#I still appreciate people liking it though

[enigmeyyy-writes]

I definitely think a lot of this is really interesting now that I'm rewatching the show again to write my fanfictions...

Katara definitely had her faults (and it was kinda wrong of her to tell her older brother that he didn't love their mother as much, especially because he most likely had more memories of her alive in comparison), but she was still a 14-year-old girl thrust into adult responsibility in the middle of a war. She is misunderstood a lot of the time from a fan's perspective because (in all honesty) a lot of us watched the show as kids and either thought she was super cool or super annoying. I even only started to find Katara annoying after I was older--and that was mainly because in times when she did attempt to "solve" things or "fix" something she wasn't mature enough yet to understand how to handle it responsibly. Sokka was a lot like this too, and we see him getting blamed a lot less. Both of them were standing in as leaders in their tribe during the war, and both of them left. Sure, the Avatar showed up, but even Aang was running away from responsibility until he realized he had to face the consequences of his actions!

Past this point is a lot of me talking about how I'm addressing a lot of this in my fan works, so check it out if you're interested!

I think a lot of my thoughts on this topic stem from the fact that I want to explore the emotional and responsibility commitments the characters of ATLA have weighing on them. In the AU I'm writing, for example, the characters (set in canon) are aged up and a lot of them have more people they are attached to. Since this was a Katara-centric post, I'll also include what I have in mind for my Katara fic.

Growing Pains centers around the letters Katara sends home to her and Sokka's childhood friend, Mali. He was the oldest of the boys left behind by the tribe because he just didn't quite make the age cut, and now serves as a hunter and protector for the tribe. He was definitely upset when his friends left him, but he knew that if they were to travel with the Avatar he had to stay and protect their tribe. Katara sends her letters detailing the stories of her adventures to Mali but soon realizes that she left a lot behind at home for what was turning out to be a perilous and risk-filled adventure.

And on the Aang side of things (because let's face it, a twelve-year-old boy having childish immaturity and the weight of the world on their shoulders is NOT the best combination), I wanted to explore more of his energy and experience of learning maturity after hardship in a Book 3 and post-war fic titled Spitfire.

Spitfire centers around one of Zuko's childhood friends (an OC because I think he deserved friends he could actually trust prior to joining the Gaang) named Soru coming to terms with the fact that he never truly was against the Avatar even though he's from the Fire Nation. Escapism at its finest--truly. As Aang has to come to terms with the new reality the world is entering after the defeat of Fire Lord Ozai, he has to learn how to deal with the weight of the political aspect of society the rest of his friends (and former enemies for that matter) were already wrapped up in.

All in all, I really think exploring aspects of the characters of such a beloved show that aren't really addressed is such an interesting thing to do. I applaud all other ATLA writers on the platform (and any platform) for either just sticking to canon or coming to terms with the flaws that are either over-exaggerated or under-represented in fanfiction, but I am not one of you! I want to explore the inklings of depth we get from this fun show, especially since I'm approaching this from a perspective in which the characters are older and arguably have more responsibility on their shoulders.

I'd really appreciate it if anyone would check out my stories (will be posted on here and ao3) or at least show interest in them! I've worked really hard to put all the details together behind the scenes, so any support or showing you enjoy my works/ideas is greatly appreciated!

I just watched Avatar for the first time all the way through, and yeah, it’s great, but the one thing that surprised me was how different Katara was compared to the fandom interpretation I’d seen and internalized before watching.

Like, before you watch Avatar, you’ve seen all these memes about Katara and her mom, and based on those memes, you assume it’s one of those lines you have to get used to hearing at least once every episode. But then you watch the show and realize that she only talks about her mom maybe five or six times per season and you also realize she only brings her up when she’s trying to comfort someone or empathize with them because that’s how she processes her grief and that’s one way she connects with people.

Or you hear the infamous line, “then you didn’t love [our mother] the way I did” and you prepare yourself for one of the worst character assassinations ever only to see the scene after nearly three seasons worth of context and realize she was kinda right. She’s been the mother, the nurturer, the comforter. She’s been patient, gentle, and accommodating where everyone else has gotten to be insensible and reckless and childish, and the one moment where she allows herself to feel her grief, suddenly she’s this evil bitch and not, y’know, a 14 year old girl whose been thrusted into adulthood in a way no other character has. A 14 year old girl who should be allowed immaturity and raw emotion and anger instead of the patience and grace she’s been forced to extend to every character without even the smallest amount of gratitude or even consideration in return.

Or you see all of the clips where Katara puts Aang in the “friendzone” and you expect to have this wishy washy back and forth where Aang is putting his feelings out there only to have Katara neither commit nor express any clear reciprocation or rejection. Then you watch and realize that, as cute as the ship is initially, that there’s never a point where Aang returns any comfort or grace to Katara despite her always doing this for him to the point of coddling. That for as much as Aang says he loves her, he never seems to outgrow his perception of her so he can recognize her as someone who feels grief, anger, and pain as much as she expresses love, kindness, and maturity. And instead of having moments where he learns to see her beyond her strength or compassion, you’re instead given moments where Aang forces his feelings onto her, both romantic and non-romantic, and Katara is expected to just…shoulder those feelings the way she shoulders everyone else’s.

Katara is the most misunderstood character in the show. As much as people recognize the complexities of Zuko, Sokka, and Azula, they struggle to do the same for Katara because they see her struggles as somehow lesser, and therefore, less deserving of sympathy. They can handle her so long as she’s being endlessly patient and loving and kind, but the moment her endless love, patience, and kindness runs out, she’s suddenly this annoying bitch who can’t shut up about her mother or reciprocate Aang’s feelings. But Katara’s trauma does matter as much as anyone else’s. No, she wasn’t banished from her kingdom. No, she didn’t lose her entire community, and no, she isn’t the only one who lost her mother. But the difference between her and everyone else whose experienced loss because of the Fire Nation is that she’s never given time to process her trauma. Aang gets to lean on Katara constantly. Toph gets to express her feelings to Katara, and yeah, Sokka also lost their mother, but unlike Katara, he isn’t put in the position of being a substitute for everyone’s parent. He even admits that he sees his sister as a mother. The only characters who ever comfort Katara or allow her to vent is Zuko and her father and that’s, like, three scenes in a show where the other characters are consistently given opportunities to seek out Katara for unconditional support.

The fandom interpretation of Katara has been so bastardized that even those who haven’t watched the show know her for this fanon version and not for who she is. She’s such an interesting character beyond her fandom limitations, though. She’s brave, hot-headed, and hopeful as well as gentle and caring. She wishes to learn waterbending, not only because she wants to fight in the war, but because she wants to continue her culture’s practices because, and people often forget this, she also lost an entire subculture within her already fractured tribe. And she wants to defeat the Fire Nation both because of her deep love and empathy for other people, but also because she wants to avenge her mother. But because some of the fans have reduced Katara to a bitch who constantly whines about her mother and friendzones Aang, you wouldn’t know any of this, and it sucks because she’s the only character whose been dumbed down to such an extent.

[no-144444]

telling- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | more to come...

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“You alright?” he mused, his hand squeezing yours. You nodded softly, smiling at him. 

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’m just… worried, I guess.” 

He shook his head. “Nothing to be worried about, they love you already.” 

You followed just a step behind him as he led you to the dining room. You’d been dating Oscar Piastri for 2 whole days. The sun set over Melbourne and the wonderful colours poured in from their large windows, as everyone sat down to dinner. Oscar had ‘stolen’ you away from Mae and Nicole for the day, opting to take you to meet some of his old friends and show you around his home town a bit, and you’d really enjoyed yourself. Australia was beautiful, the kind of place you’d like to live once F1 was over. The weather was warm, the sea was blue, and the people were kind. And Oscar was there. You liked it a lot. 

“What did you two get up to today?” Nicole asked over dinner. 

Oscar shrugged. “Not much, just took her to meet some of my old mates and showed her around a bit. She’s never been to Australia.” 

“She can speak y’know,” Mae sassed at her older brother, who rolled his eyes and shut up. 

You chuckled. “It was cool. Melbourne’s really nice. I usually only see it from the cockpit of the car.”

“What’s it like driving so fast?” Tim asked, still fascinated by it. 

“It’s kind of… unnoticeable unless something has gone really wrong,” you chuckled. “It’s cool though, everything just kind of whips past you.” 

“Fascinating,” he nodded. “Different from my line of work anyway,” he laughed. 

“Oh yeah, what about your parents? What do they do?” Nicole asked. Oscar stiffened beside you, watching carefully at how the question would play out. He knew about you and your parents' estranged relationship. He knew it was a sensitive subject. 

“They’re doctors, I think,” you shrugged. “One of them was a psychologist, and the other was a general practitioner.” 

Nicole’s face fell, a pit growing in her stomach as she feared the worst. “Are they passed?” She placed a comforting hand on your forearm. 

“No,” you shook your head. It was awkward to explain, but who cared? They’d probably find out anyway, just like everyone else did. It got leaked to the press in the middle of your 2nd season in F3 that you were estranged from your very famous, very powerful folks, and moreover, that they had a new family. It used to bother you. Sometimes, it still did. But Nicole wasn’t a nosy reporter, and you weren’t 17 anymore. “They just kind of… shipped me off to boarding school when I was 8 and cut me off when I was 17. We just weren’t close and it was clear they didn’t want kids at that time.”

“I’m sorry,” she squeezed your arm and you offered a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” you nodded. “Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Hattie shook her head. “You didn’t, and anyway, their loss is our gain.” 

You smiled appreciatively at them. “Well, I did want to thank you all again for having me.”

“Any time,” Nicole smiled. “Always.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar smiled as he pulled off your top and pressed your head against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing into his touch. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low. 

You hummed against his skin. The both of you were lit by only candles (Oscar’s favourite thing ever), his bedroom looking increasingly cosy under the light. The soft breeze coming in from the window gave you goosebumps, but he was warm enough for the both of you. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m good,” he nodded, his hands wrapping around your legs and hoisting you up so that your legs were around his waist, and your arms were around his neck. You squealed and he dropped you onto his bed with a chuckle, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then walked to his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He loved kissing you. It was addicting, you were addicting. He had never pinned himself as a physical touch sort of guy, but there basically hadn't been a moment where he hadn't been touching you since you'd made it official, and you didn't seem to mind.

You cuddled up in bed, enjoying the soft pillows and lingering scent of Oscar. As you heard the shower turn on, your eyes fixated on the view outside the window. The ocean flowing gently just outside, the beach in front of you, the moon reflecting off small shells embedded in the sand, it was so beautiful. 

You heard the shower stop, and your attention turned back to you and Oscar. You two were official and it felt insane to be able to say he was your boyfriend, but you enjoyed it all the same. “Osc?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, the sound warped by the toothbrush in his mouth. 

“Do you want to tell your family about us?” you questioned, playing with the hem of one of the pillows. “No pressure, of course.” 

He poked his head out from the bathroom, the towel around his bottom half dangerously low. You let your eyes wander all over him, his wet hair, his build physique, his goofy smile. “You mean it?” 

You nodded. “I mean… yeah? I feel weird being here and them not knowing,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to keep it from them, or really anyone, but especially them, right?” 

He nodded. “I agree,” he grinned. “We’ll tell them this week.” 

You smiled. “Cool,” then turned to your side and grabbed your book. 

“Are you going to act like that wasn’t a milestone?” he mused, joining you in bed, shorts on and towel-dried hair. 

“What?” you questioned, not looking up from your book. 

“You want to tell my parents about us,” he smiled. “That’s big.” 

You shrugged, unconvinced. “Is it though?” 

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your neck. “Yeah, it is,” he lay there for a moment, just watching you read. “You look beautiful,” he smiled. 

You turned to him and laughed. “You’re such a sop.” 

He rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Uh-huh,” he nodded and kissed you again. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Do you want to come with us to Sydney?” Hattie offered as you two ate breakfast together. “We’re just going for like a few days, but we’d love to have you.” 

“Plus Mae will be like, miserable without you,” Eddie chuckled. You smiled. 

You shrugged. “I’d love to come.” 

“Where are we going?” Oscar asked as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Y/n, Eddie, Mae, Mom, and I are all going to go on a trip to Sydney,” Hattie explained. 

Oscar nodded. “Can I come?” 

“Sure-” Eddie shrugged. 

“Mum wants it to be a girls trip,” Mae reminded them. 

“Come on, Y/n is my-”

“She’s our friend too,” Mae argued. 

“Yeah, and arguably, you could let Y/n out of your sight for more than three seconds,” Hattie chuckled. “She doesn’t constantly need you looking out for her. She can have a week away with her mates if she wants.” 

They were both quiet. 

“Hattie, what the fuck?” he scoffed. “If you’d let me finish, I could tell you that Y/n is my girlfriend, and I’d very much like to spend my break with her.” 

Hattie, Eddie, Mae, Nicole, and Tim’s eyes all looked to you for confirmation. You swallowed the bite of food in your mouth and turned to Oscar. 

“It’s only like 4 days,” you shrugged, and he stared back at you. “And then I’ll be back. Or I don’t have to go.” 

“Oh, I thought it was the month trip mum had planned-”

“You’re dating?!” Nicole cheered, rushing over to hug the both of you. “That’s great news!” 

“How’s he done that?” Eddie whispered to Hattie, who just laughed. 

You graciously accepted the hug, then turned back to the conversation. “I don’t mind.” 

“You go, I thought it was the month-long thing my mum wanted to do,” he explained, and kissed the top of your head. “When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow,” Hattie interjected. 

“Cool,” he smiled. 

“Cool,” you mirrored. 

It wasn’t exactly how either of you were planning on telling them, but it worked all the same.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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[soaln]

i read ur op jealous hcs and they were so cute ! i also saw that you mentioned your inbox was open, so can i request zoro x reader who’s the completely opposite of him? reader who’s sweet and kind to everyone, and very gentle unlike their mosshead bf.. i love him lol

𝓞𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓

𓏵 ﹒ ┈ warnings : pure fluff, gender isn't mentioned. I realized I have a lot Sanji and Zoro request 😭😭 anyw req open I changed few things｡— ◟ 𖦹

The sun was setting low on the horizon, casting warm amber light across the deck of the Thousand Sunny like it was made of gold. The ocean stretched out endlessly, a sparkling blue as the ship glided smoothly over the waves. You were sitting on the railing, your outline lit up by the fading light, your fingers busy making a crown out of flowers. Each petal brought a splash of color—soft pinks, creamy whites, and bright yellows—showing off your easy-going vibe and the simple happiness you found in little things.

