your body. The rope around your wrists, the blindfold covering your eyes—it’s all so deliberate, so purposeful. You can almost hear the thoughts racing through his mind, the way he’s trying to reconcile the sight of you like this with the part of him that’s still unsure.

Is it wrong that he likes seeing you like this? Bound, vulnerable, yet completely trusting? 

The question lingers in the air, unspoken but palpable. He shifts slightly beneath you, his hands resting on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin in absent circles. The touch is light, almost hesitant as if he’s still processing the reality of the moment.

You feel him exhale, a slow, measured breath before he lifts one hand to cover his face. His forearm rests against his forehead, his expression hidden, but you can sense the conflict in him. He knows why you asked him to do this—it wasn’t just for you. 

It was for him, too. For his enjoyment, his curiosity, and his desire to explore this side of himself. And that realization seems to weigh on him, even as it excites him.

You lean forward slightly, your movements slow and deliberate, and feel the way his body responds to yours. His breath hitches, his hands tightening on your thighs as if to steady himself. The air between you feels electric, every touch, every shift of your body against his, sends ripples of sensation through you both.

“G-Geo,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “…You can put it inside me if you want.”

The words hang in the air, soft but deliberate, and you feel him tense beneath you. His hands still on your hips, his fingers flexing slightly as if he’s trying to process what you’ve just said. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind.

“Don’t you need to be, uh… wet for that?” he finally asks, his voice low and hesitant, tinged with a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

You can’t help but smile, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you let out a quiet laugh. “I already am,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “You tying me up earlier… it did things to me.”

Geo pulls back slightly, his hands moving to your shoulders as if to steady himself—or maybe to get a better look at you. Even through the blindfold, you can feel the weight of his gaze, the disbelief written across his face. 

“Wait, seriously?” he asks, his voice rising slightly. “That… that really turned you on?”

You nod, your cheeks flushing as you feel his eyes on you. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, the way his voice cracks slightly, that makes your stomach twist in the best way. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady. “It did.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression a mix of shock and something else—something warmer, more intense. Then, slowly, his hands slide back down to your hips, his touch firmer now, more deliberate. “Okay,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Okay.”

You feel him shift beneath you, his hands guiding you as he positions himself. The first touch of him against you sends a shiver through your body, your breath catching in your throat. And then, slowly, he pushes his cock inside, the sensation of him filling you making your head fall forward onto his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice strained. “You’re so… warm.”

You can feel the way his body tenses, the way his hands grip your hips tighter as he adjusts to the sensation. His breath is uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to steady himself. “You’re pulsing around me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “How are you… how are you doing that?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “I’m not doing anything,” you say, your voice teasing. “That’s all you.”

Geo lets out a shaky laugh, his hands moving to your back as he pulls you closer. “Stop teasing me,” he says, his voice rough but playful. “You’re going to make me lose it.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, though there’s no real apology in your tone. You shift slightly, feeling him twitch inside you, and hear him groan softly.

“You’re not sorry,” he says, his voice low and amused. “But… I’m not complaining.”

The moment stretches, heavy with anticipation, as you settle more firmly into his lap. The warmth of his skin against yours is intoxicating, and you can feel the way his body tenses beneath you, his breath hitching as you shift your weight. Slowly, you begin to move, pressing with your legs and knees to lift yourself slightly before sinking back down. The sensation is electric, a slow, deliberate rhythm that sends shivers through both of you.

Geo’s hands tighten on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to ground you, to guide you. You can hear him—quiet, restrained moans escaping his lips, each one sending a thrill through you. 

God, you wish you could see him, see the way his face twists in pleasure, the way his eyes might darken with desire. But the blindfold forces you to focus on everything else: the sound of his breathing, the way his hands tremble slightly against your skin, the heat of his body beneath yours.

“Geo,” you murmur, your voice breathless but steady. “Grab my ass. Help me move.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his hands stilling on your hips, before sliding down to cup your backside. His touch is firm, almost possessive, as he lifts you slightly, guiding your movements. The added support makes it easier to bounce, to set a faster pace, and you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes your lips as the sensation intensifies.

His quiet moans grow louder, and more frequent, and you can feel the way his body responds to yours, the way his hips jerk upward to meet your movements. It’s intoxicating, the way he gives in to the rhythm, the way his hands grip you tighter, pulling you closer with every thrust.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and low. “You feel… incredible.”

The praise sends a jolt of heat through you, and you lean forward slightly, your chest brushing against his.

“G-Geo,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “For the love of god, play with tits… please.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to refuse. But then you feel his hands shift, one sliding up to cradle your back as the other moves to your chest. His touch is tentative at first, his fingers brushing against your breast before his mouth follows. 

The first swipe of his tongue is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the sharp intake of breath that escapes you.

“S-shit,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. 

