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rinneverse · 3 months

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࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. — 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒌𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊 ˒ ⊹

series synopsis. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

[ don't you trust me masterlist | next chapter. ]

syn. you remember the beginning of your relationship with sampo koski, and think about where you're currently at now. sampo surprises you when he asks if you'd like to stay the night... and to your own surprise, you agree. (6.8k)

cw. fem reader / piv intercourse / marking / creampie / alcohol + drinking / spit mention / usage of the petnames doll & dollface, pretty girl, pretty, sweetheart, baby / slight mention of a size diff between sampo and reader (sampo is implied to be bigger than reader) / oral (f!receiving) / fingering / praise

love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. HELLO HI. FIRST CHAPTER. i am genuinely SOOO FUCKING EXCITED but also i'm actually very scared to be posting this bc this project is my BABY but OFSJDHGHAERFSHDGK FUCK IT WE BAAALLLLL!!!!!!!

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears.

It’s a rhythmic sound, aligning with the harsh creak of the bed as Sampo Koski’s hips snap into you with reckless abandon. It’s a carnal exchange, one involving sweat slicked bodies and teeth scraping against tender, sensitive flesh; it’s never been a slow, loving event. It’s always a release of stress.

Nothing more than that.

“Fuck—fuck me, please, don’t stop!” Your breath leaves you in a shuddering gasp. Pleasure zips through you, coursing from your dizzy head to your curled toes, leaving you absolutely molten.

Sampo heeds your calls, his pace never faltering for a second as he holds your hips in a bruising grip. You’re left there to grasp at the bed sheets, rake your nails down his back, lay there and take it as Sampo basks in the feeling of your soaked cunt pulsing around his cock.

“Gonna cum, pretty? C’mon, do it for Sampo, yeah?”

He had an awful habit of referring to himself in third person. It was a habit of his that you hated—not that it really mattered in this moment, when your brain was melting from the pleasure. You feel your core tightening with every passing second. You wanted to. You wanted to cum.

“Fuuuuck,” you drawl, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he draws a hand between the two of you to play with your aching clit. “Don’t stop. ‘m close, please, please,” you beg, a pretty sound that has Sampo growling.

And he doesn’t stop—he grows even more erratic in his thrusts, pushing you over the edge as his lips close around the sensitive skin of your neck. He’s always been a fan of leaving marks; possessive to a fault even if you weren’t officially his.

As you convulse around him, a sob of pleasure falling from your lips, Sampo is groaning and clutching you tight as his hips stutter. He cums, hard, thick ropes of seed shooting inside you as he pushes deep into your cunt.

He’s always had a habit of doing that, too. This one, you hated slightly less.

The two of you pant heavily as you come down from your respective highs. You clutch Sampo tightly, breasts rising and falling with every breath you take. He lets out a low laugh, content to let you hold him tightly as you bask in your post-orgasm high.

And as you come down, you reminisce.

Steam curls in the air as the pot on the stovetop boils water. You’re in the middle of your habitual tea time, getting ready to make yourself a warm cup to enjoy while you indulge in the latest book you’ve purchased for yourself when you hear your phone ping with a notification.

Your eye twitches as you spy who it’s from.

sampo: hey, pretty. mind meeting me at the usual spot real quick? i have something i need to ask you you: what could you possibly need to ask me that can’t be sent over text? you: sampo? you: sampoooo? you: you bitch. (read)

“Sampo.”

“Yes, pretty girl?”

The drawl of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You’re supposed to be mad at him for interrupting your tea, though, so you continue with annoyance filling your tone, “What the hell was that cryptic message for? You can never be straight up with me, can you?”

Sampo taps his chin thoughtfully. Then he shrugs. “Some things are best left unwritten… and this particular favor, I’d really like to ask you in person.”

There’s a shit-eating grin on his face, and his tone is one that has you shifting back and forth on your feet. Sampo has always been an enigma to you, a jigsaw puzzle you could never quite figure out. It honestly irked you to no end that you couldn’t read him like you could everyone else.

The ambience of the bar you liked to frequent consumed the silence between you and Sampo. You take a second to claim the seat beside him and order your usual drink, crossing your legs as you give him a once-over.

