#but also i was the one kid people compared their kids to? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aspenmissing · 2 days ago

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ʟᴇꜰᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴇᴋᴋᴏ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4376 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ??

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ 1 || ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ 2

JAYCE

The soft glow of Piltover's city lights filtered through the window, casting golden reflections across the nursery walls. Jayce stood near the crib, rocking back and forth in slow, steady motions, his arms cradling the small, fragile body of his newborn son.

Theon.

The name felt right the moment you had suggested it. A name that carried weight but also warmth. It had been only a few days since Theon came into the world, and yet Jayce already felt the magnitude of fatherhood pressing down on him. It wasn't the kind of weight that burdened—but rather one that reminded him that everything had changed.

And now, for the first time, you weren’t here. You had barely left Theon’s side since his birth, but exhaustion had finally overtaken you. With a reluctant kiss to Jayce’s cheek and a soft whisper of reassurance, you had retreated to rest, leaving him alone with their child for the first time.

Jayce had fought Hextech-fueled battles, debated before the Council, and faced the pressures of being Piltover’s Golden Boy—but nothing compared to this. The tiny bundle in his arms let out a soft noise, a little whimper, and Jayce felt panic surge in his chest.

"Hey, hey... it's okay, buddy," he murmured, shifting Theon slightly, his large hands adjusting awkwardly but carefully. His son’s face scrunched up, his tiny fists waving in the air, as if protesting whatever discomfort he was feeling. "I’ve got you. I promise."

Theon's tiny, warm body fit against him so perfectly. He was so small. So impossibly small. Jayce exhaled, pressing his lips to the crown of his son’s head, his heart thudding in his chest as he tried to shake the uncertainty clinging to him.

He had never felt more unprepared for something in his life.

"I don’t really know what I’m doing yet, but..." He let out a soft chuckle, the weight of the moment settling deeper in his bones. "I swear I’ll figure it out."

Theon gurgled, his little hands twitching before settling against Jayce’s chest, his breathing evening out once more. Jayce swayed gently, looking down at him in awe. This was his son. His and yours. A piece of both of you, wrapped in warmth, in innocence, in all the hope that a future could bring.

The responsibility was terrifying—but it was also everything.

Jayce let out a slow breath and shifted his grip slightly, adjusting Theon in his arms. He gently ran a hand over the fine wisps of hair covering his son's head, marveling at the softness of it. His son’s skin was so smooth, his breaths light and even against Jayce’s chest. Every small movement felt like an entire world shifting in his arms.

"You’re lucky, you know?" Jayce whispered, his voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the city beyond the window. "You have the best mom in the world. She’s gonna teach you so much. And me? Well... I’m still figuring this out. But I swear, I’m gonna be the best dad I can be."

He sighed, rocking slightly in place, letting the silence settle between them. A faint smile touched his lips as he imagined the future—Theon’s first steps, his first words, the way he’d grow into someone brilliant and strong, just like his mother. He wondered if Theon would inherit your kindness, your stubborn streak, the way you could always see the best in people.

"I hope you get her patience, kid. Because let’s be real, you’re gonna need it with me."

Theon shifted slightly, his tiny fingers twitching against Jayce’s chest. Jayce felt his heart tighten, overwhelmed with an emotion too vast to name. This was love in its purest form—unshakable, boundless, the kind of devotion that settled deep in the bones and never left.

With one last lingering look at the sleeping child in his arms, Jayce shifted toward the rocking chair, easing down carefully so as not to disturb Theon’s peaceful slumber. He traced a fingertip along the curve of his son’s cheek, his heart swelling in a way that made his throat tighten.

"You’re gonna be okay," he whispered, voice soft but sure. "Because I’ll always be here. No matter what."

And as the city hummed outside, as the world beyond their walls continued on, Jayce held his son close, letting the quiet promise settle between them.

VIKTOR

The soft glow of the lamp flickered, casting long shadows across the quiet room. Viktor shifted slightly, leaning on his cane as he gazed down at the tiny bundle cradled in his arms. Nikola. His child. His and Y/N’s.

The thought still sent a shiver through him, one of disbelief and awe. He had spent so long immersed in progress, in science, in the pursuit of understanding the world’s mysteries. Yet, here was a mystery more profound than anything he had ever encountered—a small, warm, fragile being, barely days old, now curled against his chest, trusting him entirely.