He doesn’t need further encouragement. His mouth closes over your nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles that send sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The sensation is almost overwhelming, the combination of his mouth on your chest and the way his hands guide your movements making it impossible to think, to focus on anything but the way your body responds to his.

You can feel the tension building in both of you, the way his movements grow more frantic, more desperate. His moans are louder now, more like grunts less restrained, and you can’t help the way your sounds of pleasure escape your lips, mingling with his in the quiet of the room.

“I’m coming…” You mumbled as you felt your body tense, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you, overwhelming and electric. You come undone on his cock, your hips stuttering against his, your bound hands twitching behind you as waves of sensation crash over you. 

For a moment, the world narrows to nothing but the feel of him inside you, the way your body clenches around him, and the sound of your ragged breathing.

Geo doesn’t move, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he lets you ride out the waves of your climax. His breath is uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but he hasn’t come yet. 

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, and it only makes the moment more intense.

When the last tremors of your orgasm finally subside, you tilt your head slightly, your voice soft and breathless. “Do you want to keep going?”

He doesn’t answer with words. 

Instead, his hands shift, gripping your hips firmly as he guides you off his lap. Before you can process what’s happening, you feel the bed dip beneath you, and then you’re being moved, your body repositioned with a confidence that leaves no room for hesitation. Your face presses into the pillow, the soft fabric muffling your surprised gasp as your hips are lifted, your ass in the air.

The room is a cacophony of sounds—your ragged breaths, the sharp slap of skin against skin, the creak of the bedframe as it strains under the weight of your bodies. The air is thick with heat and heavy with the scent of sweat and desire, and every noise seems to amplify the intensity of the moment. 

You’re both drowning in it, overwhelmed by the raw, unfiltered connection between you. Muttered curses slip from your lips, half-formed and breathless, as Geo’s hands roam your body with a possessive urgency. His touch is everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down your thighs, tracing the curve of your back before settling firmly on your ass.

The heat of him is undeniable, his presence consuming you as he leans in, his gaze burning into your skin. You feel the blunt pressure of his cock as he pushes back inside you, and the sensation is immediate, electric. 

“F-fuck…” A moan escapes you, unbidden, as your body arches instinctively toward him. 

His movements are quick, each thrust deep and measured, and you can’t help but wonder how he knows exactly how to angle your body, how to control the pace, how to pull the rope binding your wrists to adjust your position. It’s too precise, too instinctive, and the realization sends a shiver down your spine. 

He’s a natural at this, and it’s both thrilling and unnerving.

The rope tightens as Geo pulls you back against him, the soft fibers biting into your skin just enough to remind you of his control. His grip is firm, grounding, a counterpoint to the dizzying pleasure coursing through you. Each tug of the rope sends a shiver down your spine, and your moans grow louder, each one seeming to spur him on, his rhythm shifting to match the urgency building between you.

“Fuck…” he mumbles, his voice rough and low, almost lost in the sound of skin against skin. His thrusts grow more demanding, the obscene, rhythmic slap of his hips against yours echoing in the room, a visceral reminder of how close you are, how connected. You arch your back, pushing yourself closer to him, desperate for more, for everything.

“Geo,” you gasp, his name a plea and a prayer all at once. He responds with a low groan, his hands tightening on your hips as he drives into you harder, faster, each movement deliberate and unrelenting. 

The pleasure builds again, slower this time but no less intense, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge once more. It hits you with a jolt that he’s not just doing this for himself—he’s doing it for you, too. Every thrust, every pull of the rope, every sound he draws from you is part of the trust you’ve built, the connection you share.

Your back arches like a bowstring as his hands grip your hips, guiding you back into him with every motion. Then, he reaches down to remove the blindfold. The fabric slips away, falling from your face, and the sudden flood of light makes you blink, your eyes adjusting to the room. You turn your head slightly, your face now visible to him, and the sight of you—flushed, breathless, utterly exposed—sends a jolt of electricity through him.

Your hair is a riotous halo, strands sticking to your forehead and temples, and your lips are parted, your expression a mix of vulnerability and defiance. His movements falter, his breath catching in his throat as he feels himself teetering on the edge. His muscles are taut as steel cables under sweat-slick skin, one hand splayed possessively over the small of your back. 

His other hand grips your bound wrists, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. He leans over you, his breath audible, ragged, and unsteady, his head dipping like he’s muttering a prayer—or a curse—against your shoulder.

With a low groan, he pulls out abruptly, his release spilling onto your back, hot and urgent. The sensation makes you shiver, your own arousal undeniable as your body throbs, slick and sensitive, a testament to the pleasure he’s drawn from you. 

For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your shared breaths, heavy and uneven, the air thick with the weight of what just passed between you.