Sampo’s clad in his usual outfit, his unruly two-toned hair tied back messily, exposing the nape of his neck to the humid atmosphere of the room. Your eyes seem to linger there momentarily before you meet his gaze, emerald pools glimmering with mischief and something more you can’t quite put your finger on.

You make a face at him. His grin widens in response and you roll your eyes.

“Alright. What’s this oh-so important favor, then?”

Sampo’s grin, to your surprise, lessens into a sheepish one. He averts his gaze in favor of knocking back his drink. He looks back to you.

“Ah, well… I was thinking—”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Sampo.” You interject.

Sampo’s lips twitched slightly. “If you would so kindly let me gather my thoughts...” He takes in a breath, a brief pause as he turns over the words he wanted to say before he continues.

“You’ve been telling me about how you’ve been so wound up with stress lately.” He clasps his hands together, rubbing them together in the way he does when he starts kissing ass. “And I was thinking, what if I did you a little favor? I could relieve it for you, if you’d like.”

You wait for more elaboration from him, but it doesn’t come. You raise an eyebrow. “What, exactly, are you suggesting here?”

Silence. Then: “How about we become friends with benefits?”

You gawk at him. His eyes catch on the way your lips part and press together, covered in a pretty sheen of gloss. You’re too busy trying to wrap your head around what he just suggested to notice the lingering hunger in his gaze.

You quickly search for a distraction—noticing that the bartender had slid over your drink without you realizing, you quickly swipe it up and start chugging. You think you hear a chuckle from Sampo in the background.

Once you’re satisfied (you had practically downed your entire drink in one go), savoring the burn of the alcohol that lingers in your throat, you wipe the corner of your lips with a thumb and turn back towards him. He’s still looking at you. Had he even looked at anything else while you were busy regaining your bearings?

It doesn’t matter. Your eyes narrow at him and you cross your arms. “What’s in it for you?”

Sampo seemed to have expected your suspicion, because he doesn’t miss a beat when he answers, “I get the same as you—an outlet for stress relief. Let me take care of you, pretty girl.”

The way he purrs his chosen pet-name for you sends a shiver running down your spine. You try to hide the way your thighs press together. The prospect of having sex with Sampo… it’s not entirely a notion you’d reject. Objectively, he’s fine as hell, with pretty green eyes and a slim waist, powerful shoulders and a broad back you think you’d like to rake your nails down. You bite your lip.

Okay, sure. Why the fuck not? Regardless of whether or not there was alcohol currently addling your brain, there’s no way you lose in this situation. Unless…

You hold up a hand. “Alright. I have a couple conditions though.”

Sampo nods, and his silence is enough to have you plowing forward with your thoughts. “No strings attached. I don’t want feelings involved. This is purely physical. And…” You purse your lips, searching for the words you wanted to say. After a moment you add quickly, “no kissing. That’s far too intimate, I think.”

“Fair enough,” he muses. “Any other lines you’d like to draw?”

He agreed to that almost immediately—while that should please you, it instead leaves a sick feeling swirling in your stomach and you’re not quite sure why. You chalk it up to the alcohol you had very intelligently decided to chug, and you lean against the bar as you ponder his question.

“No, I think that’s it.” You finally respond. Sampo briefly reaches out his hand for a handshake, but thinks better of it and retracts his hand quickly in favor of rising from the barstool he was perched on.

He grins down at you and holds out that hand again, this time in offering to you. “Shall we?”

“Ah—this starts tonight, then?”

“When else would it, doll? I’ve been thinking about this for awhile. Only you can help me scratch this itch.” He winks at you. You roll your eyes, but accept his hand anyways, gracefully coming to your feet.

Despite yourself, you feel your face warm as the two of you stare at each other, neither of you making the first move. You shouldn’t be embarrassed—this was Sampo, of all people—but here you were, suddenly shy. You glance away quickly, but after drawing up a bit of courage you chance a peek up at Sampo and find that there’s a pretty pink flush dusting over his cheeks. It makes you feel a sense of satisfaction. You weren’t the only one flustered here.

Sampo rubs the back of his neck, then he ventures, “so… would my place be okay?”