Zoro was standing across the deck, looking like a statue made of stone as he pumped some weights with serious determination. His brow was furrowed, jaw tight, and his green hair—which everyone joked looked like messy moss—was shining with sweat under the setting sun. He was the definition of strength and toughness, rarely saying much and showing even less weakness. But every now and then, his sharp eyes would wander over to you, pulled in by the warmth of your presence.

You two were totally different. While you were all about warmth and light, he had this tough vibe that felt dark and intense. Your kindness shone like a beacon, making people feel good, while Zoro’s rough edge seemed to push folks away. Still, there was this cool connection between you that neither of you could fully put into words, but you both valued it a lot.

“Oi,” he said, his voice deep and rough as he walked up to you, a towel tossed over his shoulder. “What’s up? Just hanging out here alone?”

You turned to him, your smile as radiant as the setting sun. In your hands, you held the finished flower crown, its delicate beauty a stark contrast to the man before you. “I made this for you,” you said, your voice a melody that seemed to soften even the edges of his hardened demeanor.

Zoro’s brow arched, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement. “Flowers? Really?”

You laughed, the sound like wind chimes dancing in a gentle breeze. Rising to your feet, you placed the crown atop his head, your fingers brushing lightly against his hair. “There,” you said, your tone teasing yet tender. “Now you look like a silly warrior ruler.”

A faint blush crept across his cheeks, and he reached up to remove the crown, but your hand caught his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it on,” you pleaded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just for a little while, Please?”

He hesitated, his hand hovering in the air, before he let out a resigned sigh. “Fine,” he grumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. “But if anyone sees me like this, I’m blaming thus on you.”

Your heart swelled with affection, and you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Zoro,” you murmured, your voice warm with gratitude. “You’re the best.”

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but the faint blush that dusted his cheeks betrayed his true feelings. Beneath his gruff exterior, Zoro harbored a deep appreciation for your gentle nature, even if he would never admit it aloud.

As the crew began to gather for dinner, the deck came alive with the sounds of laughter and camaraderie. Luffy’s boisterous voice echoed across the ship as he demanded more meat, while Sanji moved with practiced grace, setting the table with his usual flair. Nami and Robin conversed in hushed tones, their laughter like music, while Usopp and Chopper animatedly recounted one of their many adventures.

Zoro glanced at you, his expression softening in a way that was reserved only for you. “Come on,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s go eat before Luffy devours everything.”

You nodded, slipping your hand into his, your fingers intertwining as if they were always meant to fit together. “Okay,” you agreed, your smile as bright as the stars beginning to dot the night sky. “But you’re keeping the flower crown on, right?” You grinned.

He rolled his eyes at you, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his actual feelings. “Yeah, yeah,” he stated, his tone gruff but affectionate. “Whatever makes you happy.”

After that, the two of you joined the rest of the crew, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over you like a warm blanket. Despite your differences, you and Zoro were a perfect match—a symphony of opposites that created a harmony all your own. And in that moment, as the stars began to twinkle above and the laughter of your friends filled the air, you knew that your gentle heart and his rugged soul were forever intertwined

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝒷𝒶𝓇𝒾 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!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 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, he refuses to tell you anything in the most annoyingly polite way possible.

"Oh, sorry, can’t talk—buried in paperwork." "Ah, you know how it is—so much to do, so little time!" "Oh wow, would you look at that? Another report to file!"

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.

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 acts like 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. Geo, though? Geo acts like he just spawned into existence one day with a full bank account and a bow."

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 calculated, and precise. Just like him.  

But as you move deeper, something feels… off.  

There are 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.

"Interesting," 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?

[itsrensfairygardenn]

dilf!art x tired!reader for everyone who needs it </3

2,2k words

you’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and your friends say that it’s stupid that the two of you still haven’t moved in together — after all, it’s not weird at all. he seems to like you so much, and you like him too, love him even, because he is the best thing you could ever have, you know that for sure. you live in the most inconvenient part of the town, renting a tiny flat, which is not even that close to your university, and even further away from art’s place — he lives out of town, completely alone in his enormous house, except for days when lily stays with him. he never presses you into staying with him, moving your stuff to his place, or even lingering there for longer than you’re comfortable with, but his eyes always speak for himself — he wants you to stay there with him. he wants his home to become yours too.

life for you is routine, because you’ve built it this way; and while it obeys your rules, working like a finely-tuned machine, you can handle it just fine — i mean, there was nothing impossible, right? the schedule is tough, but you’ve already got used to it, still managing to submit your assignments just in time and getting excellent results, even though your part-time job is taking much more of your time and energy than you thought it would — but it feels nice to be appreciated by your professors, to stay one of the best students, even though it feels like you’re on the verge of losing it because of your job. you don’t have much time for living your quiet and slow life anymore, and it was difficult for you, to the point of a permanent exhaustion, of aching pain all over your body even after a proper rest. but life is never easy, is that what people always say to you? you should adjust to this rhythm, because you think that that’s how adult life works.

and you can handle it just fine, till the moment when this algorithm just stops working.

this day, everything went completely wrong since the very beginning — you overslept, simply because you’d forgotten to set your alarm the night before, and the whole process of getting ready and running to the campus brought you immense anxiety; by the time you got to the classroom, you felt a thick lump of nausea in your throat. you were answering questions on autopilot, thoughtlessly writing down words that couldn’t even form adequate sentences, and you could swear that by the end of this class you were on the verge of crying or losing your consciousness, because you felt so stupid and helpless, not being able to try your hardest, to focus and get a grip. you hadn’t had enough time to have a proper breakfast, you had forgotten half of your notes at home… god, you couldn’t even find it in yourself to answer art’s messages — as always, he sent you ‘good morning’, wishing you a nice day, reminding you about your plans for the evening. why was it so hard for you to just answer?

then someone accidentally pushed you with their shoulder in the cafeteria, and you stained your skirt with sprinkles of coffee that fell from your hands right to the floor… you were sure that you heard someone laughing behind your back, while you were frantically pushing through the crowd to make it to the bathroom. first of all, you were frustrated, terribly embarrassed and mad; second of all, you missed art so badly, that you teared up in the bathroom stall, because you still hadn’t answered his messages, and you knew that he would worry about this silence. he always worries, you know it, but he always pretends that he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to seem overprotective or overly sensitive; right now a concerned expression of his loving eyes is the last thing you want to witness.

now, when your classes are over, and art’s car is finally waiting for you in the parking lot, you want to cry again — because he’s looking at you through the window, giving you the sweetest smile, with his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the leather surface of the steering wheel, because this very hand is waiting for its chance to settle on your thigh, or caress your cheek. art has missed you so much, you know for sure; he’s so excited about having dinner with you tonight, because both of you’ve been so busy recently, that you didn’t have a chance to spend some quality time together. and here you are, without any makeup on, with these ugly coffee stains on your skirt, and the same anxiety and suppressed emotions bubbling underneath every inch of your skin, that were making you sweat through the day. what if you smell bad? what if you snap at art, just because you feel like falling apart in front of him?

“how was your day?” art asks in this soft, soothing tone of his. as you’ve expected, his hand settles on your knee, gently rubbing your skin; you’re afraid that he’ll say something about this damn skirt, but he doesn’t even look down at it.

art smells like his usual cologne — such a faint note of it, because he’s already washed it off in the shower after training his tennis players under the scorching heat of the sun on the tennis court; you want to bury yourself in his chest and inhale the familiar scent of his skin, to nestle your nose in his neck and make him giggle, the way he always does when you’re together — so boyish and sweet, despite the age. god, he doesn’t seem much older than you at all.

but you can’t even speak, biting your lower lip, with that gloomy crease between your eyebrows. art notices almost immediately, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see his smile fading. is he no longer happy with you? what if you’ll upset him with your attitude, ignoring him just because you feel terrible? he just asks you about your day, and the next moment tears starts falling from the corners of your eyes; you can feel it prickling in your nose, and suddenly the morning nausea is back again.

art’s heart sinks into his chest, stopping its steady rhythm and falling down to his stomach, slowly dying from the sight of your reddened nose and cheeks, the faint traces of tears on your beautiful face — god, he only wishes to never see you upset again, to make you the happiest person in the world. he’s noticed everything about your busy schedule, your exhaustion and those dark circles under your tired eyes — this life is slowly pushing you to the limit, and you don’t even want him to help you. because you think that it’s completely fine, that you can handle everything that you’ve weighed down on yourself.

you think that he’ll be upset with you? the truth is, art will never leave you alone with your pain, and much less judge you for it — if anything, art will make your pain his own, too. he’s ready to absorb it, erasing the line between your difficulties and his own, because as far as he’s ready to share his bed with you, he will always share your worries, your anxiety, your bad days and overwhelming feelings.

“bunny, come here,” he whispers into your hair, already pulling you into his arms, shielding your trembling figure from the world, from all these people passing by his car — he kisses your soft hair, your rosy cheeks and lowered eyelids, wiping your tears away with his warm lips. his thumb catches a hot salty drop right in the corner of your eye, brushing it away before it rolls down your reddened skin. “that’s okay, don’t worry… no, don’t apologize, sweetheart. we’ll figure it out, i promise”

he’s rubbing your back with his firm, calloused hand, grounding you, silently promising you safety and comfort you desperately need, the same quietness and slow pace of life you miss so badly. he whispers that he’ll take you home now, that the restaurant can wait, that you can order takeout later. at this moment, you know that his home is your home, and nothing else matters anymore.

once you get there, he runs you a hot bath and ends up kneeling on the tiled floor, running his fingers through your shampooed hair and massaging your scalp with his fingertips — you’ve already calmed down enough to speak to him and tell about your day, detailing every single thing that has happened to you. he mutters his little “you did nothing wrong, sweetheart”, “they’re just a bunch of stupid kids” and “you’re still my genius” in your ear, occasionally smiling at your choice of words; to be honest, you can make him smile without even trying, and when you joke? he’s giggling, of course he is.

afterwards, you put his old shirt from one of those tennis events and his boxers on. he leads you to the large couch in the middle of his light, spacious living room, and you both settle in the mess of pillows and a blanket that he’s brought from the bedroom; you rest your head on his chest, while he’s looking at his phone screen, quietly listing what you can order for dinner — as always, he’s the one who does it, because he knows how difficult it’s for you to decide what kind of food you would like to eat.

“you aren’t listening, are you?” he notices with a slight grin, and his voice requires this attractive hint of hoarseness. he traces wet hair on the top of your head with his lips, lazily drawing invisible patterns, finalising them with a firm kiss — more like an attempt to immerse himself into the scent of your (his) shampoo.

you’re half-listening, with your eyes blissfully closed, but you’re smiling at his question — it seems like food is the least important part of being next to him right now; you put your hands under his shirt, drawing small circles on his toned stomach with your fingertips, and you know that it was calming both of you down.

“i love you, art” you whisper against his chest, sending these words right to his heart — literally and metaphorically.

“i love you too, bunny” he adjusts his position to kiss your cheek — gently and lovingly; it always feels even more intimate than making love, because at these moments he touches your cheeks like priceless gemstones, or the finest silk.

“you know that i can do anything for you, right?” his tone changes, but it’s barely noticeable, because he’s still so soft with you, treading carefully to not scare you away from him. “i know how much you value your studies. just focus on it, and i’ll help you with the rest”

you shift in his arms, only to look up at him, resting your chin on his broad chest — you seem uncertain, as always. art’s already got used to it, because you’ve never liked talking about money — his money, particularly.

“i don’t know, art. it’s embarrassing,” you admit, lowering your voice to a whisper, and you feel his hand on the back of your neck, gently massaging your tight muscles — never able to keep his hands off you. “i don’t have enough money, and i can’t give anything in return. don’t mention love, because it won’t be enough”

“love is always enough, y/n,” he doesn’t give you a chance to belittle yourself, to underestimate the value of your love. you both know that you saved him, that you healed him with your very presence, your shy smiles and and the way your cheeks flushed when his lips first touched yours. “i want you to be here, to do things that you love, to not worry about money”

art knows that money can’t buy happiness, but ever since he met you, he wishes to have a chance to buy this precious piece of pure joy, to have it on the palm of his hand, to give it to you without a second thought — and when he’s ready for such things, does money really matter? do you really have to worry about it, when he only dreams about you putting your clothes in his wardrobe, leaving your makeup products on the sink in the bathroom after getting ready for your morning classes, marking the edge of his favorite mug with your lipstick?

you’re so quiet that it almost feels eerie, as if you’re not with him anymore — but then you finally break this foreign silence.

“we can try,” you whisper, and you both smile at the same time — his boyish grin, again. ”i'll call the landlady tomorrow”

trust me, just by looking at his face, it’s obvious that at this very moment he already starts thinking about rearranging his entire house to make it the perfect place for you — dressing table, secluded corner for your bookshelves, maybe even entire room just for you… well, give him some time to think about it, and he’ll make you the happiest person in the world.

thank you for supporting this idea! i hope that the result isn’t too disappointing :( just needed some emotional support from dilf art calling me a bunny, please don’t judge me for trying 🐇

[meanbossart]

have you ever gone into how Shadowheart and Jaheira's relationships with Drow changed him? I've seen you mention it a few times but I can't recall you actually elaborating on it, though I obviously could be missing something

Here and there, I think, but if not then I will be happy to go into it now!

Shadowheart was DU drow's first confidant, friend, and someone he found himself often relating to in general. They both got to form a bound through their amnesia and snarky-yet-pragmatic attitudes. He appreciated how practical Shadowheart was about their survival and how clearly she voiced her wishes, even if that meant telling him to fuck off - she also wasn't particularly bothered by his casual mean-ness and let all of his jokes and disrespectful comments roll off her back with ease. Shadowheart was the first in the group to gain his respect, as well as being the one whom he enjoyed spending time with the most.

Because DU drow saw so much of himself in Shadowheart, her decision to spare the Nightsong and essentially betray her "mother" had a subtle, but still important impact on the choices he made during Act 3. He saw her grow and break out of the binds of Shar even when it objectively didn't benefit her, even when it was hard or painful - and still find the time and energy to be there for him, too.