Geo’s hands move to untie the rope, his touch gentle now, almost reverent, as he works to free you. His fingers ghost over each impression, tracing them with something almost like reverence like he’s committing them to memory while simultaneously regretting their existence. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but tender, and you can’t help but smile, your body still humming with the aftershocks of what you’ve shared.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is quiet, softer than you’re used to, like he’s unsure if he even wants the answer.  

You shake your head, offering the smallest of smiles. “No, it’s fine.”  

He doesn’t look convinced.  

Geo exhales through his nose, his thumb sweeping gently over the inside of your wrist before he presses a lingering kiss there—chaste, careful, as if to silently make up for every tight knot, every press of rope that had bound you.  

Then, without a word, he shifts off the bed, disappearing for only a moment before returning with a warm towel. The scent of his soap lingers in the fibers as he drags it over your skin, slow and methodical, wiping away any lingering sweat, any remnants of the intensity that had filled the air just minutes ago.  

His touch is purposeful—gentle but firm like he’s grounding you both. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just him, taking his time, making sure you’re okay.  

When he finally sets the towel aside, He leaves you briefly to tug on faded gray sweats and a soft cotton tee, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders. Returning with an oversized shirt for you, he avoids your gaze, cheeks flushed as he helps you into it. 

“There,” he says gruffly, tugging the hem down to your thighs. “Better.”

You bite back a small laugh. He rolls his eyes at the sound but doesn’t stop, ensuring you’re comfortable before finally settling beside you.  

You arch a brow, biting back a grin. “Aw, can’t handle a little temptation, Sir?” 

Geo huffs, clearly unamused by your teasing, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers stay firm against your skin, his thumbs idly tracing over your jaw like he’s debating something.  

“You’re pushing it,” he mutters, voice lower now, the weight of it settling between you. His eyes flicker, dark and unreadable, lingering on your lips for just a second too long before he exhales, shaking his head.  

You grin despite yourself. “Or what? You’ll tie me up again?”  

You laugh—a bright, teasing sound—until he closes the distance in one swift stride. His palms cradle your face, thumbs brushing your jawline as he leans in, your laughter dissolving into a gasp.

Geo kisses you.  

It’s soft, but firm—like he’s shutting you up in the most effective way he knows how. His lips linger against yours, warm and unhurried, the teasing edge melting from the air as something softer settles between you. When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between.  

“Better?” he murmurs, voice low, slightly rough around the edges.  

You blink up at him, dazed, before breaking into a slow, knowing smile. “That’s one way to do it.”  

Geo huffs, shaking his head before shifting, pushing you back onto the mattress. His weight pins you down—not heavy enough to trap you, but enough that you feel the heat of him pressing into your skin. His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, and before you can react, his face is buried against your chest, his body fully relaxed against yours.  

You freeze for half a second before your lips twitch, barely containing your amusement. “Geo,” you mumble, voice muffled against his tousled hair.  

He doesn’t respond.  

Instead, he just tightens his hold, burrowing closer like he’s refusing to acknowledge whatever flustered thoughts are undoubtedly racing through his head. His grip is warm, and grounding, the steady rhythm of his breathing settling into something slow and even.  

And then, quietly—so quietly you almost don’t catch it—he mutters, “...Can you stay?”  

You blink. Then blink again. Did he really just—  

Your shoulders shake, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you hold back another laugh. The way his entire body tenses just slightly tells you he knows.

“Shut up,” he grumbles before you can even get a word out, his face pressing further into you, practically smothering himself against your chest in embarrassment.  

You wheeze, trying to compose yourself, but the way he’s acting—the way he asked—has you grinning like an idiot. “I didn’t even say anything.”  

“You were going to.”  

You hum, clearly unconvinced, but let it slide. Instead, you run your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as you rake your nails lightly against his scalp.  

His breath slows. His grip stays firm. 

And in the dim quiet of his room, you murmur, “Yeah, Geo. I’ll stay.”  

Meanwhile, somewhere else, Perssila lay on her bed, her phone gripped tightly in her hand. She stared at the text message you had sent earlier, her brow furrowed in confusion. 

Perssila: You’re asking about rope? At Geo's place? 

It didn’t make sense to her—Geo was a mystery, sure, but ropes? What exactly were you getting into over there? It had been hours since she last heard from you, and her mind was starting to spiral. A million thoughts ran through her head. 

Had something happened? 

Was Geo... too much for you? 

The worst-case scenarios played out in her mind, one after the other. She bit her lip nervously, already preparing a second text, but she stopped herself. 

Before she could hit send, she heard footsteps behind her. Crowe’s presence was unmistakable, and in an instant, he was lying beside her, his weight sinking into the bed as he settled on top of her, arms wrapping around her like a shield. His breath brushed against her ear, and she could feel the heat of his body pressing against hers. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his voice low, but filled with concern. 