You stifle a giggle at how awkwardly he asks, deciding to spare him the pain of silence as you immediately nod your head. “Okay, sounds good. Let’s go.”

Sampo’s place is… neater than you thought it would be.

Actually, you don’t really know what you were expecting. It wasn’t necessarily a shithole in the slums you were imagining, but… ah, it didn’t matter.

It’s sparsely decorated, just a few trinkets here and there scattered amongst the comfy furniture adorning the living space. You pause in the doorway as you take it all in. You thought he would be more… of the hoarding sort. Guess Sampo is full of surprises tonight.

Which, speaking of Sampo:

“Well? I won’t bite doll, promise—I mean, unless you want me to.”

Sampo wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, earning a swift kick to his shins as you take another step in. He lets out a dramatic ‘oof,’ which draws a giggle from you, to his delight.

“We’ll see,” is all you say as you close and lock the door behind you.

It’s awkward as the two of you navigate through his home, much to your chagrin, but you were completely unsure of how to proceed. All you really knew was the exact reason you were here, the thought sending your heart beating a mile a minute as you focus on keeping your breathing steady.

You were positive Sampo knew how much of a mess you felt like right now though, because he startles you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, okay pretty girl? You just let me know if it’s ever too much.”

Your lip quivers as you look up at him. His face softens even more at the anxiety you finally let shine through when you whisper, “Okay.”

The hand resting on your shoulder drifts down to the small of your back, ghosting gently along your spine as he takes on guiding you to his room, maneuvering you to the foot of his bed where you hesitantly take a seat.

He hums thoughtfully as he searches for the words he wants to say. Another moment passes, then suddenly—“Do you trust me?”

You blink owlishly. Then, you nod your head.

“I need to hear a verbal confirmation, dollface.”

The dominance in his tone has your back straightening—and much to your surprise, heat swirling in your core. You bite your lip. “I trust you, Sampo.”

“Good girl. You just let me take the reins, okay? All you gotta do is sit back and relax.”

You nod your head. Sampo takes a step towards you but only stares, his eyes narrowing in challenge. You quickly realize what he wants and you stammer out a quick ‘yes’ before he’s descending upon you, gently pushing your shoulders in a silent command to lay back against the mattress.

You’re pliant to his whims, lying back against the plush bedding as he leans over you, breath ghosting over your face as if he’s about to kiss you—then he’s remembering your request, inching lower to press his lips to the smooth column of your neck. He draws out a soft moan from you as you feel his tongue dip against your skin, the scrape of his teeth as he drags his mouth lower, towards your collarbone.

“Your skin tastes divine, sweetheart. I wonder how much better it is down here.”

His sinful words are accompanied by a roll of his hips against your center, eliciting a gasp from you at the sudden friction. You squirm, hands coming up to clutch his shoulders as he smirks down at you.

You meet his smug gaze with narrowed eyes. Two could play at this game. You roll your hips back up against his, achingly slow, savoring the way Sampo’s eyelids flutter shut as he presses back against you.

“Don’t tease me,” you breathe. “Or I’ll do it right back.”

Sampo’s lips curl up in a smile, a pure predator looking down at you. “Yeah?”

You nod your head, eyebrows furrowing with displeasure as you meet his heated stare. It takes everything in you not to grind up against him again—desperate for any sort of friction. Sampo’s smile only widens.

“Alright, alright, I get the message. I won’t torment you for too long, okay? Sampo’ll take good care of ya.”

You make a feeble attempt at kicking him, but he’s quicker than you, pinning your legs with his strong thighs—you can see the muscles flex under the fabric of his pants at the effort. You can’t help the way your mouth drops open a fraction.

Okay, maybe you were attracted to Sampo. When he kept his mouth shut.

“Don’t refer to yourself in third person, you freak.”

“Or what?” Sampo leans closer to you, face to face. His warm breath mingles with yours—and he’s close to you, so close, leaning and leaning and—

He’s got you distracted as a hand slips under the fabric of your shirt, slithering up your stomach until he reaches what he was aiming for. He palms the soft flesh of your tit and you moan, glowering up at him as he smirks in response.

“Pay attention, pretty. Don’t want you to miss a single thing.”