“Ah, little one,” Viktor murmured, his accent thick with emotion, “it seems it is just you and I tonight.”

Y/N had finally succumbed to exhaustion and was fast asleep in their shared bed. She had insisted she would stay up, but Viktor had gently persuaded her otherwise. She had done so much, carried so much, brought Nikola into this world with a strength that left him speechless. The least he could do was hold their child for a little while longer, allowing her some rest.

Nikola stirred, letting out a tiny, barely-there whimper. Viktor’s breath hitched. He had faced great challenges in his life, but this—this small sound of distress from his child—sent his heart racing. He adjusted his hold carefully, mindful of his weaker leg as he settled into the armchair by the window. The city lights of Piltover shimmered in the distance, and for once, he paid them no mind. The only light that mattered was the one nestled against him.

He rocked the baby gently, uncertain but careful, his hand supporting the delicate weight of Nikola’s tiny back. His touch was hesitant at first, afraid that he was too rough, too clumsy. But then, as the minutes passed, he felt Nikola relax, their little body molding against him as if this was where they belonged.

His heart clenched.

A father. He was a father now.

Would he be enough? Could he be? He was not the strongest, nor the most stable, not in body, and often, not in mind. He had always been consumed by his work, by the ceaseless hunger to be more. And yet… here in this moment, none of that mattered. Here, all that mattered was the steady rise and fall of his child’s breath, the faint warmth of their tiny fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You have me utterly defeated, Nikola,” he whispered, brushing the lightest of kisses against the baby’s forehead. “And I surrender gladly.”

Nikola sighed in their sleep, their tiny fist pressing against his chest. Viktor swallowed hard, adjusting his grip slightly as he traced the curve of their small face with his thumb. They were so impossibly small. He had spent years perfecting intricate inventions, but nothing had ever felt as delicate, as precious, as this.

The quiet stretched on, filled only with the occasional creak of the chair and the soft sounds of Nikola’s breathing. Viktor let his eyes drift closed for a moment, letting the peace wash over him.

When he opened them again, he found himself whispering words he had never spoken aloud before.

“I do not know what kind of father I will be,” he admitted, his voice barely above a breath, “but I will be here. I will love you. Always.”

Nikola stirred but did not wake. Viktor smiled softly, allowing his body to relax against the chair. He would stay like this for a while longer, just him and his child, in the quiet safety of their home.

For the first time in a long time, Viktor felt no rush to move forward. No need to chase the future.

Because, at last, the most important part of his life was right here in his arms.

JAYVIK

Viktor adjusted his brace as he shifted to sit more comfortably on the floor beside Jayce, their new-born daughter, Lina, wiggling happily between them on a thick, plush blanket. Y/N had left them to run a few errands, and now, the two men found themselves alone with their child for the first time.

Lina cooed, her tiny hands reaching toward the air as if grasping at the faint sunlight filtering through the workshop window. Her bright eyes darted between her two fathers, and then she let out an excited squeal, kicking her little legs in delight.

Jayce chuckled. "She's got some strong lungs, huh?"

Viktor smirked, watching Lina with a look of awe. "That is an understatement. She is already making her presence known—just like her parents."

Jayce leaned down, his large hands gently adjusting the blanket around Lina. "You think she'll take after you? Smart, inventive, a little stubborn?"

Viktor tilted his head. "And what if she takes after you? Charismatic, ambitious, and, of course, reckless?"

"Reckless?" Jayce scoffed playfully. "I prefer bold."

Lina giggled as if entertained by their banter, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling. Viktor's gaze softened, and despite his usual careful movements, he hesitantly reached out, his fingers ghosting over Lina’s small hand before finally letting the infant wrap around his index finger.

A warmth spread through Viktor’s chest. He had built many things in his life—machines, inventions, theories that shaped Piltover—but none of them compared to this tiny, breathing miracle before him.

"Here, let me help," Jayce said as he scooted closer, reaching out.

Viktor gave him a mock-exasperated look. "Are you implying I am not capable?"

Jayce smirked. "Just saying—it wouldn’t hurt to have a little support."

Despite his teasing, he carefully adjusted Viktor’s brace to give him better leverage, making it easier for him to lean forward without straining too much. Together, they carefully scooped up Lina, Viktor cradling her first while Jayce hovered, ready to assist.