She didn’t answer right away, her eyes still locked on the screen of her phone, the message lingering there like a question she couldn’t solve. She was worried—so damn worried about you. Geo is quiet and somewhat unpredictable. The fact that you went over there to get to know him more... it was risky. You were her friend, her responsibility, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone wrong. 

“I just—” she started, her voice tight. “I haven’t heard from them in hours, Crowe. They went to Geo’s place, and I haven’t gotten any updates. I sent so many texts, and nothing. I—” She cut herself off, turning her head so her face was buried in the pillow, trying to shake off the gnawing feeling in her gut. 

Crowe didn’t say anything at first, just tightened his arms around her, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her own, the rhythm steady and reassuring. 

“Geo’s not the kind of guy to hurt anyone,” Crowe murmured, his tone low and steady like he was trying to calm her with his words. “He’s… different. But I’m sure they’re fine. Geo’s not like that.” 

Perssila let out a shaky breath, not fully convinced. She knew Crowe was trying to comfort her, but the lingering doubt still gnawed at her. 

“Yeah, well,” she said, voice muffled into the pillow. “I’m still worried.” 

She could feel Crowe shift, his lips brushing against the back of her neck in a soft, comforting kiss. It was gentle, meant to reassure her, to calm her fears. His lips were warm against her skin, and the way his breath ghosted over her ear made her body relax, if only slightly.

“Don’t worry so much,” Crowe said, his voice almost a whisper. “They’re tough. Geo wouldn’t hurt them, and if something was wrong, they would’ve called. You’ll hear from them soon, I promise.” 

Perssila let herself breathe out, her body slowly relaxing under his touch. 

Crowe stayed there for a moment longer, his arms wrapped securely around her as if trying to shield her from the worrying thoughts swirling in her mind. He kissed the back of her neck again, the soft pressure of his lips lingering just a bit longer this time before pulling away.

“Come on,” he said softly, his voice a little warmer now. “Let’s get our minds off this, yeah? Takeout’s on the way.”

Perssila let out a small, tired laugh, finally lifting her head from the pillow, her eyes meeting his. There was still some unease in her gaze, but Crowe’s presence was grounding. As much as she was worried about you, she knew she needed a break from the tension.

“I’m not hungry,” she muttered, though her stomach gave a soft, almost imperceptible growl, betraying her words.

Crowe raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You know we both ordered, right? And you can’t sit there and pretend you’re not starving. You’ve been running on stress all day.”

She huffed, but there was no real bite to it. She just didn’t want to admit that she was, in fact, hungry—just didn’t feel like she could relax, not when she was so caught up in thoughts of you.

“I don’t know,” she said with a little shrug. “Just... worried. About them. You know how they can get when they dive into something.”

Crowe nodded, looking sympathetic but determined. “Yeah, I get it. But hey, you can’t control everything. Sometimes you gotta just trust they’ve got it covered.” He gave her a soft but teasing smile. “Besides, you need energy to deal with me later.”

Despite herself, Perssila rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders loosened, just a little. Crowe always had a way of getting her to laugh, even in moments when she felt like the world was too heavy.

“I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans,” she replied dryly, but her voice was softer now.

Crowe stood up from the bed, stretching his arms out above his head as he moved toward the door. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll warm up to them. Takeout’s here in fifteen. I’ll be in the kitchen setting it up.”

With that, he left the room, and Perssila lay there for a few moments longer, her mind still stuck on you. But she knew Crowe was right—she couldn’t keep worrying herself sick over things she couldn’t control.

Slowly, she pushed herself off the bed, grabbing her phone one last time to check for any updates. Nothing. But she didn’t have the energy to keep checking. Instead, she slipped into her slippers and padded into the kitchen, where Crowe was already arranging the takeout on the counter, the smell of hot food filling the air.

Ding!

Perssila’s heart skipped a beat as the soft ping of the message broke the silence. Her fingers moved quickly, swiping to unlock her phone, and she practically tore open the message as soon as it appeared on her screen. Relief flooded her chest when she saw that it was from you.

You: Yeah, I’m chilling now.

Perssila exhaled in a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The knot of worry in her stomach loosened, but only just a little. She quickly typed her response, her fingers almost moving too fast for her to catch up with herself.

Perssila: So... did you find out what the rope was for?

She bit her lip as she hit send, the question lingering on her mind like a thorn. She knew you were fine now, but her curiosity couldn't help but get the best of her. The thought of you over at Geo’s place, dealing with whatever the hell was going on there—it didn't sit right with her.

She sat back against the counter, her fingers drumming impatiently against the side of her phone as she waited for the reply

Her phone buzzed again, snapping her back to reality. Perssila’s eyes snapped to the screen, her heart quickening a little as she saw your message pop up.

You: Not what I expected... Let’s just say Geo’s got some interesting hobbies.