You glare up at him as he smiles prettily down at you, the portrait of innocence—well, as innocent as he can be with the lust-drunk gaze he drags over your body as he slowly pushes up your shirt with another hand. With a little bit of maneuvering he pulls the fabric off of you, leaving you in your bra and the miniskirt you opted to wear out to see him.

Sampo bites his lip, running his hand over the curves of your body. Then he’s peeling away your skirt as well, humming in satisfaction as you lift your hips for him, leaving goosebumps along the skin of your legs as his fingers brush against the sensitive flesh. You watch as he drops the fabric slowly, his sharp gaze roving slowly over your figure.

“Aeons, sweetheart. You look so good.” Sampo hisses quietly as he palms at the bulge in his pants. Your eyes immediately catch on the movement.

He’s hard. And from what little you can glean, he’s big, too. You swallow.

Sampo’s smile grows feline. “What’re you lookin’ at, pretty girl?”

You shake your head. Sampo tuts quietly, but doesn’t push—not yet.

Sampo pulls off his shirt in a swift movement. Unbuckles his belt with one hand. You sit up on your elbows—not just to watch him strip unobstructed, you tell yourself—as you take in the view of Sampo, of his broad shoulders and strong biceps, the smooth skin of his chest, down his abs, and… is that a happy trail? It most certainly is. You really hope you’re not drooling.

“Now, don’t get shy on me now. It’s far too late for that.” You hear Sampo chuckle darkly. “C’mon, you can be honest. You like the view?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

You hesitate. It was going to come out one way or another, so you ultimately decide to be truthful with him and nod your head. His smile only widens.

“Good girl, bein’ honest. How about I reward you, huh?”

You don’t have time to ask questions; he doesn’t grant you any. He grasps your ankle and pulls you to the edge of the bed where he kneels, face level with the pretty lace underwear you adorn. You let out a squeak of surprise, your face heating with embarrassment as you realize just how vulnerable this position made you. His large hands grasp at your thighs, pushing them open as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Hey—” you start with a gasp, eyes wide as you look down at him. He smiles coyly when he catches your gaze.

“You trust me, don’t ya? Just relax,” he purrs. His fingers trace the hemline of your panties, drawing a shiver from you. Biting your lip, you take his advice and lean back, watching him raptly as he kisses the inside of your thigh. You feel your chest tighten with desire.

“Pretty,” the pet-name rolls off his tongue smoothly, dripping with honey-sweet desire. “You’re already so soaked for me. Look at you.” His finger glides up your lace-covered slit. You let out a whimper in response.

He takes his time with you, holding you open with one hand as the other drifts up over your navel, around the hem of your panties, dipping under the elastic seam and snapping it back against your skin. He tugs at it gently, once, twice, then he’s pulling it down, leaving the fabric to dangle around the ankle hooked over his shoulder. He leans forward to press a kiss to the apex of your thighs.

“Sampo…” You breathe out. You’re clutching at the sheets below you in a white-knuckled grip, your ribs expanding with the deep, shuddering inhale you take in as his eyes make contact with yours.

“You’re fucking dripping for me, baby,” he all but groans. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You’re just about on the verge of begging for something, any kind of stimulation from him, when his eyes flick back down. He’s suddenly pressing his mouth to your cunt, tongue laving up your center. It feels like you’ve been electrified, nerves alight with white-hot pleasure; you nearly jump at the contact. His grip shifts to your hips, holding you down as he devours you like a man starved.

Your head tips back as you moan wantonly. It’s maddening and satisfying all at once—his tongue strokes at your clit, dips into you and drags back out slowly, teasingly. You look back down at him through the haze of pleasure, finding intense pools of emerald staring right back at you, drinking in your every reaction like it was the sweetest nectar.

“Sampo,” his name falls from your lips almost reverently. The effect it has on him is almost instantaneous—his grip tightens on you and he’s eating you out with a renewed fervor, bringing you ever closer to the brink. As you dangle dangerously on that precipice, you bring a hand down to twine through the soft locks of his navy hair, panting with the effort of prolonging the moment. Not yet. Not yet.

The groan he lets out when you tug on his hair makes your core tighten even more.