Jaheira's impact wasn't as significant, but she was still offered him some comforting insight into the lives and fates of past bhaalspawn, without sparing him of the painful truths. Similarly to Shadowheart, she welcomed his bickering and his crass jokes and always returned him in kind - Jaheira is yet another person who managed to gain DU drow's respect, and therefore her insight weighted more heavily on him.

He also really enjoyed their short exchange during the night she tries to kill you if you are a Bhaalspawn - again, he is easily charmed by people who can do something so drastic and then easily go on as if nothing happened, bonus point if they have a good humor about it too.

It really boils down to DU drow just liking them a lot. If it were just him and Astarion from the start, they would have probably run each other into the ground. Shadowheart, Jaheira, and a handful of other characters were the ones to actually set them on a slightly better path.

[hanniescookie]

too many hobbies - YJH

pairing - jeonghan x f!reader

genre - domestic au, fluff

warnings - use of pet names (baby for reader, hannie for jh), kissing, pure fluff, mentions of mild insecurities, and uhm yeah that's it ig

summary - everyone around you seems to be soaring, traveling and building perfect lives while you're surrounded by the love of your many hobbies that leaves you feeling a little confused at times. luckily, jeonghan is there to not let you feel insecure.

author's note - second fic and i'm sooo nervous even though i've been writing for 7 years already 😭 anyway, this is for the bbangi to my shingi @kissbyoon / baby you deserve all the love 🤍 i'm ltr sharing jeonghan w you so like gimme some love 😔☝🏻

-------------------------**~~**--------------------------

You slump tiredly into your couch for the first time in a while, closing your eyes as the setting sun reflects on your face from the large window. It's not everyday that your energy goes down, but inevitably, there are days like today when you want to isolate yourself from the world just a little bit.

The living room of your apartment is still messy with all the stuff — papers, scissors, crayons, and stationary of all sort — that you were using to make your boyfriend a gift card.

Your eyes scan all the stuff, and most importantly, the pretty purple and white gift card you completed before leaving for the dance studio. It looks meaningless now, not even slightly pretty to your eyes.

All you can think about is how your dance colleagues talked about their life plans a while ago – how their words sent you in a spiral of uncertainty about your own life.

"You all, please pray I pass the audition. Not for another second am I going to waste my time here!"

"You will! Trust yourself. I thought I was going nowhere until I got my job."

"But I have come to terms with the fact that dancing here won't get me anywhere, I'm probably gonna make use of my degree and apply at the law firm."

"Well of course, I just can't sit with my hobby for a lifetime. I'm pushing my age already, so I'm hoping for my promotion."

It isn't like you to ponder over words, but this conversation did make you feel overwhelmed. Maybe you are being sensitive, but seeing everyone else talk about their sorted life makes this mess in your living room a lot suffocating than it is.

You reach out, holding the gift card in your hands and staring at it for a while. It speaks ugly words to you — pointing fingers at you and calling you a loser.

Your fingers involuntarily curl into it, almost about to rip it apart when a pretty voice breaks your reverie.

"Oh my baby!!! Did you make that for me? Show me!"

Jeonghan appears beside you out of nowhere, making you blink at him in surprise as the card is nearly snatched from your hand. The awe on his face makes your heart soften. He reads the card — all silly little messages you had scribbled in there — his contagious smile broadening on his face.

Before you can say anything, he has wrapped you in his arms, squishing you into his large frame. "Why are you soooo sweet? What if I cry?"

You end up smiling against his chest, wrapping your arms around him with a sigh. He has managed to wash away any negative emotions you were facing a while ago so easily. "We all know you're not gonna cry that easily, hannie."

He pulls away just enough to meet your eyes, a constant smile plastered on his lips. "I appreciate that you know me well, but I fear you're not entirely aware of how much I love these little things you do."

Something in your chest flutters as your smile dims slightly, staring at this loveable man and his comforting existence. He didn't even need to give you a whole speech about how it's good that you're on your own pace, and you're doing great in life (he can provide you with words of affirmation if needed) yet you're already feeling like none of people's words matter. Because you're reminded of the fact that you're indeed exactly where you're meant to be, and you'll be where you're meant to be in the future too.

You press a feather-light kiss to his nose, "What little things?"

He grins, returning the gesture with a more firm kiss than yours. "These little gifts you make me. But that's not all I love about you, you know? I love all that you do. Your dance, your impromptu shower singing, those stories you write in your laptop — I love all of it. Never quit on any of your hobbies. They make you, you."

It isn't like you to cry easily as well, but when you feel the sight of your pretty boyfriend blurring a little, you know you have tears in your eyes. He furrows his brows, instant concern spreading all over his features.

His hand cups your cheek softly. "Baby? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

You sniff, and close your eyes for a second so the tear residing there falls past your cheek. Then you shake your head. "Never." You breathe. "You can never say anything wrong, hannie. In fact, you only ever say everything right. Everything to make me feel special."

He doesn't seem convinced given that he still doesn't smile. He just continues to look at you, trying to detect signs of distress. "Baby—"

You giggle a little, moving to wrap your arms around his neck. "Don't worry. I just got a little emotional because of what you said. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

You nod, feeling his thumb wipe at the lone tear that had fallen before he finally breaks into his signature teasing grin. "Who's the one easily crying now?"

You roll your eyes despite the smile on your face, "Stop being so cocky."

"You love it." He grins, kissing you briefly because he couldn't resist it. You hum, and chase his lips the moment he pulls away. He wants to tease, but right now he's going to give you what you want so he smiles and kisses you back.

If it's with Jeonghan and his gravitational comfort, you know you'll get everywhere you want to be in life.

[carlosdiehz]

Administrator's celebratory 1000 notes commentary under the cut:

Wow. I had a feeling that, deep down, that the Tumblr community of 2025 would still appreciate a traditional editing subject like this - but not to the point of exploding my notes over the last three days. Shows what I know these days. (Though I do think that this has so far been my best coloring attempts since getting out of this long retirement, so maybe you're responding to that as well. Who's to say.)

Thanks for making this the first post on this blog to reach over 1000 notes. You people are probably enabling this recent bizarre habit of mine to post at the most ass-backwards, sleep-deprived hours, but thanks anyway. 😅

Conclave + Hands

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 9

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

“So, what’s the plan?” Hange asked as they walked down the street. With each step they took, the houses grew larger, the gates taller, the fences grander—everything seemed to increase in size and value the deeper they went. “You sneak through a window now that the sun’s setting and kidnap the cat?”

Levi didn’t break stride as the street sloped downward, though he shot Hange a frown. “We’re not kidnapping anything. I sent a cadet earlier to inform them I’d be picking up the animal.”

A loud hum of understanding filled the night as they continued walking, hands tucked into their pockets. But Hange still didn’t seem convinced.

“You sure about this?”

“About what?”

Hange gave a quick glance around before answering. “These neighborhoods are private.”

“And?”

“Let’s just say the people who live in places like this and… us? We’ve never exactly been longtime acquaintances.” Hange’s tone carried the weight of an unspoken warning, as if preparing for the worst.

But Levi couldn’t care less. Maybe it was the inner thug in him, the part that never gave a damn about the rich, the nobility, the king—or authority in general. This place reeked of something foreign, something he didn’t belong to. But like a lion crossing an open field, he walked through it like it was his to take. The Scouts held power now, but that wasn’t why he moved with such unwavering confidence. Levi was Levi, and even before the Scouts had led an uprising, he had been humanity’s strongest. Strength gives you a certainty in your actions that nothing else can. Especially when they reached the front door.

Hange, either fearing the worst or just aware of Levi’s absolute lack of social grace, wisely kept quiet.

The staff member who answered the gates frowned—not just in confusion, but perhaps in disgust. His gaze landed on the Wings of Freedom insignia on their uniforms alarmingly fast.

“Sir.”

“I came for the cat,” Levi said, blunt as ever.

The man’s expression barely shifted. “I thought we informed the cadet that if you came, you should use the back entrance.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. He had no problem using the service entrance. But they’d received a mere MP cadet—barely fifteen years old—at their pristine front gates, and now he was supposed to go around the back like some beggar? Not a fucking chance.

“Are you going to let me in or not?”

The man—a butler? Or something like that. I don’t fucking know, Levi thought—stepped aside reluctantly, extending a stiff hand toward the entrance.

Once inside, Hange took a moment to admire the downtown manor, pressing their lips together, nodding slowly in appreciation of the place’s elegance. Levi, however, wasn’t impressed. He was already pissed off—because of Zackly, because of the MPs, because of the damn door. His hands remained in his pockets, deep-set eyes locked onto the stairs with not even a hint of friendliness.

“The cat?” His voice cut through the tension, sharp and impatient. If he’d given them advance notice, then they should have been ready by now.

The butler barely reacted. “Please, wait here. The family is busy.”

Levi let the silence stretch, his patience thinner than ever. “I sent someone over four hours ago.”

Hange, sensing the storm brewing in him, reached out, placing a cautious hand on his shoulder. Their expression twisted into an uneasy grimace, a silent plea.

‘Let’s not make this harder.’

Levi had barely registered Hange’s silent plea when the muffled sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the grand hall. A moment later, a flustered servant appeared, carrying a wooden box with small air holes carved into its sides. The box wobbled precariously in his grip—not because it was heavy, but because a tiny pair of hands were clawing at it with desperate strength.

“Clauwy! Nooo!! Clauwy!!!”

The voice was shrill and thick with tears, and it belonged to a small, wild-haired girl stumbling after the servant in a fit of heartbreak. Her face was blotchy from crying, her little legs moving as fast as they could, though they barely kept up. She yanked at the box, nearly knocking it from the man’s grasp, her tiny fingers clinging like her life depended on it.

“Miss, please—” The servant tried to wrestle the box from her grip, his expression strained. It was clear he was struggling, not because she was particularly strong, but because she was the boss’s daughter—and he couldn't exactly shove her off.

Levi watched the scene unfold, eyebrows knitting together as the girl let out another wail, “Clauwy!!!”

‘Clauwy?’ He blinked.

Hange was biting their lip, either to keep from laughing or from making things worse. The servant finally managed to pry the girl’s fingers off, stumbling forward as he hastily presented Levi with the box. “Here, sir. The animal is inside. Everything needed and requested is included.”

Levi barely had time to grip the box before the little girl let out another sob and jumped, arms stretching toward it in a frantic attempt to snatch it back. Her high pitched scream made Hange go from entertainment to grimace in pain as the loud cry hurted the adult’s ears. LEvi clenched his teeth bearing himself to it but Hange whispered “Dear Sheena…” as if this was everything the commander needed to recall why they never had kids.

“Nooo, Clauwy!!” she howled, tiny hands grasping at the air. “Y/N is gonna never come back if Clauwy isn’t here!!”

At that, Levi stiffened. His sharp gaze flicked down to the girl, eyes narrowing slightly.

‘Y/N’s little sister.’

That was the only explanation.

The messy hair, the same teary eyes, the way her tiny fists balled up in frustration—it wasn’t hard to see the resemblance.

Levi exhaled quietly, shifting his stance. His grip on the box relaxed just a fraction as he crouched down, leveling himself with the child. She sniffled loudly, cheeks stained with tears, little lips quivering. The tears were not watery work as some kids did to get what they wanted, she was loudly and messily crying her eyes off.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

But then, in a rare, softened tone, he spoke.

“Hey.”

The girl hiccupped, still glaring up at him with wet, accusing eyes.

Levi tilted his head slightly, nodding toward the box. “I’m taking him to Y/N. You don’t have to cry.”

The little girl’s breath hitched. Her brows knitted together, unsure whether to believe him. “Pwomise?”

Levi nodded once. “Promise.”

She sniffled again, rubbing at her puffy eyes with tiny fists. The violent wailing had subsided into shaky breaths, though doubt still lingered in her expression. "You… with Y/N?" she murmured, her voice small and filled with innocent curiosity.

Levi gave a short nod. "Yeah. She's with me."

Before he had time to react, the girl threw her arms around his jacket, clinging to him like a koala.

"I wanna be with Y/N!" she insisted, her tiny fists gripping the fabric tightly. She was so small that she barely weighed anything, but she nearly knocked him off balance in her desperation.

Levi instinctively steadied her with his free hand, his body tensing. "No, no. You’ve got your parents." He tried to pry her off, one hand awkwardly holding her in place to keep her from slipping. His voice carried an edge of unease—like this wasn’t the first time a child had latched onto him, looking for something he wasn’t sure how to give.

It all made sense when a commanding voice cut through the hallway.

"MAEVE!"

Levi turned his head, eyes narrowing at the elegantly dressed woman approaching from the corridor. She carried herself with an air of superiority, her gaze sharp, cold, and—more than anything—filled with contempt. A contempt Levi could barely understand but somehow reciprocated on instinct.

"Come here, this instant."

Maeve, still clinging to Levi as if he were her last lifeline, buried her tear-streaked face against his chest in fear.

Levi wasn't holding her back, but he wasn’t pushing her away either. A part of him reasoned it wasn’t his place to interfere with another’s parenting. Another part—something older, instinctual—bristled at the fear in the little girl’s eyes.

"Mae," the woman’s voice dropped lower, dangerously even, though the authority in it never wavered. "Do not make me come over there."

Levi remained in his crouch, though he wished he weren’t. Not because she intimidated him and neither was it that his height was towering—far from it—but because he wasn’t about to be ordered around like a misbehaving child.

She turned her glare on him. "You got what you came for. Don’t touch my daughter, and get out."

His voice was calm, but firm. “I’m married to your daughter.”

He let the words sink in. He knew the comment was about Maeve, but he wanted to remind her why he was here. “And you’re living in this house thanks to that. So next time, have the decency to receive me at the front door. And maybe bring a tea set."

The silence that followed felt like a battlefield.

The woman clenched her jaw, her pride clearly wounded. Levi, on the other hand, was holding back the urge to tell her a few things that would make the situation irreparable.

Eventually, the little girl loosened her grip just slightly, uncertainty still clouding her face, but her wobbly legs found the floor again. She pouted up at Levi. "Y/N...?"

Levi blinked. The words were mumbled and choked between sobs, but he caught enough of them to piece together what she meant.

“You draw too? Like your sister?” he asked.

The little girl nodded hesitantly.

He exhaled and adjusted the box under his arm. "Why don’t you give your drawings to your grandmother? She has my address. I bet Y/N will love them."