Perssila raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slight smirk. Interesting hobbies? That’s one way to put it.

Perssila: Interesting how? You’re not in any kind of danger, right?"

She chewed on the edge of her thumb, hoping that she wasn’t reading too much into the cryptic message. She really didn’t want to sound like she was overthinking things, but she couldn’t help it. The idea of you over there, with Geo and whatever it was that he did... it didn’t sit right. 

You: God no, he would never ! Kinda the opposite !

Perssila paused, trying to decipher what you meant. It sounded vague, and that only made her more curious. 

She stared at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. She didn’t want to sound like she was pushing, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking the next question.

Perssila: What the opposite?? Girl explain…

Her stomach churned, a mix of concern and confusion settling in. She didn’t know what you were getting at, but it sounded like things had shifted in a way she hadn’t expected.

Geo’s 'interesting hobbies' and the way you'd worded things made her think that maybe you were a little more tangled up in all this than you were letting on.

You: Just... a lot of stuff I wasn’t expecting.

The suspense was killing her. What did that mean? 

Ding!

You: sent images !!!

Perssila let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a gasp and a scream, her phone slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the counter. 

“What the actual fuck,” she whispered to herself, staring at the device as it had personally committed a crime against her. But despite her body’s visceral reaction, her hands itched to pick the phone back up, to confirm that she hadn’t just hallucinated whatever the hell you had just sent her.

Slowly, hesitantly, she snatched it back and forced herself to look at the images again.

The first one was already enough to make her brain melt—your arms bound behind your back, the ropes so expertly placed that they framed your body like something out of a goddamn high-fashion photoshoot. The tension in the bindings was obvious, snug but not harsh, emphasizing every curve and dip in a way that was almost too intimate. It was... artistic. Too artistic. 

She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the phone like it was the only thing grounding her in reality.

Then the second photo. 

Perssila slammed a hand over her mouth to muffle the horrified squeak that nearly escaped. Geo’s goddamn foot was planted firmly on your back, pressing you down against the floor in a way that was undeniably dominant. The bastard wasn’t even looking at the camera properly—his gaze was fixed on you, half-lidded and unreadable, like he was admiring his own work. 

"Oh my god," she muttered, her brain absolutely refusing to comprehend the implications. 

But then—the third image.

Her stomach dropped. She should ignore it. She really, really should. But of course, she didn’t.

With trembling fingers, she tapped on the notification, opening the third picture.

Perssila regretted everything.

Geo was seated behind you, his pale hand curled loosely around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to tilt your chin up. Your lips were parted slightly, your expression unreadable but undeniably relaxed, almost like you belonged there. Like this was normal. 

And the ropes? The way they framed you? The way they emphasized every inch of your body?

Her soul left her body.

Perssila: WHAT AM I LOOKING AT. HELLO??? 

She barely had time to process it before another message popped up.  

You: Just Geo and I playing around. I learned some things about him. About myself too, I guess. 

Perssila: LEARNED WHAT???

Perssila: THIS IS A CRIME. I’M GOING TO JAIL JUST FOR WITNESSING THIS.

You: Noooo, you’re fine. It’s all fun. Geo has taste.

Perssila: TASTE??? THAT MAN JUST USED YOU AS A GODDAMN FOOTREST.

Perssila screamed into her hands, her stomach twisted in confusion, concern, and the undeniable urge to scream. What kind of ‘learning’ was this?? What did you mean you were learning about yourself?!  

Meanwhile, Crowe, who had been quietly watching her meltdown from across the room, finally leaned over, his curiosity piqued. 

"What’s got you all worked up?" he asked, his tone far too casual.

Just as she was about to throw her phone across the room, Crowe’s voice sliced through the tension in the air, his frown deepening as he noticed her sudden, extreme reaction.

"Everything okay?" His voice held a soft, concerned edge as he set his food down and leaned forward. 

Perssila jerked, her face heating up even further. She quickly tried to swipe the phone out of view, hoping he wouldn’t see what she was looking at, but it was too late. Crowe squinted. His eyes flicked between the images, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he sucked in a breath through his teeth.  

“Damn.” He leaned back, nodding to himself. “Did not have that on my bingo card.”  

Perssila slapped his arm. “This isn’t funny, Crowe!”  

He chuckled, rubbing his arm as he stole another glance at the screen. “I mean... it kinda is.”  

Perssila groaned again, dropping her head onto the table. “I hate everything.”  

Ding!  

Another message.  

You: Don’t worry. It’s all safe, promise. Geo’s a real perfectionist when it comes to this. It’s called ~shibari~. 😌

Perssila lifted her head just enough to type out a response.  

Perssila: I’M SURE HE IS. BUT WHY DOES IT LOOK LIKE YOU'RE HAVING A DAMN SPIRITUAL AWAKENING IN THESE PHOTOS.