“Baby,” he rasps as he pulls away, warm breath fanning over your sensitive slit. The sight is filthy: there’s a thin trail of saliva still connecting you to him, your slick shining on his chin in the pale moonlight that filters in through the curtains. “You taste so fucking good.”

Your chest heaves as you reply breathlessly, “you feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He pauses, his head dipping slightly as he presses a gentle kiss to your clit. Your hips buck again, restrained by the hand that grips you tightly. “Do you want to feel even better?”

You nod your head, the word ‘yes’ falling from your lips in a desperate plea.

Sampo smiles, his free hand coming up slowly, so so slowly, his tongue darting out to coat his fingers in his saliva. His eyes never leave yours—no, he wanted you to watch this lewd display. Watch as his tongue runs over spit-slicked knuckles, watch as he lowered his hand to your aching pussy.

“Fuck,” you whine as he eases his fingers into you easily, crooking and prodding—searching. Looking for the spot that drives you crazy. A moan rips from your throat, head falling back as Sampo’s lips close around your clit, sucking and licking in tandem with his fingers that were working you just right.

When they curl in the most perfect way, you have to stop yourself from closing your legs around his head with a sharp inhale. You miss the way his eyes light up with a feral sort of excitement—knowing he’s found the spot that makes you come apart so perfectly. And he exploits that spot, again and again and again, making you delirious with the white-hot pleasure he inflicts upon you.

It’s not long before you’re shoved off the edge, freefalling into a world-shattering orgasm that has your back arching as you let out a sob of pleasure. Sampo laps lazily at you through your orgasm, making you jolt with the after-shocks as he drags his tongue over your now too-sensitive clit.

“Atta girl,” Sampo croons, withdrawing his fingers with a lewd squelch. You squirm as you feel the cool air hit your slick covered thighs. “That feel good?”

Dazed, you nod your head. You feel the heavy weight of Sampo hover over you, consuming your senses as his lips press against your neck. Sometime between him giving you perhaps one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had and now, he’s shucked off his pants, now clad only in his boxers. They’re stained with pre, you note with satisfaction, his cock straining against the fabric. You slip a hand down, trailing lower and lower until your fingers brush over his erection.

Sampo groans softly. The noise fills you with a tidal wave of desire; you find yourself wanting to hear what other noises you can draw out of him. You start to palm him gently, fingers caressing the impressive length of him through the thin cotton material. Sampo makes a low noise in his throat.

“Doll… you’re driving me crazy here.” Sampo utters, inhaling sharply when you squeeze.

“What’s wrong, Sampo? ‘m not doing anything.” You smile coyly as you continue to tease him.

His eyes glint with predatory intent, his hand shooting down to grab your wrist when he decides you’ve had enough fun toying with him.

Looks like his patience has run out. Not that he had that much to even begin with.

Sampo releases your wrist in favor of tugging his boxers down, his cock springing out and slapping obscenely against his abs. He’s… oh, Aeons, you weren’t even sure he would fit.

It’s like he can read the thought plain as day on your face because he purrs, “I’ll take it nice and easy, baby. Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing.”

He nudges your legs open as he kneels between them, hands grasping your hips gently as he readjusts you. Your eyes widen as he spits in his hand and brings it down to pump himself—the lewd display makes your thighs clench.

Despite your apprehension, you couldn’t help the heady desperation that swirled in your core, the electrifying desire zipping through your veins—you wanted him. Bad.

“It’ll feel real good pretty girl, okay? All you have to do is trust me.” Sampo says soothingly. Then he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your slit, dragging it along your folds slowly, coating himself in the arousal dripping from you. The tip catches against your clit deliciously, making you whine softly. You needed more.

“If you don’t fuck me now,”—your breath hitches as he finally pushes in, barely breaching your drooling pussy—”I’ll go insane.”

“I gotcha, pretty. Just be patient.” Sampo holds your hips as he presses further into you. The stretch burns; but it’s the delicious kind of pain, the one that makes you want to beg for more.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, his muffled groan vibrating against you. He’s trembling, you think—holding back the urge to just fuck you already. While you appreciate the thought, you think you might genuinely, actually, go insane if he doesn’t start fucking your brains out soon.