The idea seemed to ease something in her little mind. Her expression brightened just slightly—a wobbly, tear-stained smile forming.

"Okay..."

Then, as if remembering something urgent, she gasped and reached for the box. Levi lowered it just enough for her to hold it against her tiny chest, where she planted an exaggerated kiss on the top.

“Bye-bye, Clauwy,” she sniffled, waving at the wooden crate as if the cat inside could see her.

She then stepped back, allowing a nearby servant—who was no doubt assigned to escort her away without much fuss—to gently guide her down the hall.

With only adults left in the room, the woman stepped closer, lowering her voice to a venomous whisper. "Do not drag my daughters into this."

Levi barely batted an eye as he stood, shifting the box under his arm. He spat back, just as low, "Then don’t bring your daughter into this."

—

By the time they were making their way down the cobblestone streets, Hange finally broke the silence with a drawl of pure sarcasm. "Your in-laws adore you."

Levi scoffed, adjusting his grip on the box. "They fucking should. They’re out of jail thanks to me."

Hange hummed, amused. "Ahh, the foundation of every strong family bond."

They walked in silence for a few moments before Hange, who had been keeping an eye on the cargo, squinted. "Uh… Levi?"

"What?" Levi barely glanced at them.

"The box is leaking something."

Levi stopped dead in his tracks. "What."

His head snapped down, and sure enough, a suspiciously watery liquid was seeping through the bottom of the wooden crate. With a sharp sigh, he lifted it slightly, peering through the holes.

Inside, a pair of terrified cat eyes stared back at him—so wide, so frozen in fear, that it was almost comical.

Levi’s nose wrinkled. "Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Hange took a cautious step back. "Is that—?"

"The damn thing pissed itself." Levi scowled, glaring at the cat. "Tch. It’s gonna be fine, you idiot. Don’t shit yourself too."

Hange let out an obnoxious cackle. "That’s it! Use your daddy skills on the cat!"

Levi shot them a deadly glare. "Who do you think I am? Erwin?"

That only made Hange laugh harder.

—

Perhaps the unconscious side of his mind knew better than he did—it could foretell a prophecy and a future, much like some mystical oracle. At first, Levi wondered why he was wasting the precious little time he had left for sleep on dreaming pointless memories. But as soon as he recovered a bit of consciousness, he felt something heavy and warm on top of him. Blinking rapidly, trying to knock some sense into himself, the first thing that greeted him was a huge fur ball sprawled out like a bum on his chest, purring loudly.

It was one of those rare occasions when Levi had decided he needed to sleep more than just two or three hours, rather than curling over his desk or slumping in his chair. The migraine he suffered, the particular sluggish state of the previous day, and his lingering intoxication all signaled that this was one of those times when he needed to try for a normal night’s sleep. Usually he would use his bed, but his bed was, as usual, occupied by the new member of the household. So he rearranged one of the couch cushions, changed his uniform, and called it a day—even though “calling it a day” for him meant staring at the ceiling for a good couple of hours. On other occasions, he might have masturbated and taken a warm shower to help induce sleepiness; however, Y/N wanted to shower after him. The thought of him jerking off on a couch whose cover he couldn’t change, right next to the room where she slept, wasn’t very arousing.

The brownish-grey short blanket that barely covered his hips—originally meant for expeditions—hung loosely over him as he felt that the night was too warm for his taste. Moreover, the big animal on top of him served as a living pillow, radiating an inviting warmth that mingled with the humid air.

“Tch,” Levi cursed as he abruptly woke up. “You’re supposed to be sleeping with your owner, not me.”

But the cat, as if interpreting any suggestion from Levi as a personal challenge, stretched upward—making Levi grimace as though suddenly the animal weighs 500 tons, its teeny tiny paws seeming to carry an impossible burden. Then it knocked its head against Levi’s face and curled up even closer.

“No,” Levi groaned, only for the cat to start licking his face with its paper-thin, sandpapery tongue. “For fuck’s sake, not with the tongue you use to clean your ass,” he barked, moving his head away in disgust. If falling asleep was already a struggle with a huge fur ball curled around his head purring like a machine, it wasn’t going to become any easier.

The paper-thin white curtains waged a constant battle against the early morning sun. For the past month, the weather had undergone an unstoppable change—the temperatures rising even at night. The chimney, where she had once warmed herself on the night she arrived, had been cleaned and relegated to a storage space where, on occasion, a small fire was kindled to boil water for Levi’s late-night tea. The bedroom, which had seemed foreign to her on the first night, had now been completely conquered, making it hard to sleep past a certain hour. Each day, the sun filtered in a little earlier, illuminating the entire space with a relentless glow.

Restlessly contorting on the bed, she tried to tug the blanket over her head to escape the scorching early summer sun. But it did little to help—not only were Levi’s blankets short and itchy, but breathing beneath the cover was unbearably warm. The fact that Levi had never noticed the curtains didn’t actually cover anything betrayed either his hectic early schedule or the fact that he rarely slept in that room. Waking up hungry was the first thing she noticed, and that realization motivated her to leave the bed.

Usually, she enjoyed the morning—though Levi hardly considered anything past 8 a.m. as truly morning. Even after living there for an entire month, the place still didn’t feel like hers, especially when Levi was around. Sharing the four walls with him made her feel self-conscious, as if she were merely a guest staying over for a short visit, forced to display her best behavior and wear her finest clothes. It made her wonder if this was something that couples eventually got used to. When he left, she was usually asleep; when he returned, she was already dressed, her hair done, and presentable. Perhaps it was because her mother had always maintained a polished appearance around the house, or maybe it was due to the lack of true intimacy in their relationship—but when he wasn’t around, she felt as though the place belonged entirely to her.

Without giving a second thought, she crawled out of the bed and opened the bedroom door. That small act already struck her as odd, making her frown. Levi had never closed the door when she was inside, and neither did she; for her, it still felt like a loss of control over her personal space. There was little time to rationalize this sentiment, however, as a squeak of surprise mixed with delight echoed through the chambers.

“Aww! Good morning, sleepy beauty!”

Y/N stood frozen as she locked eyes with the brunette seated at Levi’s desk. Instantly, she tried to wrap her arms around herself—her whitish, slightly translucent camisole leaving little to the imagination, and she feared the worst. But before she could even reconsider enclosing herself back in the bedroom, Hange rose and walked over to her. “I’ve been meaning to finally meet you!” the newcomer exclaimed.

The hug was unexpected but a welcome surprise. It took her a little while to process it before she hugged back, delighted to receive such a clear expression of affection. Only to add to the surprise, Hange swayed slightly to the side, tightening the embrace and eliciting a sincere chuckle from the omega girl. For her, the random stranger who had been enjoying breakfast with her newly proclaimed husband was a delightful presence. As for Levi, he could see—through his deadpan expression—how Hange savored the aroma of her hair, smirking cheekily as if the low-class alpha had just won some trivial inner competition.

When they parted, Hange rested their hands on her upper arms. “You can call me Hange—I’m Levi’s bestie, even if shortie denies it.”

“Ah,” she said, smiling in a slightly confused yet relieved manner, as if her life were slowly returning to normal. Now she could go out; she had met the important people in her husband’s life. What should have been the usual “Nice to—” was cut short when Hange added, “I’m also the commander, but don’t take it too seriously,” as if it were nothing. The remark immediately silenced any response she might have offered, forcing her to press her lips together in shock and blush heavily as she looked down at her pajamas and bare feet.

“I’m so sorry,” she hesitated, but Hange laughed it off.

“Do not worry, you look great!” they insisted. “I swear, you’re a beauty—a cutie and a beauty.” The comment made her blush even more, especially when Hange pinched one of her cheeks. “Right, Levi, isn’t she a cutie?”

‘That was absolutely unnecessary and uncalled for,’ Levi thought immediately, trying not to choke on the tea he was drinking at the unexpected turn of conversation. He coughed a bit as the liquid reacted to the shock; he had not paid attention until now that his so-called best friend had decided to put him in the spotlight. His eyes silently conveyed his inner exclamation of “What the fuck, dude? That was UNNECESSARY,” but Hange maintained a sassy, unaffected grimace.

Almost breathless, Levi groaned a bit, “Yeah,” as if the words had been forced out of him at gunpoint rather than being genuine. Or so it seemed to her. Y/N admired the scene first with thankfulness and hope, then with confusion, and finally with a resigned sense of broken hope. ‘He truly can’t even stand me,’ she thought.

For Levi, the cough that had erupted initially was forced out, stretching his moment of embarrassment before he resumed drinking his tea to hide his subtle blush. He wasn’t one to give compliments—not because he didn’t feel them, but because he wasn’t good with them. Being thrust into the spotlight and forced to offer a compliment only revealed his best: a feigned indifference.

Hange, who thought it was a good occasion to coax the Captain into a sweet gesture, had left the room heavy with uneasiness. “Let’s have breakfast, shall we?” the brunette said, placing a hand behind Y/N’s back and gently guiding her toward the desk. But she refused.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother during a meeting, sir,” she explained, already resolving that from now on she would check before opening the door. Perhaps, now that she wasn’t enclosed, Levi could return to his usual routine of holding meetings at his place—or so she guessed, for since her arrival, neither of them had ever experienced a normal routine.

“It’s Hange,” they insisted, “and we’re not having a meeting—we’re just having breakfast. Well… more like eating your cookies, but sure.”

That slowly convinced her to follow them further into the room, although there wasn’t much further to go since the space was rather small.

“Her cookies?” Levi asked casually. “I pay for those.”

“If that’s the case, they’re my cookies—I pay the salary that you use to pay for the cookies,” Hange retorted sarcastically as they sat down.

“I thought you said you didn’t choose salaries. Give me a fucking raise then.”

Levi exhaled sharply through his nose as he leaned back in his chair, watching Hange shamelessly steal another cookie from the tin. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—the way Hange ate with no remorse or the fact that he had been roped into this conversation in the first place.  

Y/N, still blushing from the earlier interaction, carefully sat down at the table. She reached for a slice of bread, but her mind was already elsewhere—on the trip ahead.  

“Eat quickly,” Levi told her, tone clipped. “We’re leaving for Trost soon. I was about to wake you up, anyway.”  

Y/N blinked in surprise. “Oh. This early?”  

Levi took a sip of his tea.’God… I don’t actually believe in you but… bless me patience,’

Hange chuckled. “You’re acting like we’re on some mission, Levi. Trost isn’t going anywhere.”  

Levi shot them a tired glare ‘Whose side are you?’ He silently asked as if he needed someone to back him up for once since his life had been turned upside down. Then he turned back to Y/N. “So eat and get ready. We need to leave soon.”  

Y/N nodded, already thinking ahead. She had never been to Trost before, but she knew it was much livelier than their usual surroundings—filled with markets, shops, and well-dressed people going about their daily lives. For the first time in a long while, she would be in a real city, not just cooped up in Levi’s quarters or wandering the military compound.  

Excitement fluttered in her chest. “I’ll be quick. I just need to get dressed.” She silently clapped her hands in quite excitement “I’ll wear that floral dress I’ve been saving,”

As she spoke, Levi could almost see and hear everything that was about to unfold before his eyes in the middle of the city. “What’s wrong with your usual dresses?”

She frowned. “I want to wear something nice for the trip.”  

His expression didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened slightly. “There’s no need for that. Just wear something simple.”  

“But—”  

“It’s better if we don’t draw attention.”  

Her excitement flickered, her shoulders tensing. “We’re going to a city, not sneaking around like criminals.”  

Levi had a bad habit of keeping things to himself and making little to no effort to explain the reasons behind his decisions. This habit made her bite her inner cheek in annoyance; he simply ordered around as if they were following a strict chain of command rather than working together on this arrangement. “Exactly. A city means more people, more eyes, and more chances for someone to be an issue. You already stand out enough as it is. There's no need to make it worse.”

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t sure what annoyed her more—the implication that she was some sort of problem or the fact that he was, yet again, making decisions for her. “I just want to look nice.”  

“You already are,” he said. In his mind, he was protecting her—for her, he was controlling every step she took as if she were a toddler. “I don’t want to deal with people staring at us.”

‘First the room, then his squad, now this. Who are you hiding me from?’ Her mind began to construct ideas, though many were based on little more than a shaky foundation. She felt like a prisoner of his relentless attempts to keep her undercover.

Her fingers curled into her lap. “So what? I’m supposed to walk around looking dull just because you don’t want to be bothered?”  

“Not dull,” he corrected. “Just —

Y/N huffed, frustration bubbling in her chest. She wanted to argue—to snap back that she didn’t need him controlling what she wore. At the same time, she wanted her space to be respected. ‘Like it or not, I’m your wife! Give me ONE chance to feel like I’m not a prisoner,’ she thought. But before she could say anything, Hange clapped their hands together, breaking the tension.

“Well! I say we leave a little later then,” Hange announced cheerfully. “No need to rush. Let her get ready how she wants. She’ll look gorgeous no matter what, right?” They shot Levi a pointed look.  

Levi exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not pleased and not in the mood to argue further. He just grunted in response.

‘Don't listen to me—I was born yesterday. In fact, I'm stupid,’ Levi thought, for him the outcome was as clear as possible. ‘Don't come back pouting at me when you realize I was damn right.’

Y/N turned to Hange, eyebrows raised. “Wait… you’re coming?”  

Hange tilted their head. “Of course I am! What, did you think you and Levi were just going on a little honeymoon getaway?” They wiggled their eyebrows playfully before taking another bite of a cookie.  

Y/N felt her face heat up again. “No, I just—”  

“We’re going for business,” Hange reminded her with a smirk. “In case you forgot, there’s a whole reason behind this trip, and it’s not sightseeing.”  

Her lips parted slightly in realization. Right. Of course. Business. Glancing at Levi as waiting for some guidance. He didn’t look at her, just continued drinking his tea as if the whole argument hadn’t happened.

Y/N hurried excitedly into the room, and as soon as she was out of the chambers, Hange bent over the desk to whisper to the Captain, “Don’t be so constipated—let her have this.”

Levi clenched his teeth. The day before yesterday’s little tantrum about going to Trost, and now this. He wasn’t one to take being disrespected in his decisions lightly. “I know what I’m doing,” he whispered back, his tone biting with each word.