The baby gurgled, perfectly content in her father’s arms. Viktor swallowed hard, something unspoken in his amber eyes as he met Jayce’s gaze.

"You okay?" Jayce asked softly.

Viktor nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never thought… I would hold something so fragile, so important."

Jayce reached over, his large hand covering Viktor’s where it supported Lina. "Well, now you have us. You're not doing this alone."

Viktor exhaled, a small, rare smile curling his lips. He looked down at Lina, who blinked up at them before yawning, her tiny body relaxing.

"Look at us," Viktor murmured. "The great inventors of Piltover, reduced to mere fools over a child."

Jayce chuckled. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft breaths of their daughter and the quiet understanding between them. Then, just as Lina began to doze, the door creaked open, and Y/N stepped in.

"You two survived?" Y/N teased, setting down their bags.

Jayce grinned. "Barely. But I think we managed."

Viktor gave Y/N a tired but content look. "She is quite the experiment—unpredictable, full of potential… and impossible to control."

Y/N chuckled as they leaned down, kissing Viktor’s temple and ruffling Jayce’s hair before pressing a soft kiss to their daughter’s forehead. "Sounds just like her fathers."

Jayce laughed, and Viktor hummed in amusement, all three of them watching as Lina let out a soft sigh in her sleep.

A new kind of invention. One they’d build together, one day at a time.

VANDER

Vander had never been afraid of holding a child before. He had cradled Vi and Powder as newborns, had soothed them through fevers, had taught them to walk, to fight, to survive. He was a father in all but blood to them, but this—this was different.

Ren was so small in his arms, barely bigger than one of his broad hands. Their tiny fingers curled and uncurled against his chest, their breath soft, warm, and utterly trusting. Vander had been certain he would be ready for this moment—he had prepared, after all. But now, alone in the dim light of the bar, the weight of his own child nestled against his heart, he found himself speechless.

A deep, rumbling chuckle escaped him as he traced a rough, calloused finger over the delicate line of their nose. “You’re a miracle, little one,” he murmured. “Didn’t think I had it in me, y’know?”

Ren yawned in response, their tiny mouth stretching wide before settling back into sleep. Vander smiled, the sight warming something deep in his chest. He had spent years protecting the children of Zaun, fighting for them, sacrificing for them, but this—this was a piece of him, of you. His own flesh and blood.

A loud creak signaled the opening of the Last Drop’s door, and Vander turned, grinning as one of his regulars stepped inside. He wasted no time.

“Oi, Mica��c’mere, c’mere.” He gestured eagerly with his free hand, his broad shoulders practically vibrating with excitement. “Look at this. Look at my kid.”

Mica blinked, stepping closer to peer at the tiny bundle in Vander’s arms. “Sweet Shimmer, Vander, you finally made one of your own, huh?”

“Damn right, I did,” Vander said, his chest swelling with pride. He shifted Ren just enough to give the old patron a better view. “Ain’t they perfect?”

Another patron wandered in, then another, and soon the small crowd had gathered around, all drawn in by the rare sight of Zaun’s protector reduced to a soft-spoken, doting father.

You had warned him not to overwhelm the baby, but Vander couldn’t help himself. He wanted everyone to see. He wanted the whole damn Undercity to know that Ren was here, that they were his. That they were loved.

And when the night deepened and the bar emptied, Vander stayed where he was, cradling Ren close, whispering quiet promises against their soft little forehead. Promises of protection, of warmth, of love. Of a future where they would never have to fight alone.

Because this time, Vander wasn’t just the protector of Zaun.

He was a father. And nothing in the world could take that away from him.

SILCO

The apartment above The Last Drop was quiet, save for the occasional distant murmur of Zaun’s nightlife below. The neon glow from the city seeped in through the window, casting shifting patterns across the walls. It was a stark contrast to the usual clamor of the bar beneath them, to the world Silco commanded with an iron will.

But up here? Up here, there was peace. A kind of peace he had never known before. Because now, nestled securely in his arms, was something far more precious than power.

Veyna.

His daughter.

She was barely a few weeks old, her tiny hands curling and uncurling against the fabric of his vest. He sat in his office chair, his usual place of scheming and strategy, but now? It was something else entirely. A sanctuary. A place where the weight of ambition gave way to something far softer, something warmer—the quiet breaths of his newborn.