“Sampo,” you rasp, hips bucking slightly. “I can take it. Please, please—need it so bad.”

His hips twitch. One heartbeat passes—then two.

“Sampo.” You whine again. Your fingers clutch his shoulder blades, nails digging into the flesh none too gently.

He breathes in deeply. The only warning you get is him readjusting his grip; he snaps his hips, thrusting all the way in. It tears a moan from your throat, walls pulsing around his girth as he bottoms out, balls slapping lewdly against the plushness of your ass. You’re both groaning, your nails digging even harder into him as he pulls out slowly, then snaps his hips again, starting a crude rhythm that drains all sense from your head.

All you can manage is a heady moan of his name, the pleasure threatening to pull you under like the strong current of a riptide. You could almost drown in it.

“So good,” you babble, chest bouncing with every thrust into you. It rips the air from your lungs, lighting a fire inside of you, on the brink of burning you from the inside out with the intensity of just how fucking good he’s making you feel.

His skin is slick with sweat, pressing and sliding against your own as he pounds you mercilessly into the soft bed beneath you. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, wild and alight with desire.

“Takin’ me so well,” Sampo groans, hips stuttering as you clamp around him involuntarily. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

A sob falls from your lips as he slows to a tortuous grind, dragging his cock along your pulsing walls. You feel your core tightening, aching, begging for more, more, more.

“I’ll give you more, pretty girl, don’t you worry,” Sampo replies. You didn’t think you had said it out loud, but he doesn’t give you any time to think about it because he’s grabbing the backs of your knees and pressing them back against your chest.

The new position has stars swimming in your vision as he pistons into you, the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in your ear as he all but folds you in half. You think you might really die. Your head is spinning. You can’t even form a coherent thought anymore—you’re quite literally filled to the brim with Sampo. You don’t think you ever want it to stop.

You feel tears prick your eyes as you’re overwhelmed with the molten pleasure coursing through your veins. He’s fucking you relentlessly, even through the orgasm that hits you like a freight-train, so sudden that you damn near pass out.

“Fuck yeah—cum for me, pretty. You’re doing so fucking well.”

You feel Sampo throb inside you—he’s close, too, and you want him tumbling into oblivion with you—so you clench around him, walls still fluttering with the orgasm he’s fucking you through. He hisses, teeth gnashing together as he stifles his groan, pace growing unsteady and snappier until he’s suddenly pulling out, painting your burning skin with ropes of cum. It’s sticky, dripping in rivulets down your skin, but you can’t find it in you to be grossed out.

In fact, you think it’s a little hot.

He curses lowly, hips still twitching in the aftermath of his own climax. “Fuck, doll…” He pants. “Let me get you a towel.”

That was almost a year ago, you think. Heat creeps up your face at the memory of your first escapade with him.

You’ve had this sort of arrangement with Sampo for awhile, where the two of you will link up, fuck, and then go your separate ways, as simple as that. Sometimes it’s more planned, and you’ll end up in his bed for an hour or two, but other times, most times, it ends with your back against a brick wall in a desolate alley, or perhaps inside the nearest closet the two of you can find.

But lately, it’s been the former. He’s even been dining you beforehand, treating you to a nice meal before he fucks your brains out. And while you appreciate the sentiment, it’s been.. throwing you off, to put it simply.

You’re not quite sure what this means for the two of you. Maybe you can choose to ignore this development in this precarious relationship the two of you shared, always teetering on that fine line between lust and something that felt suspiciously like love.

Problem is… you’re not quite sure if you even wanted to ignore it.

You’re shaken from your thoughts when you hear the shower running, and the cold slams into you with a fierceness you’re completely unprepared for. Teeth clattering together as you shiver, you grab for the nearest blanket (you end up needing to grab the duvet—Sampo never kept extra blankets on the bed) and bundle yourself up. Once you feel warm enough, you roll out of the comfort of his bed, your feet padding softly on the carpet as you make your way to the bathroom. You find Sampo in there in all of his naked glory, who turns his head as he hears the quiet hiss of the blanket dragging against the floor.