“And what are you doing?” the commander retorted, raising a single eyebrow with a grimace of confusion mixed with exasperation. “Being a bitch?”

Like a tired mother who might exclaim, “I’d like to see all of you the day I die!” Levi raised his hands in the air, pressed his lips together, and stood up—silently declaring that he was going to wait and see, wait and see how right he was.

“By the way,” Hange added with their mouth full, “I preferred it when she didn’t stink to you.”

“Could you try not to hit on my wife for five fucking minutes?” he said, exhausted, only to win a cheeky chuckle from the brunette.

He was ready—ready a long while ago. A casual white shirt, dark trousers, knee-high boots, sleeves rolled up. Deep breath in, deep breath out. His grey eyes stared at the abyss before he loudly exclaimed, “I’m leaving in THREE, TWO—”

”I’M READY!” Y/N adjusted the wide-brimmed hat over her head, making sure it sat just right before stepping out of the bathroom. The sunflower dress she had chosen was light and airy, perfect for the warm weather, and the soft fabric swayed gently around her knees as she moved. She felt… nice. Presentable. Even a little excited.

Levi was already at the door, checking the lock one last time to make sure the cat wouldn’t escape while they were gone. His back was turned to her, but she still lifted her chin slightly, expecting something. A comment, maybe. Not a compliment—he was terrible at those—but at least some acknowledgment.

Levi turned around, his eyes flicking over her in a quick assessment.

And that was when it hit him. ‘Great. Just fucking great. She looks freaking cute, and I’m forced to have sharper senses than when I was trying not to get killed by that monkey’s rocks.’

The damn dress, the stupid hat, the way the sunlight hit her just right—he could already feel the stares they were bound to attract. He could almost hear Hange’s teasing and see the way people would gape. And worst of all, he knew she was waiting for a reaction. He wasn’t stupid; he could see in her expectant eyes that she was standing up straight, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze innocent yet hopeful. Or perhaps he was a little stupid, because when cornered to say something nice, his best option was to play dead and freeze like a possum.

“Finally,” he muttered, turning back to the lock as if her entire effort had gone unnoticed.

Y/N’s shoulders dropped slightly, her excitement dimming at his lack of response. ‘That’s it?’ Her disappointment was so clear as she pouted while he pushed open the door, stepping outside without even sparing her a second glance. She bent down to press a kiss on the cat’s head and whispered, “Love ya, baby.”

By the time she followed him out, he was already locking the office behind them, the keys jingling as he secured every bolt.

“You should wear different shoes,” he said without looking up.

Y/N glanced down at her feet. The shoes in question were a delicate pair of heeled sandals, the only ones that really matched her outfit. “They’re fine,” she argued.

“It’s a long trip,” he countered. “You’re gonna regret it.”

She huffed. “I’ll be fine.”

Levi shot her a look, unimpressed. He could already picture it—halfway through the day, she’d be complaining about sore feet, and he’d be the one stuck dealing with it. But if she wanted to be stubborn about it, fine. He wasn’t going to argue over a pair of shoes.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, stepping down onto the corridor.

They barely made it a few steps before a group of cadets passed by, chatting among themselves. One of them, recognizing Y/N, perked up immediately.

“Good morning, ma’am!” a young soldier greeted with a bright smile. Then they performed the military salute, moving stiffly with the sides of their boots clacking against each other in the process. “Sir,”

Y/N, caught off guard but pleased, smiled back just as enthusiastically. “Oh! Good morning!”

The cadets all nodded in respect before continuing on their way, but Y/N’s cheerful response seemed to echo in Levi’s ears like a goddamn church bell.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his temple as he walked beside her. “Tch. You don’t have to greet every damn person you see.”

She shot him a side glance, amused. “They greeted me first. Should I have ignored them?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Levi didn’t answer. He just kept walking, already dreading how long this trip was going to feel.

At the front doors of the barracks, a group of cadets waited with varying degrees of patience. Jean paced back and forth, arms crossed, his brows furrowed as he glanced toward the office.

"What the hell is taking them so long?" he grumbled.

Mikasa, standing beside him with her usual deadpan expression, shrugged slightly. "Maybe she got lost in the corridors," she suggested.

"Lost?" Jean snorted. "It’s a damn building, not a maze."

"She’s new here?" Armin pointed out as if it was obvious, adjusting his collar.

Jean hesitated before scoffing. "Well, yes, but—"

"There you go," Mikasa cut in.

Before Jean could argue, Sasha suddenly clapped her hands together, her eyes practically sparkling. "Guys, focus," she whispered excitedly. "This is a golden opportunity!"

Jean, Connie, and Sasha all exchanged knowing looks, their grins spreading mischievously.

Eren, standing a little behind them, narrowed his eyes. "What’s a golden opportunity?"

Connie immediately pulled him into a huddle, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Armin and Mikasa were dragged in next, forming a tight circle like a football team plotting their next big play.

Jean took the lead, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Alright, listen up. Captain Levi is well-known in Trost."

"No kidding," Armin muttered.

"Shh!" Jean hushed him. "The point is, he's famous, but he never—never—pays attention to street vendors, food stalls, or anything fun."

Sasha gasped dramatically. "A tragedy, truly."

"But!" Jean continued, raising a finger. "The people of Trost will definitely be eager to pamper his new wife." He leaned in closer, voice dripping with excitement. "Which means—"

"Free food!" Sasha finished, eyes gleaming.

"Free stuff," Connie corrected, practically bouncing on his feet. "I bet we could score more than just food."

"Like what? Socks?" Eren asked, raising a skeptical brow.

"Yes, Eren, socks," Connie said, rolling his eyes. "And maybe some new boots, a hat, a nice bottle of whiskey—who knows?"

Jean nodded. "All we gotta do is make sure Y/N walks near the best vendors and looks interested. The rest will handle itself."

Sasha pumped her fist. "We need to make her look hungry! I can do that!"

"You are always hungry," Mikasa pointed out flatly.

Sasha beamed. "Exactly! I’ll be her coach!"

Armin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is ridiculous."

"No, this is genius," Connie corrected. "Think about it! Levi would never let us go around sampling food like tourists, but if it’s for his wife?" He smirked. "He’d look like a jerk if he stopped it."

Eren groaned. "I can’t believe I’m listening to this."

Jean smirked, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "That’s because you know it’s a solid plan."

Armin exhaled, shaking his head. "You do realize there’s a possibility Levi will find out and murder us all, right?"

A brief silence followed.

Then Sasha shrugged. "Worth it."

Jean clapped his hands together. "Alright, team! Stick to the plan. Act natural, but not too natural."

Connie pointed dramatically toward the office. "Operation 'Use the Captain’s Wife to Score Free Stuff' is a go!"

And with that, the squad dispersed, their grins full of anticipation as they awaited Y/N’s arrival.

“Y/N!” The enthusiastic cheer of her name echoed down the training ground, momentarily confusing her, but she quickly adapted. Her happiness for the day immediately matched that of the cadets as she hurried up to meet them.

“Hi, sweeties,” she called out, rushing forward to hug the squad members—except for Eren, who remained distant despite her approach. “Good morning,” she added warmly.

Meanwhile, Levi stayed behind, slowly approaching the weathered wooden cart they were about to take. He made no haste to join the others, instead raising a silent eyebrow at the suspicious attitude that seemed to hang in the air. However, Hange reached the cart first and whispered to the team, “Way less, guys, way less.” It was as if the six teenagers and the commander shared one single brain cell, all arriving at the same conclusion for the trip, their plan guided by the voice of experience.

“The cat isn’t coming?” Mikasa asked, her tone almost disappointed. That question made Y/N’s eyes sparkle with a newfound idea; her mouth opened as she looked back at Levi, but before she could even say anything, he interjected firmly:

“Do not even dream of it.”

Pouting immediately as her expression changed, she retorted, “I didn’t say anything!”

“The answer is still no,”

“Why are we taking the cart? We’d go ten times faster on horseback,” Eren pointed out, sparking a domino effect as the rest of the squad immediately jumped in with similar complaints.

“Yeah, why not just ride?”

“It’d be way quicker.”

“Are we seriously taking the slowest option?”

Y/N hesitated, shifting on her feet as the sudden attention made her stomach twist. “I… I don’t know how to ride,” she admitted, her voice quiet, shame creeping in as she noticed how the squad tried—really tried—to force understanding smiles.

“I—I could ride with you,” Jean blurted, his excitement so obvious it practically scented the air.

Levi, who had been silent up until now, slowly turned to give him a long, deadpan stare. No words. No expression. Just the weight of his gaze pressing down like a boulder.

Jean visibly deflated. “Or… maybe not,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he quickly took it back, feeling the unspoken threat in the older Alpha’s presence.

The ride to Trost was, thankfully, uneventful. The cart rumbled over uneven stone paths, the steady clatter of hooves filling the otherwise quiet morning. The cadets, in contrast, were anything but quiet. They chatted excitedly, cracking jokes and speculating about what they would do once they arrived. Y/N soaked up the energy, enjoying their excitement, though Levi, sitting beside her with arms crossed, remained as unimpressed as ever.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Trost, the sun was already climbing high, casting long shadows over the busy streets. The closer they got to the heart of the city, the more people crowded the roads, bustling about their business. Levi pulled the cart to a stop near the entrance to the inner district, hopping off with practiced ease before turning to the group.

“We’ll be meeting back here before sundown,” he announced, his sharp gaze sweeping over the cadets. “That gives you plenty of time to do whatever it is you want. You’re old enough to manage that much.”

Jean pumped a fist into the air, grinning. “Hell yeah, free roam.”

Armin sighed dramatically. “This is a mistake. they are not responsible enough for this.”

“Don’t worry, Armin, I’ll supervise,” Connie smirked. But Armin glanced back at the other beta, his brows knitting together, unable to hide the fact that his words had been anything but reassuring.

Levi, ignoring them, turned to Y/N. “You stick to me.”

The words hit her like a slap. She blinked, stunned for a second, then frowned deeply. “What?”

He didn’t even spare her a glance as he tightened the straps on his gear. “You heard me.”

But to his surprise, the cadets follow him closely behind. “What?”

But to his surprise, the cadets followed closely behind. Too closely.

“What?” Levi’s narrowed gaze flicked back at them.

“Oh, we just—” Sasha stuttered, visibly scrambling for a decent excuse. “We want to spend time with you, Cap!”

Hange did a full-face palm, exhaling loudly. As if anything would have been more convincing than that.

“Aye, aye, we’re all headed in the same direction, so let’s stick together,” the commander cut in, plastering on a way-too-obviously fake cheerful smile as they pushed the cadets forward.

Y/N, on the other hand, stood frozen for a moment, feeling irritation simmer under her skin. They got to wander freely, but she had to stick by his side like a lost child? “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath as she stomped after him.

Levi didn’t react. He didn’t have to. 

As the not-so-happy couple grumbled their way ahead, the rest of the squad lagged a few steps behind. Hange leaned in with a low murmur. “You guys are horrible at this.”

Connie protested, puffing out his chest—only for Hange to ruffle his hair like an annoying older sibling. “Are you any better?”

The brunette grinned triumphantly, looking more like a mischievous cadet than the highest-ranking in the Corps. “Me? Levi’s influence has been funding my trips for the past six years.”

The squad collectively blinked at them before Jean muttered, “Respect.”

But as they made their way deeper into Trost, her frustration was quickly overtaken by something else.

The city was buzzing with life, vendors calling out their wares, children weaving between adults, and chatter filling the air. Yet as soon as Levi stepped onto the main road, the atmosphere subtly shifted.

People noticed him.

Heads turned, whispers spread like wildfire, and before long, the greetings started.

“Captain Levi!”

“It’s really him!”

“Good morning, sir!”

Men straightened their postures, women gasped in admiration, and children pointed in awe. A few brave ones even ran up to him, eyes shining.

Levi, as usual, barely reacted. He nodded when necessary, offered the occasional “Hello,” 

At first, Y/N found it amusing—fascinating, even. Seeing him get this much admiration, this much respect, was unlike anything she’d experienced before. But then, she started noticing something else.

They were looking at her too.

Not with admiration.

With confusion.

Some whispered amongst themselves, glancing her way before quickly turning back. A few openly stared. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she caught faint traces of scent lingering in the air—mostly Betas, but here and there, a few Omegas and Alphas stood out. Most of them weren’t high-bred, but every so often, a stronger scent cut through the rest, sharp and unmistakable.

Y/N slowed her steps, unease creeping up her spine. Her gaze flickered toward Sasha and Mikasa, their simple, practical outfits blending easily into the crowd. Then she glanced down at herself—her soft, feminine dress, the ring on her finger, the way the fabric swayed with every step. Finally, her eyes shifted back to the citizens.

The Omegas whispered behind cupped hands, sneaking glances at her before looking away with knowing expressions. The Alphas, on the other hand, looked perplexed—some furrowing their brows, others tilting their heads slightly as if trying to solve a puzzle. A few even smiled at her, their interest apparent.

Y/N suddenly felt as though she could hear every unspoken thought in the air around her.

"Married but unclaimed? What’s wrong with her?"

The realization settled in her stomach like a stone. She wasn’t just being stared at—she was being judged. Scrutinized. Questioned.

The overwhelming urge to disappear struck her like a slap. If she could just melt into the cadets, slip unnoticed into their little group, maybe she’d escape the weight of all those eyes. But it was too late for that. She’d wanted to stand out. Now she was paying for it.

Without thinking, she scooted closer to Levi, her fingers twitching at her sides. She hesitated, then glanced up at him with uncertain, almost pleading eyes.

Levi, however, didn’t need to say a single word. The look he shot her—deadpan, unimpressed, and laced with I told you so—was louder than any scolding could ever be.