You: Because I am !  

Perssila: I’M GOING TO THROW UP.

Perssila stared at her message, her mind struggling to comprehend what she was reading. Her phone buzzed again with another reply, and against her better judgment, she looked.

You: sent an image !

A selfie from you popped up, your face in a peace sign, a grin stretching across your face, while Geo lay on top of you—completely out of it, arms wrapped around you like a teddy bear, his face nestled against your neck, dead asleep. You looked half-amused, half-chilled, while Geo was in another world, like a snuggly corpse.

Perssila: …Mission success, huh? 😑

You: Yeah. He’s a snuggly corpse now. 10/10.

Perssila groaned and dropped her face into her hands, completely mortified. 

Perssila: BUT NEVER SEND ME YOUR KINKY SHIT. MY EYES HAVE TRAUMA. 🔪

Crowe’s gaze was still locked on her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You okay there, love?" He asked his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of genuine concern. 

She glanced at him, blushing hard, but the absurdity of the situation made her crack a smile. “…I’m never going to unsee that," she muttered, rolling her eyes. 

Meanwhile, back with you, your eyes lingered on your phone, a mix of emotions twisting in your chest. You hoped Perssila knew you hadn’t meant any harm with the pictures—you thought it was funny. But despite that, an awkward tightness settled inside you, making it hard to shake the unease.

Just as you were about to type something else, Geo suddenly reached up and snatched the phone straight from your hands. The sudden movement startled you, your body freezing for a moment as your gaze snapped to him.

He still held you tightly, one strong arm wrapped securely around your waist, keeping your back pressed against his chest. The warmth of him was grounding, but his grip on the phone was firm, ignoring any protest you might’ve made.

You blinked in shock, barely able to process what just happened before his fingers curled around the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. The motion was gentle but deliberate, keeping you locked against him. 

“Be still,” he murmured, his voice low and unwavering, carrying a quiet authority that made it impossible to ignore. His thumb absently brushed over your wrist, the same one that had been holding your phone just moments ago. You could feel the subtle tension in his muscles, the way his body stayed attuned to yours as if making sure you didn’t slip away. 

“No texting Perssila right now.”

You stared at him, confusion flickering across your face. "How do you even know I was texting her?" you asked, your tone just a little accusing.

Geo exhaled sharply, amusement flickering in his eyes as he kept his hold on you. "Because," he said, tilting his head slightly, "I saw the messages and missed calls from her earlier—before we took those pictures of you." 

Your stomach flipped.

Wait. 

What?

Your mouth opened, but no words came out at first, your mind scrambling to catch up. "You—what?" you finally spluttered, unable to hide the shock in your voice. You’d assumed he was just letting you send a few messages, not that he had been paying attention the entire time.

Geo exhaled, shaking his head, though the subtle smirk tugging at his lips gave away his amusement. "You really thought I wouldn’t notice?"  

Your face heated instantly. “I’m sorry, Geo, I—”  

He cut you off with a quiet chuckle, his grip on your waist unwavering. “Relax. I don’t really care if it’s just between her.” His voice was calm, almost too casual. “And I’m sure Jericho saw too.”  

Your stomach dropped.  

He gave the slightest squeeze, his fingers pressing against your side, grounding you in place. “I just have to make sure they keep quiet about it.”  

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your ears. There was something about the way he said it—so effortless, so damn confident—that sent a shiver down your spine.  

This man was impossible.  

And yet…  

Who would've thought a little bondage would lead to this?

[violetszone]

Whats your kink?

Charles x fem!reader

From this request

Summary: You've been trying to find Charles' kinks for a long time But you didn't learn this until you started taking birth control pills.

A/n: again, i don't know what i wrote,i'm too tired to read and edit it sorry...

WARNINGS: Google translated French,breeding, Quick finish,not edited writing, fully smut, unprotected sex (God, please use protection my friends.)

You always thought Charles had some weird kink and you'd find it The reason for taking this as a mission was that it started like this: One New Year's Eve, while you were playing a game with your friends, someone asked Charles this question, and he stared at you for a few seconds and then answered no. Since that day you've been trying to bring this up without letting him know.

Of course, finding this was harder than you expected because you were at the very beginning of your relationship when it happened, and now you had been dating for almost 2 years.You tried everything you thought would excite him, but they couldn't. Until one day you came home from the doctor's check-up and said that you started taking birth control pills.

You could have sworn you saw a twinkle in Charles' eyes at that moment, even if only for a brief moment.Of course, nothing happened for a while until you started using the pill regularly and one night the lust for both of you became unbearable.

Charles had returned from a meeting in Italy and you were waiting for him at home. The moment he got home, he left his backpack at the door and pulled you towards him and pressed you to his lips, kissing you passionately. Before you knew it, you were entering your bedroom, half-naked in Charles' arms.Charles kissed your entire body, licking and biting the sensitive spots he knew would turn you on, you were burning underneath him.