He offers you a kind smile, completely unfazed as your eyes rove over him, none too discreetly. He says, “I thought I’d start the shower for you. Get it warmed up.”

You tilt your head to the side. “That’s okay, I can just shower when I get home…” Your voice trails off as you catch a glimpse of the city outside from the nearby window—the ground is blanketed in a sheet of white, and you can barely see a few feet away from the glass against the flurry of snow outside. You blink once, twice, and then look at Sampo again.

“Ah, about that…” Sampo rubs the back of his neck. “It’s pretty cold out. How about you stay the night with me? Won’t cost any extra to ya.” He winks at you. His feet are silent on the cool tiled floor as he slowly approaches you. “I’ll even sleep on the couch, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

Despite the… close relationship you shared, you had never actually stayed the full night at Sampo’s. Maybe you’d linger an hour or two, but it had always ended in you making it home, slipping into the comfort of your own bed. This would be the first time sleeping in his. You feel your heart stutter as the thought runs through your mind.

Then you’re shaking your head at his offer—or more specifically, the latter part of it. “No, no, that’s not necessary. I’ll stay, but we can share the bed. We’ve been tangled up in it more than enough to manage just sleeping together in it.” You wryly smile at him. “Thank you, Sampo. I appreciate it.”

You’re slightly astonished at the blush that rises to his cheeks in response to your words. The sight makes warmth bloom in your chest and your heart skips a beat. It reminds you of the first time you had seen him blush, way back when you met him at the bar for that fateful conversation.

The warmth in your chest quickly freezes over as you remember the words exchanged right before that—the stupid rules that you had put in place yourself.

Because, you remember bitterly, this was supposed to be completely and utterly no strings attached. There was no room for the butterflies in your stomach, nor the way your breath hitches when he brushes a hand over your bare shoulder as he slowly slips the duvet from around you.

“Go on, shower first. I’ll be waiting out here for you.” Sampo smirks down at you. “Maybe we’ll go for round two, if you’re up for it.”

With a playful swat at his shoulder, you quickly herd him out of the bathroom. “Horny bastard. We’ll see.”

“It’s up to you, sweetheart. I’ll see you on the other side.”

You can see him blow you a kiss as you shut the door, sliding the lock into place. You clutch your chest. You let your careful mask fall; as you turn to the mirror, you see something akin to desperation on your face shimmering in the reflection.

Maybe you’re in deep shit. Maybe you’ve been falling for awhile now, and you’ve been so stuck in your own head that it took until this very moment to truly grasp your own reality:

You have feelings for Sampo Koski.

With that realization swirling in your head, when you step into the shower, you quickly turn the temperature to cold.

When you emerge from the bathroom, wrapped only in a plush gray towel, you catch Sampo’s gaze from the bedroom almost immediately. You hold up a hand.

“Nuh-uh, no round two.” You simply say. He pouts for only a moment, quickly recovering and rolling out of bed. He immediately slinks up to you with folded clothes in hand.

“Hey now, I wasn’t gonna ask for anything! Here—these are for you to sleep in.” Sampo holds out the folded shirt and sweats. You accept it with a small thank you, and turn back for the bathroom to change.

There was something strangely intimate about putting on his clothes in front of him, so you quietly escape back to the bathroom. There’s no snarky retort or even any comment at all from Sampo, even as you shut the door, so you quickly slip on the clothes he gave you. You’d have to make do with going home in the snow tomorrow in the clothes you wore here, you think. Good thing you opted for your jeans instead of that skirt you wanted to wear.

Distracted, you glance up at the bathroom mirror and startle at the sight.

The sight of you in his shirt makes your stomach flip. His scent curls around you, musky and deep, and for some reason you feel… comforted. Almost like he was embracing you himself. You grip the bathroom counter with your free hand, white-knuckled. You wouldn’t think too hard about what, exactly, this feeling meant. No, you refused to. You would spiral down a dangerous train of thought otherwise; you couldn’t afford to do that when you’re about to sleep in the same bed as Sampo.

You could think about it tomorrow. Or perhaps the day after that. Or maybe even… never. You were happy to stay stagnant in this little bubble that contained you and him, where you weren’t really just friends anymore but you weren’t quite lovers, either. You were content to never let it change.