Author note: Hi, how are all of you doing? Did you miss me? Haha! I actually have, like... a million things to share, so first things first. I know this chapter is a little dull, BUT the real chapter is 16k words—and believe it or not, NOBODY reads a chapter that’s over 6k. My years in fandom have taught me that TikTok has murdered attention spans, and nobody reads a fic over 6k on Tumblr (AO3 is a different story). Now, since I cross-post here, it would be weird to post the full 16k chapter on AO3 but not here. So, this Wednesday, I’ll post the second part, which, in my opinion, is the BEST part of the chapter. But well... Now, onto other news. A lot of people have been asking me, "Only 15 chapters? The story won’t wrap up that quickly!" The 15 chapters were just an estimate based on what I wanted each chapter to include. Then, I realized they kept surpassing 6k, so I had to cut them into parts, which naturally led to more chapters. So don’t worry—this story STILL has plenty of chapters planned! Now, about last Wednesday—I didn’t update as planned. Why? Well, here come the biggest news! Some of you may already know that I’m from Argentina. I’ve been working toward moving because the situation in my home country (and town) is really tricky, and I want to be in a better position to help my mom and family. Last Friday, I had my visa interview, and I was so anxious and stressed about it that I simply didn’t have time to post. I was double-checking all my papers, preparing for the interview questions, planning my trip to the capital city, etc. Good news? 🎉 THIS GIRL IS MOVING TO AUSTRIA, GUYS!! 🎉 I GOT MY VISA! T-T More updates! After being asked so many times (T-T), I finally opened my first Discord server! It’s for Levi fans, and the rules are over on Discord. If anyone wants to join, feel free! ❤️ We’re still a small group, and I’m trying to keep it tight-knit. (I also share story spoilers there—just saying 👀👉👈) -> https://discord.gg/VnGXsKbC LAST—but definitely not least! I have one art commission slot left! If anyone wants it, feel free to ask. 😊 Love you all! I swear I’ve been reading all your comments, and they’re honestly what’s been giving me strength lately. My life is so chaotic right now, but knowing you’re all enjoying my fics means the world. Also—I was recently mentioned on TikTok about my fics and T-T OMG, it feels like a dream come true! Okay, okay, I’ll stop rambling now. Love ya, guys! ❤️

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[gffa]

People shouldn't be too hard on Mon!

I absolutely love and is grateful of Freed's understanding and appreciation of the Jedi, apparent in the book, apparent in the interview he'd given for the book:

"For me, the excitement of the time period here, is that I tend to think of 'Star Wars' as a setting with plenty of room for grey area stories and moral ambiguity, but there are very clear lines of good and evil as well. There's no version of 'Star Wars' in which you look at the Emperor and go, 'Well, maybe he had some good ideas.' No, the Emperor is evil. And the Jedi and Luke at their best are good. Everything else exists somewhere in there. This is a period where the remains true but no one really knows that the Emperor is evil.

"As far as the public is concerned, this guy just won the worst war in living memory. The Clone Wars were this horrendous affair and Palpatine has put an end to it. Yes, he's declared himself Emperor but he's not the embodiment of all evil. There's not even a Death Star out there. On the absolute good side, the Jedi have sort of been tarnished in recent years. War scrapes away at the shining morality of any organization."

I think Freed really understands what Lucas meant when he said "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war."

...but I still don't hold it against Mon cause she's going through hell and she spoilerspoilerspoilerspoiler in the later half of the book. I think she's fascinating, wonderful, equally valid character with equally valid viewpoints as Bail within context of their own worlds and experiences in this novel.

The editor of the book said it best:

Bail – knows the truth about Palpatine, the Empire, and the fall of the Jedi. Caught between his commitment to truth and justice at any cost, and the duty he has to the daughter he’s been entrusted to protect.

Mon Mothma – a master politician, who believes – like so many – that opposing Palpatine is part of the regular game of politics. She doesn’t yet realize, Palpatine stood up from the game board years ago, and she’s playing against shadows.

Mon and Bail are allies, but not really friends (at this time). Padme was their link, and now, she’s gone. Where does that leave them?

For Mon and Bail especially, the secrets Bail holds that he cannot reveal leaves a gulf between them. And what does it mean when they find themselves at odds with each other, over truths they cannot speak?

prev anon) I'm talking about their different mindsets and experiences and viewpoints born from those and I'm not excusing Mon's... *spoilers* anyway I hope you enjoy the rest of the book! It's so nice seeing an author like Freed, who usually writes non-force side of sw, handling the jedi with such warmth, understanding and awareness

This was such a reassuring message to get, thank you! I've been avoiding spoilers for the book as best I can, but I'm only a quarter of the way through it and I was wondering how the various themes were going to go, but Freed's interview quotes and your comments have made me glad that I'm picking up what this book is putting down, because that's exactly how I've been reading it. (And why I'm hoping to encourage more people to read it--though, I will give a warning that this book can be uncomfortably prescient about current events in a way that I wouldn't say Alexander Freed Is A Witch, but that can be very hard to read about if you're not in the headspace to deal with a lot of reflections of the dumpster fire we're currently in.) As for Mon, I hope nobody comes down on her for this, because as much as I scream, cry, throw up, etc., over Bail's scenes, in general I lean a bit more towards Mon's way of doing things, because I think her approach is her answer to the question, "But what can actually be truly achieved?" That she is looking at an incredibly shitty situation with only shitty options and asking herself what can she actually get done, what does she have a snowball's chance in hell of success with? And she knows clearing the Jedi's name at this point in time is not on the table, not when there are a million other things that might actually do tangible good for the galaxy. And I don't disagree with that! I love the Jedi more than anyone, but clearing their name isn't more important that, say, trying to stop the Wookiees from being classified as a non-sentient species! Clearing their name isn't important enough to blow all your political capital and having nothing to show for it when there are people who you can help, with a chance that will actually succeed! Bail's idealism isn't stupid, he's incredible and the galaxy needs a shining light like him, it's necessary for the bigger hope for the future, we can't make it through the dark times without bright, shining hope. So even when they don't always think positively of each other, I never get the sense that Bail and Mon don't understand that the other is doing what they think is best. They just disagree on what that is. And it makes sense! Bail knew and was friends with the Jedi! He knows the truth about Palpatine and how important all that Force shit is to what's going on here! Mon is operating with the idea that this is a political battle--and she's not entirely wrong, she's necessary to the recovery of the galaxy, too, just as Luke is necessary to save the day, so too is Leia, and I sort of see that reflected in Bail and Mon's approaches--one is focusing on the mystical and one is focusing on the political and I think both are important here. So, I have nothing but hearts for Mon Mothma and what she's trying to do for the galaxy.

And I don't see them as antagonists here, I see them as two people who look at each other with the understanding that there is deep love and compassion for people in the other, that they want this other person on their side not just for political alliances but because they care, and maybe they want to scream in frustration that the other person can't see what they see, but I don't feel for a second that this is going to end with them anything other than them as friends. Their scene in Rogue One implies she knows about Bail knowing a living Jedi, if not directly knowing about Obi-Wan Kenobi, which isn't something he would tell just anyone. I'm hoping for the same with Saw, there's going to be conflict about their approaches, and I love that that's clearly a theme/why these three characters were chosen as the pillars of this book, that each of them are shown to have their reasons why and that each of them serve a purpose. I scream/cry/throw up more about the Jedi because that's the most fun for me, but I am enthralled with Mon's chapters just as much, the political tightrope she's on, and I would encourage people to read for those aspects just as much as I would encourage them for crying about the Jedi. ANYWAY, EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS BOOK FOR YOURSELF, I'm having fun with the snippets I'm posting, but the book is so much more than those things! It's one of the best SW for rounding out the characters and filling in the transitions between the movies and TV shows, but in a way that keeps the tension and emotional gut-punches despite that we know where it's going. ALSO, MON MOTHMA AND BAIL ORGANA ARE THE BEST, I'M WILLING TO FIGHT THE INTERNET OVER THIS

[beautifullilacsky]

I remember my garden. The way the path was always cleared for everyone who wanted to pass and spend some time together. The explosions of color from different flowers and greenery, waiting to happily greet anybody who walked by. I still have a clear vision of my garden; how I felt so peaceful and happy in it, and how it welcomed the occasional visiter. I used to also visit other people's garden, and see all of their beautiful fields, appreciating every bit of it.

My garden has changed. The sun hid behind the clouds, and the flowers bloom less grand and bright. The flowers are still there though, but they are turned to one another instead of to the paths, not allowing anyone to see and smell their magic. Most of the time, the flowers were forgiving. Though now, when someone accidentally steps on a leaf or leaves behind a hint of trash, the flowers don't just show understandment and forgiveness. They grow bitter, and their focus on the negative things grows. Instead of focusing on how blessed we are to have a visitor, the flowers are constantly on guard, seeing when the visitor slips up. Every single mistake, even if so minor, gets noticed and amplified. The weeds seem to take over, and grow all over the paths and around the flowers. They want to keep people away. They aren't welcoming and kind, they are disruptive and full of disgust. They have also taken over the main gate, trying to keep it closed. Anyone who tries to enter, is seen as an intruder. Also, I am kept here into my own garden. The garden that seems to have lost its magic. The gardener, aka me, doesn't want to visit anybody else's garden. She sees how her own garden needs tending, and doesn't have any time nor patience for any other gardens. When other gardens are visited, the gardeners eyes no longer instantly go to the beauty of the garden. It sees all of the things that are off, the things that hold less beauty. There might be a whole bunch of stunning flowers bundled up together, but her focus gets drawn to this one stump of wood that lays on the path. "If you knew I was visiting, why did you not bother to clean up before I came?" Especially in their shared garden, she doesn't even want to take care of the garden, knowing the other will either not clean up, or will leave a new mess once the gardener has cleaned. "I don't want to tend to this shared garden, because you don't seem to feel the need to show it the same respect. Though, it also works on my nerves and hurts my feelings that the garden isn't cared for." Her own lack of care hurts, but she also wonders; why should I?

Is my garden something I need to fix? I miss my old garden. Though, should I just close my eyes and accept it again if somebody steps on my flowers? Even if it is an accident, or if that person has a different garden culture and finds that perfectly normal. I am honestly tired of trying to understand and accept others and their actions. I want to keep others out, and stay away from other gardens too. I wish to focus on my own, though I have seemed to have lost some green color on my fingers. My garden can't thrive by itself, even if we have seen it do so in the past. Just like trees connect with one another, the connection to other gardens makes mine shine and makes it stronger. Though, I do not want it. The more it's forced, the more resistance I show.

marigold

2024/06/29

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

second chance. l Frankie "Catfish" Morales

Summary: you broke up after a quarrel, now you've met again

Warnings: angst, mentioning drug addiction, crying, breakup, mentioned Santi, some fluff at the end

A/N: I had to clear my head. I'm not proud of it, but I had to write something. Be gentle. Thank you for being here and reading these scribbles.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist][Frankie Morales masterlist]

"Hi, you look good."

You didn't expect those words, but you knew that voice so well that your heart skipped a beat. A strange feeling filled your body, as if someone had suddenly stripped you of all your insides and left you empty. Even though the pub was filled with people, suddenly it was just you and him.

"Hi, Frankie." You replied, trying to keep your voice neutral. "You look good too."

A small smile appeared on his lips, he probably realized that it was just a polite greeting. A greeting for those who know each other. But you were more than that, right?

You didn't expect to meet him in this pub that evening. It was a strange assumption, because after all, you lived in the same city. However, when you break up with someone, and that breakup was like a hurricane and an earthquake in one, you don't usually try to meet them again soon.

And so it was with you and Frankie. Almost a year ago, maybe a little longer. And now he was standing in front of you. In a clean shirt and dark jeans, in a cap you knew so well. Brown eyes stared at you with the same attentiveness as before. He really looked good. Like he had a good night's sleep, eaten a few solid meals and... was clean.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, he noticed you looking around the crowd of people looking for someone with your eyes. "Um, are you here with someone?"

"With a friend." you replied. "Do you remember Sarah?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I remember. A girls' night out?"

"Something like that. But no, I don't come here often. I don't have much free time."

Frankie smiled, and a part of your brain woke up sending you a signal - you loved his smile so much.

"I always thought you worked too much." he said, winking at you.

"That's not it." you looked down and there was silence for a moment.

You felt embarrassed by his presence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. You had worked through all the bad feelings you had when you broke up, and you actually missed him a little. Did it make sense? You had broken your hearts, but you still missed him. Was it masochistic?

"I've been going to school for a while now. You know, I told you about it. Back in the day..."

Frankie's eyes widened with interest as he remembered what you were talking about. "No, shit! Really? That's great! You've wanted to do this for a long time, so good for you."

A warm feeling crept up the back of your neck, but you smiled widely. "Thank you."

Frankie bit his lip and nodded in appreciation. "I've always thought you were incredibly smart. So that's what's taking up so much of your time now? That and work?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I go days without a proper meal or... I'm sorry, that must bore you."

"No! Go on, darling."

The sweet nickname slipped out of his mouth naturally, and it was even more natural when he took your elbow and led you a little to the side so you could talk in peace. The smell of his cologne filled your nostrils, you knew it so well. Your body began to react with pleasant excitement to his presence.

"And what about you? How's life?" you asked.

Frankie adjusted his cap and let out a breath. "Good. Quite good." he replied. "I changed companies, and now I have really good conditions."

"That's great."

"Yeah, I think so too."

It was late when he got home, but he could feel something was wrong from the very beginning. All the lights were on, and the noises coming from the bedroom were rather unusual.

Damn it, you should be asleep already. He didn't feel like starting another row, and they filled these walls almost every day. However, he dragged himself down the hallway and gently pushed the door open.

Frankie didn't expect this. There was an open suitcase on the bed. He noticed a bundle of your clothes thrown into it in disarray. The drawers in the dresser and the wardrobe were open.

He cleared his throat and took a step, but at the same moment you came out of the bathroom carrying your cosmetics in your hands. You stood there paralyzed when you saw Frankie in the doorway.

Your eyes were swollen from crying, but there was something else in them. Anger and stubbornness, determination.

"What's going on?" he asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

You lifted your chin slightly. "What does this look like?" you asked as well, quickly approaching the bed and throwing your things into the suitcase. With a graceful movement you closed it "I'm leaving. It's over."

A cold shiver ran down his spine. He took a few more steps and put his hands on his hips watching you struggle with the latches.

"Come on..." Frankie began "It's late. Let's talk about this."

You didn't react. Something inside him boiled and he grabbed the handle of the suitcase, dragging it across the bed towards him.

"Leave it!" you hissed, catching it and holding it "I'm not joking, Frankie! I'm leaving! I've had enough!"

"What this time?" he replied a little too loudly "You're making a scene!"

Before the words left his mouth he already knew he had overdone it. Your eyes widened in a second.

You reached into your pants pocket and after a moment you threw something at him. The small bag bounced off his broad chest and fell silently to the carpet. He recognized it immediately.