When he put his hand into the bedside drawer, he frowned and got up, cursing. You looked at Charles, out of breath "what's wrong?"Charles rummaged through the drawer for a while and looked at you with disappointment and sat down next to you. "I'm sorry my love, there is no condom, I must have forgotten that, I'm sorry"

You rose up on your arms, looked at him and spoke hesitantly. "I'm on pills you know that-" Charles bit his lower lip, examined your face, then shook his head no "There is no guarantee and it will leave you in doubt, I can't do this" you put your hand on his shoulder and climbed onto his lap, "but I can do it. Please Charles, I miss you so much." While you leave little pecks on Charles' lips and neck he moaned softly and his hands came up to your waist.

You whispered "please" against his lips as he slowly pulled you away from him He laid you back down on the bed and returned to his previous position, stroking your hair. “I have to do whatever my sweet thing wants.” While his words made you smile, Charles' hand slipped into your underwear, causing you to moan. "Look at this, is this all for me Y/N hm tell me. Do I make you this wet every time I touch you?" You moaned and closed your eyes as Charles's two fingers entered you. When one of your hands reflexively tried to hold Charles' arm, Charles pinned your hands to the bed with his free hand.

He fingered you, giving you brutal pleasure as you writhed and moaned underneath him. Just as you were about to reach climax, Charles pulled his hand away, you made a sound between a moan and a whimper and opened your eyes. While he took off his trousers and underwear with one hand, he sucked the fingers of his other hand that gave you pleasure "What a gorgeous girl you are hm. You will cum on my cock, beauty, you heard? I will make you cum on my raw cock. Look how excited you are.Do you want my cock beauty? "

You moaned and moved your hips towards Charles.Charles rubbed his dick with one hand and pressed your hips to the bed with his other hand "behave" You whined when he growled "Fuck, don't you have those tits, you're destroying me, especially when those tight dresses squeeze them, my god i want to fuck them some time" He pinched your nipple with two fingers, making you moan, He came closer and licked and sucked and bit your tits ""Cha-ah!" You made a sound that was a mix of moaning and screaming, and he put one hand over your mouth.

"shhh be quiet beauty, we wouldn't want the neighbors to hear what a loud slut you are, would we?" As your eyes filled with tears of pleasure, you nodded your approval. Charles took his hand from your mouth, connected his lips with yours and kissed you passionately. "Let me love you baby" While kissing your neck, he started to slide his length into your wetness.

"oh fuck Charles...o- oh my god" When Charles was completely inside you, he paused and looked into your eyes, "fuck sweetie, this is heaven." Charles slowly started to move inside you. Feeling each other completely for the first time was very different for both of you, you felt like you were going to die.

As Charles' movements speed up, you felt yourself getting closer to climax and dug your nails into his back. "My fuckkk please omg! Charles I'm gonna-" Charles moaned as he squeezed your breast with his free hand "cum baby, cum on my cock" While your back was arched , you held on to Charles's arm, which held your chest. While your body was shaking, you closed your eyes and moaned.Charles' movements became sharper and harder as you cum.

"Fuck baby, I'm gonna cum, fuck, I'm gonna fill you up hmmhhh. Putain, tu es si sexy, je vais remplir ta taille de mes bébés. Let me fucking breed you" (Fuck, you're so hot, I'll fill your belly with my babies) You just moaned what Charles said, you were out of breath, after a few seconds he started to cum inside you, He came deep down to the last drop.Then hugged you tiredly without putting all his weight on you he gave you a kiss on your cheek, came out and lay down next to you.

You started laughing as you stared at the ceiling, out of breath. Charles frowned and looked at you “what's the matter?” You turned sideways and placed a kiss on Charles' arm. "Breeding kink. Really? I would never have guessed.I've been trying for a year in vain " Charles rubbed his face with his hand and looked into your eyes again. "Have you been doing those weird sex things for a year to find my kink? God baby.." he chuckled, you rotated your hips and placed one of your legs over Charles's. Both of your pleasure juices were still flowing out of you. Charles groaned at the sight and closed his eyes.

"Omg you really have a breedink kink" Charles put his finger to your lips "shut up, god" you giggled your head on his shoulder "and my tits? seriously?" This time Charles took his arm off you and tried to turn around, and you laughed. "Come on Charles I'm just kidding...I actually liked it really" Charles turned and hugged me "hey Charlie, stop looking at my ass please" Charles laughed at your words, inhaled your scent and pulled back from the hug and played with your hair, "I'm sorry, it was just so beautiful." You put a small peck on his lips and smiled "i know baby thank you for that" You leaned your head on his chest again and started to doze off while he caressed your hair and kissed your head.