A knock on the door makes you jump.

“You okay in there, pretty girl? You’ve been in there for awhile.”

His muffled voice held a note of concern that makes your chest tighten. You feel your breath hitch.

“Yeah, uhm—sorry, just give me one more second, promise I’ll stop hogging the bathroom…”

“Take your time. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You hear his footsteps leave and you let out a breath. You could handle this. There was nothing romantic at all about just… sleeping. You would go to bed, then you would wake up and be on your way, and things will return back to the way they should be.

Surely.

With that thought, you slowly creep your way back to the bedroom, where you find Sampo nestled up in his bed already. You catch yourself smiling a little bit.

“Sampo, leave some blanket for me, you pig.”

You hear him snort quietly as you slide into bed beside him. There’s ample room in his bed, and as you curl up on your side, tucking yourself under the plush duvet, you hear him mumble quietly, “Goodnight, pretty girl. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Sampo.”

You cannot, for the life of you, fucking sleep.

It’s hard to, when right at your back there’s a warm mass slumbering—and even though you count every breath he takes like counting sheep, you’re still wide awake. It felt like your thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute.

You’re going to lose your mind at this rate.

Turning onto your back, you stare at the blank ceiling, pushing the blanket down to your midsection as you once again make a fruitless attempt at falling asleep. You know it’s futile to even try, with your heart racing in that familiar way that it did when you were tangled up with Sampo, but fuck, all you wanted to do was sleep.

Rustling makes you freeze.

And then you hear him shifting—when you turn your head to look at him, you catch pools of deep jade green staring back at you. Sampo groggily smiles at you. “Hey.”

You start, clutching the blanket as if it were some kind of shield. He snorts as he observes you.

“Sampo… why’re you awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He replies, followed quickly by a yawn. You feel the urge to yawn tickle at the back of your throat before you’re following suite, bringing up a hand to cover your face.

Sampo chuckles. “You’re not sleepy, pretty? Need Sampo to tire you out real quick?”

You glower at his simpering smile, hitting his shoulder with no real force behind it. “No. I’m okay, I just… never really have an easy time sleeping anywhere that isn’t my own bed.”

He hums in understanding. Then he’s mirroring you, shifting to lie on his back, but instead he stares at the ceiling. Your eyes linger on him a little bit longer before you’re looking up too.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks softly.

You say after a moment of consideration, “I can’t tell you that.”

Sampo doesn’t miss a beat. “Why not?”

You shake your head, the movement hissing against the soft fabric of the pillowcase beneath you. “It’s… personal.”

Sampo snorts again. “I thought we were way past personal boundaries by now.”

Physically, yes, but… emotionally? You don’t voice the thought out loud. Instead you reply, “We are, yes, but um… I dunno.”

Silence. It lingers between you, not entirely uncomfortable, but it’s… tense. You glance back over at Sampo again.

His gaze flicks over to you.

“Do you trust me?”

The phrase lights up a moment of recognition within you—a phrase he’s uttered so many times; as he guides you, tugs you along with his whims, while he takes you—

Your throat bobs as you swallow. Your answer has never changed. “Yes.”

The sheets are rustling. Then, strong arms pull you towards a broad chest, wrapping you in their embrace; you’re responding immediately, lips parting in a silent gasp. Your brain is slower than your heart—you’re curling up against the warmth of him despite your better judgement. You feel the vibrations of his quiet chuckle reverberate through him, through you, echoing deep in your bones as you start to laugh with him.

“If you don’t want to talk, I understand,” Sampo breathes, lips brushing against the crown of your head. “But at least let me hold you. Let me offer you something to take your mind off of things. I want you to get some rest.”

Your hand rests against his pec—he slept shirtless, oh fuck—as you nestle closer to him, legs intertwining with his. You’re tangled together with him again, but this time it’s in a quiet way. Innocent. You find that you don’t mind this.

He doesn’t either, if the way he holds you closer is any indication. He has a strong arm looped around your waist, the other having snaked it’s way under your head, and you think that his bicep doesn’t make too bad of a pillow. It draws a smile to your lips.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll try.”

Curled up in the warmth of Sampo, you finally drift.

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