"I found it in the car. You must have dropped it last time." you growled.

"It's not like that..."

"Bullshit!" Tears welled up in your eyes. "I've been hearing the same lies for months! I know exactly why you got fired! I wanted to help you, and you promised me you'd never... Ohhh!"

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase and pulled it to the ground, then headed for the door. You pushed past him without letting him grab your arm. Frankie had taken you to the edge. You'd been together for almost two years, and you really loved him. But his addiction was becoming more important than you. You asked, you wanted to help.

The therapist you found for him told you that Frankie had only been to see him three times before he stopped showing up at all. He told you that he went there regularly. Then there were the problems at work and he got fired, he started coming home later and later, and when you were looking for something that had fallen on the floor of your car and you found that damn bag - you already knew.

Your heart was breaking with every step, but you knew that Frankie needed shock therapy. You knew you couldn't...

"Frankie!"

You almost reached the door when you suddenly lost ground under your feet. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and Frankie lifted you up. You started kicking your legs.

"Let me go!" you screamed.

"You're not going anywhere! You can't!" he thundered, putting you down and turning to face him "You have to listen to me, it's not like that..."

"Shut up! You've been lying all this time! All this time!"

"Not when I said I loved you, hermosa."

"Oh! Cut this shit! This isn't love!" your face was full of rage, you wanted to hurt him, to stick a needle in him so hard that it would hurt him for a long time "You just needed someone to clean up the mess after you! Someone to pat you on the head and let you do all this! You needed a pussy you could fuck!"

There was silence. Frankie's hands were gripping your shoulders tightly, his eyes darkened.

"You know that's not true." he finally said.

"Yeah? And what of what you're saying is true? Nothing. Zero. I wanted to help you, but you don't care at all." you jerked away "Let me go, Frankie."

"You have to listen to me..."

"Let me go! Now!"

His fingers loosened and you slipped out of his hands. You grabbed your suitcase again and this time you reached the door.

"I love you." his resigned voice reached your ears.

"I'm not so sure about that anymore."

You took a sip of beer while listening to Frankie. He seemed excited about his new job, and the energy that flowed from him was simply positive. His hand would occasionally brush your arm or wrist as you both burst out laughing, his eyes looking at you with the tenderness you knew from the beginning of your acquaintance.

"I guess I'll have to go back now." You sighed, glancing at your phone. "I have classes tomorrow."

"Do you like it?" he asked, watching you text your friend back, informing her that you had to leave.

"What do you mean?" you looked up at him. Frankie shrugged.

"Your life. Now. Because it seems to me that you're different. More fulfilled? Happier?"

"I don't know, I haven't thought about it to be honest."

He nodded, his hand shyly finding yours. "Can I give you a lift home?"

You agreed. Maybe you shouldn't have, maybe it was a mistake. But Frankie had somehow found his way to your heart, and you didn't want to part ways with him yet.

"When you left..." he began as you drove through the empty streets towards your apartment "It hit me. Really hard."

You clenched your fingers, but you couldn't look in his direction. But Frankie clearly wanted to talk, maybe he had been waiting for this for a really long time and could finally get it all off his chest.

"I drank for three days. I don't remember much from that period. Santi showed up at my place and... He told me something I'll never forget."

You could barely recognize your own voice. "What did he say?"

Frankie cleared his throat. "He said it was all my fault. That I was dragging you down, and you were trying to keep us both afloat the whole time. He also said that if I wanted you back, that if I loved you at all, I should do something about it."

Something tightened your throat and your eyes stung from the tears that were seeping into your eyelids. The car turned, you were already close to your apartment.

"I went to therapy. Santi took me there twice a week. It was a terrible time. He had to take my phone because I wanted to call you every day. I don't know how I managed to get through it without you."

"But you did it." You dared to look at him, a weak smile appeared on his face. "I'm so proud of you, Frankie."

"Thank you."

The car stopped. Your journey ended, and you got out, feeling like your legs were almost giving out under you. You whispered a quiet "thank you" and "I'm glad I saw you, Frankie." and then feeling like your heart almost jumped out of your chest, you headed for the door.

"I still love you."

You closed your eyes. His voice was clear, determined. You stopped, feeling like you could fall apart at any moment.

"Frankie..." you whispered, but he wouldn't let you do more.

He was right behind you now, you could feel the heat radiating from him. Your body reacted to his closeness.

"I knew you'd be at this pub today."

You turned around and looked at him, surprised. Frankie seemed embarrassed, but he continued.

"I met Sarah a while ago. We talked..."

He noticed a small frown between your eyebrows, "She didn't tell me anything..."

Frankie shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged, "I begged her not to tell you. Listen, all this year you were the only thing that kept me alive. I wanted to be clean again, but I also wanted to be able to look you in the eye again. I'm sorry, hermosa... I'm sorry you went through all that with me. It was hell, and you tried so hard to save me."

You couldn't stop the tears that began to flow down your cheeks. You didn't even react when a warm hand touched your cheek and he wiped the tears away with his thumb.

"I still love you, hermosa." Frankie continued. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop. But I know I can't expect that from you, not after what I did."

"You hurt me, Frankie..." you sobbed, you saw the pain in his eyes, the same pain you still felt in your heart. "I wanted to save you, I wanted to save us... Maybe I wasn't strong enough?"

"No, it's not like that!" he shook his head, taking your face in both hands. "It wasn't a job for just one person. I understand that now. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I let you down so much."

You instinctively snuggled into his chest. Damn, you missed him so much this year. Almost every day you wondered what was happening to him, or you thought back to the times when everything was fine. There were days when you hated Frankie, when you resented yourself for always having him in your heart. But now you understood - you had to fall apart to understand what was truly important to you.

Frankie stroked your back, repeating silent apologies, and you felt as if all the tension that you had in your body was slowly leaving you.

"You okay?" he asked when you finally pulled away from him, wiping the last tears with your hand and probably completely smudging your mascara.

You nodded, "Yeah. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"Don't apologize, hermosa. You have nothing to apologize for."

There was silence for a moment. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, rather one where you were both trying to gather your thoughts. Finally, you were the first to speak.

"I'm so glad you managed to do all this. I'm really proud of you, Frankie. Now... Now your life will be different, better."

"You think so?" he asked, and you looked at him surprised. "I guess you didn't hear what I said earlier. I love you, and I don't know if I'll ever stop. But I know I can't force you to do anything. You listened to me, that's already a lot. Maybe that's all I deserve."

He must have already accepted it, except that he lost you, because before you could answer anything, he slowly moved towards his car. You watched him, feeling your heart pounding in your chest like crazy. You weren't even aware that you had opened your mouth, only the sound of your voice that cut through the silence brought you back to your senses.

"I'm finishing classes tomorrow after three. If you want to go for coffee, or..."

In an instant Frankie turned around "How about for lunch? You'll definitely be hungry, and you said you haven't been eating very well lately."

You smiled and nodded. "Lunch sounds good."

"Wonderful." He smiled too. That damn smile of his.

"So... Are we in touch?"

"Of course, hermosa."

With a slightly calmer heart you disappeared into the building, feeling that the smile didn't leave your face. 

Maybe a second chance really did exist? Maybe you too had a chance for a new beginning...

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[wandixx]

Count the freckles, connect them like the stars part 1, Virgo

Summary: Five time Danny found and drew constellations from M'gann's freckles and one time she did that for him

Danny wasn’t quite sure how he went from “visiting Mount Justice to train with the Team” to “half laying on the kitchen island and watching M’gann cook”, but he was glad it happened. He had had rough fight with Skulker the day before, so every opportunity to not move was a salvation. Most likely, rest of the Team left him off the hook exactly because they caught it. They all were cool like that.

He smiled, slowly shifting a little to be more comfortable. He liked watching people doing things they like and know well. There was something mesmerizing about it.

The fact, that he could eat some of whatever she ended up making was a great addition. He was always ravenous when away from an ectoplasm central that was Amity Park.

He followed her hands with his eyes, with chin pillowed on his folded arms. There wasn’t as much she did with them as other people would in kitchen, her telekinesis was certainly a great aid, but there was still enough movement to be transfixed on. Especially today, when something in the back of his mind insisted that there was something unusual about her. She was explaining how she found recipe, on accident when looking for something so different that to this day she wasn’t sure how she ended up with this instead, how it was supposed to be super filling so she hoped they’ll all like it, especially Danny and Wally, because then she could make it somewhat regularly and they could have something more healthy than granola bars. He appreciated sentiment even if he insisted she didn’t have to.

He wondered if there was a polite and not weird way to say he’d eat wet carton if she served it to him.

Small sheet of paper and bullpoint pen landed right in front of him, close enough that he felt air move from them.

“Can you add canned tomatoes to the shopping list? English letters still come out unreadable when I try writing them and do something else”

“Sure”

At this point he stopped trying to explain that being able to write clearly when not looking at the paper was not a skill many people had even if English was only language they could write in. It kept falling on the deaf ears. Apparently it was something Martians just did.

Danny maintained his opinion that if they wanted, Martians could rule whole Solar System. And some nearby star systems. Maybe whole galaxy, in a really distant future.

He straightened up in his seat (ouch, ouch, ouch, his body was not a fan of this move), because unfortunately he needed hands, proper posture and quite a lot of focus to write in a way that would be readable to anyone outside of medical field.

Before he could drop back down, satisfied to just watch world around him without having to interact with it in any way, a freckled hand put a plate of some pasta in front of him. Despite tomatoes, it wasn’t spaghetti, which was neat. He promised Sam to try out vegetarian-Wednesdays and sure, she probably wouldn’t know if he ditched it one time, but still. It was nice that M’gann remembered.

He followed her hand with his eye for a moment longer, not quite ready to let go of whatever seemed to be there. It didn’t look too different from usual. Shade of her skin was the same, her fingers stayed short and slender and her freckles were different, but they never really stayed the same, so it wasn’t that either.

“Quit peeping, start eating” she said cheerily, flicking him on the forehead. He smiled and obediently looked at his meal. Before long though, his eyes flickered back to her. What was different? What was-

There.

“Did you know your freckles look like stars today?”

“They do?”

“Yeah. You have Virgo and Cassiopeia on your right forearm”

“Believe it or not, this tells me nothing. I don’t know Earth names for stars yet”

Right. He was an idiot.

He just barely stopped himself from face planting into his pasta in embarrassment.

“Tell me about them?” she asked quietly, like she wasn’t sure if she could.

Danny took a moment to make sure he heard this question right. Usually people tried to shut him down as soon as he mentioned space because he was prone to getting way too obsessive. It was understandable, it could be endearing when he was younger but now it was just plain annoying. Sam and Tucker sometimes indulged in him, especially after he became halfa, with every interest turned up to eleven, but he could never shake off the feeling that they weren’t really listening at times. He didn’t have anything to prove it, it wasn’t like they were taking out something else to do at the same time or anything, but also… they never asked about anything either. He’d catch himself making some small mistake that they should’ve caught too, mispronounce something they knew or say 19-11 instead of 16-11 when talking about invention of telescope, but there was nothing indicating they heard anything wrong.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t dying to tell her. He just didn’t want to chase her away. M’gann was a good friend.

“Are you sure? I can be pretty annoying about it”

“I want to learn. And you want to tell me”

Danny forgot to breathe for a moment and he wasn’t sure what caused it. M’gann looked at him like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m not reading your mind, at least not intentionally, you’d know if I did,” she stammered out quickly “But ghosts feelings are really loud, it’s hard to ignore that. Like… if everyone else’s mind is like a house with closed door, one of the older ones with brick walls and smaller windows and such, ghosts have greenhouses at best. Usually they’re also shouting whatever is inside that could potentially not be visible at the first glance. It’s hard to ignore. In your human form you’re usually just like a house with bigger windows and more see through curtains, but today you’re unusually loud. I think it’s because you’re healing so your ghost side is a bit closer to the surface”

“Ah. Alright, cool, cool”

“I can try to deliberately ignore you if you want, but it’s hard with how loud you are, and I’m not sure I wouldn’t drown out your verbal speech too. There isn’t much difference from my perspective”

“No, no, no, you don’t have to do anything, I was just surprised. Just maybe… don’t openly say anything about it? Whatever you hear, I’d kinda prefer to forget you can, for now, okay?”

“Sure thing. So, how does the Virgo look like? I like this name better”

Danny smiled and took pen from the grocery list.

“Virgo is one of the biggest constellations on sky in northern hemisphere and it’s best visible in Spring, so we can go try to find it in few weeks, if you want…”

“You’re asking? I’d love to!” she said with wide smile, sounding far too casual for what she just offered to him.

“Yeah? Cool, cool,” he took deep breath to refocus, because his brain was doing weird things again “I think it’ll be better if I show it to you then, with names of the stars and everything. But people like to make stories about stars, just like with any other aspect of the world around them. I can tell you about that?”

“Yeah, yeah, stop asking, start explaining”

"Okay, so it's a constellation from Babylonian and Greek zodiac. It's associated with goddesses, usually. I never remember the name of the Babylonian one, she was really important one though. Like, queen of gods, I think. Then, through Phoenicians, Greeks learned about Babylonian constellations and decided to adopt it, but they couldn't agree on which goddess should be in reflected in Virgo. So, some said it was Demeter, Goddess of Harvest and all that plant stuff. Others decided it was Cora or Persephone, she had two names, Demeter's daughter, and Godless of Spring and queen of the Underworld, which kinda makes sense, since according to myths, she was more or less trapped in Underworld throughout autumn and winter, and then returned to her mother and happiness of their meeting is what kick-starts the spring. It connects nicely with the fact that Virgo actually gets visible at the start of the Spring but Sun passes through it in autumn, though I'm not sure if some of that isn't caused by slight shift that happens over the course of the years... which is not what I was supposed to talk about sorry"

Feather-light fingers brushed against his hair. He leaned into it with slight smile.

"It's fine. Talk about what gets on your mind, I’m happy to listen," M'gann said gently "So, there were these two possible goddesses who could be represented by this Virgo constellation"

He gently grasped the hand that had this constellation on it, and put a pen down at the first freckle. He haven’t really thought about it, but it felt like the right thing to do.