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Alien

Part 1

Yandere! Alien who’s been living with you for a few months now. It’s not easy living with an alien. You two are from completely different worlds, it’s a massive cultural shock for the both of you. He keeps talking about you being his betrothed, he can’t keep his hands to himself, and he just keeps trying to—what? Court you? Seduce you? You don’t even know anymore. This whole situation is just too weird.

Yandere! Alien who barely lets you out of the apartment. You’ve tried explaining to him that you can’t just stay home all the time, no matter how much he begs. You have a job, you need to go there sometimes to get money and provide for the two of you. Cause you know damn well he can’t go and do it himself. But he eventually accepts it, with a lot of tears involved in the process.

Yandere! Alien who has a phone now. You thought that the best way to check on him in case he does anything stupid is with a phone, and this also allows him to still be somehow connected with you, so it’s a win-win. But now you have to endure the hundreds of messages that he sends you throughout the day! He sends you memes that he finds funny, long paragraphs saying how much he misses you, a link to an ‘Alien x Reader’ fic—wait. What? This is how he spends his free time? Why is he even reading that?

Yandere! Alien who enjoys the midnight strolls that you take with him. You always show him new places, and never fail to make sure that it’s safe for him. He loves seeing all the bright neon lights, the big parks that are filled with colorful flowers and trees, and playing with the stray cats from the alleys you pass by. It’s very peaceful and intimate. Romantic even. He wishes he could take these same strolls during the day. It’s so unfair, he just wants to go out with his future spouse in broad daylight, that’s not a crime! Would people really get that freaked out if they saw him? Really? He’s just a chill guy! Sure, he may have antennae, gray skin, and pointy ears. But he’s just like everybody else! Here, check him out. You’ll see just how much resemblance he has with male humans.

Yandere! Alien who’s been courting you ever since he met you, and you still haven’t reciprocated his feelings! He’s starting to get a bit impatient. He’s pretty sure he has seen every single rom-com there is, so why isn’t it working?! He cuddles you every night, makes you breakfast in the morning, he greets you with a kiss on your cheek when you come back from work. Ugh! He even ripped off his tracker chip from his body so no one on his planet would find him! Should he start courting you the way they do on his planet instead? You want him to behead your enemies and bring you their skin?

Yandere! Alien who on one hand knows that he can’t stop you from having friends and hanging out with them. But on the other hand he wants to stab them for taking you away from him. So he does the only logical thing, he breaks the one rule that you’ve asked him not to break. He leaves the apartment to stalk—make sure you’re okay! Can you blame him though? Those ‘friends’ of yours are a bunch of creeps. C’mon, why would a stinky human male hug you? That guy is probably trying to court you—why are you hugging him back?! No, nop, absolutely not. He cannot stand for this.

Yandere! Alien who carries you in his arms the second you get home, bringing you to your bedroom as you yell at him to let you go, kicking and pushing at him to try to break free. He ignores your failed attempts and mutes out your confused pries, finally letting you down on your bed. He pins you down to the mattress, getting on top of you to prevent you from escaping his hold. He’s tried so hard to show you just how much he wants you, needs you. You’re his savior, the person who takes care of him day after day. So why do you let other males get so close to you? But…this is on him. Perhaps he should’ve been clearer on his intentions, more assertive on his feelings. Oh, this has gone too far, he has to let you know exactly what he wants. There will be no doubts of his love for you when he’s done. He’ll make sure to show you all the love he has for you.

Yandere! Alien who caresses your skin so softly, as if he was afraid it would break. His hand creeping up under your shirt, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You hope that you’re somehow misinterpreting the situation. You never thought that his approaches would’ve ended up in…this. All those times his hands grazed your waist when you passed by. When his touch would always linger a little too long. You didn’t think it would get to this, and look at you know.

Yandere! Alien who has kept you so busy ever since you met him, that you never had time to go on dates or meet new people. Now that you think about it, it’s been a while since you’ve relieved some stress. You certainly wouldn’t mind receiving some well needed attention. So…you can either let go of your common sense and enjoy yourself—with the knowledge that you’ll have to deal with an alien being ten times clingier than before and who will probably take this as your consent to getting married—or…just stick to your lucidity and turn him down…

Yandere! Alien who makes you forget you ever had common sense in the first place. C’mon, you have the right to have a good time, you’ll deal with the consequences later! So just lie down, relax, and let your lovely alien please you the way he knows how. That website he’s been watching has taught him all he needs to know about it. It really came in handy in the end, huh?

Yandere! Alien who will make you see stars.

Here it is! Part 2! I didn't think that the first part would get so many likes, so I kinda had to improvise this one. I know it's shorter than the first one, I just wanted to post something, anything. So I came up with this. I hope you like it. Thank you so much for all the support. Writting sure is difficult, but I really like it, and your support insipires me! Kisses <3

[alchemistc]

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.