"Actually, there is third one,” he whispered, suddenly feeling like anything louder would be wrong “She is my favorite for the story, though I don't quite know why. It's probably mostly that Demeter and Persephone have their other times to shine and i just don't see them in stars," line was made connecting two freckles -two stars- as if it was astronomical guide. The thin tipped pen needed a bit of pressure before it left the mark behind. M'gann skin dipped under it more than he realized it should "Her name is Astrea, Goddess of Justice and Innocence. She was one of the titans, so before the gods, though specifics aren't really important. She, unlike both titans and gods, lived among humans. Others preferred mountain tops, respectively Othrys and Olympus-"

"Oh! It's the name that humans gave to that volcano on M'arzz, isn't it?" M'gann asked, sounding delighted to connect information he was giving her to something familiar. Danny didn't raise his head from where he was marking her skin. He didn't know why this felt wrong either. There was something almost sacred in it though.

"Yeah. Since it's the biggest mountain in Solar System, so we named it after mythical home of gods"

"That's nice"

For a moment, they sat in silence, interrupted only by slow breaths and humming of the fridge.

"So, Astrea lived among humans. How did she end up among stars?"

"She was one of the Titans, and back when they reigned, it was a mythical Golden Age. Humanity was pure and innocent and only needed what nature provided us, without having to put in any work. There was no change in seasons, so they didn't even have to worry about scarcity of resources in winter" he lightly went over lines he drew between Spica and Porrima so he could continue on his journey down to Syrma and other stars. He didn’t really raise his pen above M’gann’s skin, just eased it away slightly, so it wouldn’t write for a moment “It was a paradise. But then the gods came and overthrown most titans because of feud that isn't really relevant here. This war was called Tytanomachy and was so destructive that it wiped out all of humans. They were remade later, but slightly worse, slightly less pure. Also, seasons became the thing, so they had to develop agriculture and architecture. They were no longer perfect, but still innocent and righteous enough for Astrea to stay. But with time came Bronze and Iron Ages, with weapons and money and wars and impiety, and people became greedy and cruel and unjust and just against everything she really stood for. So she ascended to heavens, and became constellation of Virgo. But she is said to return at the end of times and bring new Golden Age with her"

“It’s… really pretty story. I like how despite this narrative of living in the worst of times, times so bad that even goddess couldn’t handle, there is little bit of hope for return of the paradise”

"Humanity has a lot of hope in it... And also a lot of «grass is greener on the other side» syndrome, with assuming that times before were better and easier, simply because we don't know about problems people faced back then. Just fill in blanks in a way that fits us"

"I mean, this is similar to a way I decided to escape to Earth, and I'm not complaining"

He finished of last line.

"Neither am I. Nor any other person on the Team. And everyone you saved. Are you, perhaps aspect of Astrea walking around us to see if it's right time to return?" he asked, before he realized how stupid and mortifying this idea was. For a moment, they just looked at each other, with this weirdly intimate tension between them, that almost made him consider the chances of his stupid joke having some merit to it before-

M’gann laughed, bright and loud. Danny joined her, but quickly stopped when overtired muscles reminded him why exactly it was a bad idea.

"Shut up and eat your pasta, you dork. It won’t be any good if it’s cold"

[lukolastrong]

These anons are too much. Ok, you believe that Luke and Antonia are together and you have accepted that. Or that Nic and Jake are together. Great for you! But what does that have to do with us? We don’t believe that and you coming here, to a LUKOLA SHIPPING BLOG, to tell us that we should just accept that is wild! Just as you have every right to believe he is with A, we are also still entitled to our opinions. The vast majority of Lukola shippers stick to their little corner of the internet sharing thoughts and opinions with each other. We aren’t sending hate to L, N, A, or J. And if at the end of the day we are wrong about everything, then so what? It doesn’t directly impact us in any way whatsoever. But we still have the right to ship Nic and Luke, as long as we are respectful about it.

I am starting to think the issue with these anons trying to push L/A and N/J might be that they still really want to believe in N and L too, but they are too afraid to be disappointed if it turns out they are wrong. So they come to Lukola blogs to try to shame everyone for not “seeing” things as they do, but only so that the blogger and their followers can reinforce why we believe they are together. It gives them hope even when what they are saying is the total opposite. If that makes any sense at all. I mean, if they are so certain in their belief about L/A and/or N/J, then they wouldn’t be worried about what we think. Just like those of that believe that Nic and Luke are together aren’t worried about what they think.

And I am not saying we should all believe exactly the same things because then it simply becomes an echo chamber. I appreciate that you don’t block/delete the people that think differently and are voicing their thoughts and opinions in a meaningful way on your blog. Because some will block you immediately if you don’t fall in line with everything they say. It’s good to have an open discussion, especially when we don’t agree. It gives us a whole new perspective. But these anons say the exact same thing over and over and think that by being condescending, they will change people’s minds.

I think Nic and Luke are together, but understanding full and well that I could be wrong, but I am also not going to anyone’s blogs trying to force my opinions as facts onto anyone that believes differently.

I’m so sorry for the rant, but it’s frustrating for these anons to continuously send in these same old tired asks. My kudos to you and Bianca because you guys handle these anons phenomenally, even though I am sure it can get so stressful. 😩🫠

Don’t apologize, I love to read rants and hear what others are thinking.

I agree! Why come into our peaceful space and try to convince of these things? It’s so tiresome. It’s clearly not going to work so just march on back to where you came from. I feel like that too. Also I feel like most of them are likely scared Lukola shippers who are afraid that if we’re wrong they’ll look dumb so by pretending to be another shipper they’ll have that to fall back on and say “see told you so”.

Yeah it’s nice to have different opinions and perspectives that can bounce off each other. Of course♥️ I hope I’ve created a safe space for opinions while also fostering my ideas. I’ve heard of those blogs and it’s not a good place to go. At the end of the day shipping is suppose to be fun and light hearted. It’s all speculative anyway as we don’t know these two irl. I love to read the comments under my posts as everyone has different ideas and thoughts but they all lead to the same result.. Lukola 🥹

“I think Nic and Luke are together, but understanding full and well that I could be wrong, but I am also not going to anyone’s blogs trying to force my opinions as facts onto anyone that believes differently.” 💯 I love this.

Thank you 🙇🏼‍♀️ it does get that way sometimes but I end up deleting a lot of the asks because they’re all the same.

[fwol-jintu]

Shen yuan as a ghost except its a sword grave and he's like the only sword intact there

So imagine this

Binghe goes on an adventure blah blah blah and he stumbles upon a huge ass graveyard except its literally all just swords that have been planted there in honor of the warriors who fell in a battle, each sword having a carving of some sort somewhere to signify who owned them

As binghe walked around and approached one of them however, he finds this sword is.. nameless, ownerless, or so it seems. No carvings, no designation, and yet its the only one intact.

Its not chipped, no scratch or break or weakness point that signified that it had been broken once, nothing. Well except for maybe a little bit of rust and dirt, but still.

He wonders if he should pull it out of the ground to inspect it more. He tries, ignoring the ever persistent screams of his own sword. It seems more agitated than usual.

Ah.. huh? For some reason, he can't pull it out. Slightly frustrated, he takes out xin mo to cut it down- and then hesitated. He's not that bad, no. He ultimately decides against cutting the sword. So be it, remain ownerless.

He inspected the other swords, did try to take them out a few times, but none slipped out. He gave up at trying and just looked around. For some reason, he came back around to the intact sword.

He looked around, and then spotted a particular sword grave. It had a flower, or rather a.. wilted flower. Seems like someone came to visit, and judging by the flower type its probably been 6 days.

He stares at the grave, at the sword. His vision allowed him to read the carved name despite the characters being small. ...Yuguo? Foolish fruit? What kind of name- he doesn't question it. Maybe thats why the owner died. They were "foolish."

He leaves the graveyard. He swears he was leaving, but for some reason he came back... with a new flower. The new flower will die anyway, what was he doing? This is stupid.

...still, he replaces the wilted with a fresh one. He doesn't know how long that one will last. Its a foolish payment, who was he even paying respects to? For all he knew, it could've been-

.... the dark clouds of his mind pester. He shouldn't be like this, he's in a graveyard goddamnit. What if the sword spirits feed on his negativity and manifest? Hah! Who will have the last laugh then, he wonders....

Uh, what the- "aww what a sweet man. Showing respect to the unreturning, are you?" A spirit in the form of a graceful woman conjured almost by wind appears before him, a wide smile and the look of amusement.

????

More start to manifest, little by little, and they all look at him, quipping comments and observations.

"Ho? And here i thought only your descendant is alive. Now who's this handsome lad visiting us unreturnees?" A spirit in the form of an old man said.

"Ooo! Is he not perhaps the new lord that your clumsy lower sheep speaks of?~" this time, the spirit that spoke was in the form of a devilish child, grinning an uncanny smile.

"Does anyone know this uhh.. dog?" "Stop referring to people as animals you one-tap imbecile!" "Hey! Why do you say that to me but not Sahuang?!" "Thats because ---------!!"

Two spirits argue out of nowhere. He did not appreciate being called a dog.

before he can tell them off and show them the title of emperor of the 3 realms, they suddenly vanish.

Like a faint memory, It was all quiet again.

Quiet?

He focused, suddenly. Quiet? Too quiet. Xin mo's voice wasn't bothering him. Before, xin mo was absolutely screaming at him to get out, now suddenly its all quiet.

He becomes slightly dazed though instead of becoming sharper and more wary of his surroudings. The lack of distraction made him suddenly realize he may or may not lacked sleep. He didn't really need sleep, but the emotional exhaustion from all these days was getting to him.

....

Thud.

"Seriously? He fell asleep?"

"Perhaps we were too fightening for the poor lamb, nyehehehe~"

"Ah, youngsters these days..."

..........

He wakes up when he feels a leaf fall onto him. Hm? A leaf? He cracked open his eyes and was immediately assaulted by light. He jolts awake. What...

....

Oh. He.. he fell asleep in a graveyard.

What the fu-

Anyways its getting too long so imma just say that he interacts with the spirits and shen yuan for a while, and then gets a child (courtesy of the Yuguo woman and everyone apparently deciding they were the child's great uncles and aunts) whom he decides to take in (cuz his new family of spirits practically begged him to take care of their only relative)

Oh also prior to his baby inquirement the spirits and him have eventually buddied up (it took weeks but they were friendly enough, even the devilish spirit Sahuang who also happened to be a softie at heart apparently)

and he talked abt his problems w them and all such, mostly shen yuan cuz he was the one usually awake since his intact sword meant his spirit could stay visible for longer

("why does the story seem familiar...?" it took an emberrassing amount of time for shen yuan to realize that was binghe. By the time he did realize, it was maybe sorta too late?)

oh also he opted to sleep at the graveyard sometimes. Most times. Because. No nightmares. Good sleep. No voices in his head telling him to kill someone immediately as he wakes up. Just peace.

(And if the wives notice his absence? Pfft, no. If they question his new kid? "I took her in. Shes adopted." and if he stays at the graveyard for a little while longer each day because they care more about him than anyone ever have? No questions asked.)

And he also got permission to move their swords. Yippai. (He proceeded to clean every one of them and put them in a big special room and if anyone asks why the big meeting room only has swords seated on the chairs and why binghe spends so much time in it, no one answers)

(He kept their brokenness though despite his own protests. They all said its now apart of them and they "cannot return" so its merely fond memories now.)

Did i mention all the swords (or sword spirits) are actually transmigrators and shen yuan isnt alone in this :3

_______________

Some noble: but my lord, can't we just use that room? (Points to the room they passed by that clearly has just enough space for the rest of the other demons)

Said room is the spirit room

Binghe gets angry at the mere suggestion

"Incident" happened

No one talks abt it ever again

____________

Nyy brushing the kid's hair while watching binghe kneel on the ground infront of shen yuan bc he used his powers to choke sahuang out of frustration and sahuang was Not Happy abt it so she snitched to shen yuan (shen yuan vanished after 2.1 seconds of binghe kneeling bc how dare he scold THE protaganist. Yuguo had to take over and make both Sahuang and Binghe apologize to each other lol)

[girl-lostconnection]

Hello, just saw your post about not wanting people to get upset when they demand work from you, which I’m so shocked to see isn’t absolutely obvious. I’ve been a lurker on this site for some time and I LOVE so many of the things you’ve written, honestly one will pop up on my blog and then I’ll go down the rabbit hole of everything you’ve written. You’re so lovely and owe absolutely nothing to your readers; you’re doing this for free?? Why would I demand you write something?? If people want something to be written, they can write it themselves. I’m so sorry you have to deal with all this.

On that note, I just wanted to say that I just read your tf141 x deceased!reader angst and you broke my heart. The way ghost was worried they would bury you alive because he remembers how horrible that was for him and would never want you to go through the same thing?? Even though he knows, realistically, you’re not alive? AND THE PHONE????? Absolutely crushing, thank you.

Lurker anon, the light of my inbox! First of all thank you, you are very sweet. And yeah, it did feel peculiar and I brushed it off for some time (avoidance of conflicts be damned) but yeah, it was time to address the issue. Anyway, I appreciate your support, it really is very nice of you🌻🌟

Also, yes! I wrote his part specifically because I remember that being buried alive traumatised man to hell and back. So even though logically he knew that Reader was already gone, this deeper part of him couldn’t bring himself to let go. Partially because he himself was not ready to let Reader go, partially because what if. What if they got it wrong, what if the coroner was wrong, what if Reader wakes up.

What if they wake up and they are in the awfully tight space with 3 feet of ground above them and oxygen running low. Simon remembers how terrifying it was, how part of him still hates tight spaces and the feel of soil under his nails.

So yeah, part of it was grief, part of it was trauma, part of it was Simon’s desperate need to protect or to try, however fruitless and mad it might have looked to the outside perspective.

But also, imagine him twitching awake every time his phone pings for like a week straight after the burial because again, what if. What if (he hopes) they were wrong, what if Reader is coming back, what if they are alive. I think he’d hang onto this thread as long as he can because it allowed him to keep it together at least partially. Bc you know if you aren’t truly gone then he might not need to mourn.

And then a week passes, then another one, then a month and it could be a random morning, his regular cup of tea. Seemingly nothing out of ordinary. And then the realisation hits him. Reader is not coming back. They are really truly gone.

I think Simon is the one (along with Kyle) who processes grief the hardest. Because Simon already lost so many and because Kyle doesn’t know how to let go. But that’s just a thought. Honestly, all four of them mourn pretty heavily