Behind the closed bedroom door, Y/N was asleep, exhaustion having claimed her after yet another long night. He had told her to rest, promised he would look after Veyna while she slept. And he kept his promises.

She had been fussy at first, stirring in her bassinet as if sensing Y/N’s absence. But the moment he had scooped her up into his arms, she had settled, her tiny form curling into his chest like she belonged there.

Which, of course, she did. She was so small. So delicate. So innocent. And she was his.

He traced a finger down her cheek, marvelling at how soft her skin was. The scarred and calloused hands that had built an empire, that had struck down enemies and shaped the future of Zaun, were now cradling something so… pure.

Veyna stirred, her little face scrunching up before relaxing again. Silco let out a quiet chuckle.

“Demanding, just like your mother,” he murmured, rocking her slightly.

There was something about holding her that steadied him, something that made the weight of the world feel distant, if only for a moment. He loved coming home to this—to her. To the soft, rhythmic thrum of her heartbeat against his chest, to the way her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, as if she already knew this was where she belonged.

And Silco—ruthless, cunning, feared by many—tightened his hold, as if she were the only thing in this world that truly mattered. The one thing he would protect above all else.

Because she was. Because she was his. And that was something no one could ever take from him.

A faint rustling came from her, followed by the tiniest sound—a whimper, barely above a whisper. Silco glanced down, watching as her little face twisted in discomfort, her tiny body shifting in his arms. He sighed through his nose, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“Hush, now, little one” he murmured, voice low and smooth, a tone he rarely used with anyone. "We don't want to wake your mother."

Carefully, he rose from his chair, adjusting her in his arms. The movement made her stir, but she settled quickly when he pressed her to his chest. One hand supporting her head, he strode across the dimly lit room, boots silent against the wooden floor, until he reached the large window overlooking Zaun.

His city.

It stretched beneath them, a sprawling, breathing thing—alive with neon lights and restless movement. Even in the dead of night, Zaun never truly slept. Pipes hissed, distant voices carried through the streets, and the ever-present hum of industry filled the air.

"This," he whispered, looking down at her, “is your home.”

His free hand reached for the latch, pushing the window open just slightly. The air that wafted in was thick with the scent of oil, smoke, and metal—a scent Silco had long since grown used to.

“I built this,” he continued, voice softer now. “For you. For your mother. For all of Zaun. A future free from the grasp of Piltover.”

Veyna made another small noise, shifting just enough to peek open unfocused, sleepy eyes. Silco huffed a quiet laugh, watching her face.

She wouldn’t understand, not yet.

But one day… one day, she would.

He turned his gaze back to the city, his grip on her tightening ever so slightly.

“You’ll come to know it as I do,” he promised. “Its beauty. Its cruelty. But you, little one… you will never have to fight for your place in it. Because it’s already yours.”

She let out a soft sigh, her tiny fingers curling against the fabric of his vest once more.

Silco pressed another lingering kiss to her forehead before shutting the window, sealing them both in the quiet warmth of his office. For now, she didn’t need to know the weight of the world. For now, she only needed this.

Him.

And he would give her that, for as long as he could.

EKKO

The world outside their small home in the Firelights’ hidden sanctuary pulsed with life. The soft glow of lanterns swayed with the shifting air currents in the underground tunnels, their light casting flickering patterns against the walls. From a distance, the familiar hum of hoverboards echoed—young Firelights weaving through the metal and stone of their hideout, their laughter mixing with the occasional crackle of an old, half-broken radio sputtering music from a forgotten age.

But inside their home, the world was still. Ekko stood frozen, barely breathing, his arms wrapped around the impossibly tiny bundle cradled against his chest.

Nia.

His daughter. His and Y/N’s daughter.

Her presence was both familiar and alien all at once. She was small, delicate, warm—an entire future wrapped in soft blankets, her tiny hands curled into delicate fists. She had Y/N’s nose, his deep brown complexion, and when her eyes flickered open—just for a second—he could see a glimpse of something bigger than either of them staring back at him.

Y/N had only left for a little while—just to step outside, just for a breath of fresh air after the exhausting whirlwind of childbirth and sleepless nights. “You got this,” she had whispered, pressing a lingering kiss against his temple before slipping through the door, her touch grounding him for just a moment.

But now, standing here alone with their newborn daughter, Ekko wasn’t sure he did have this.

He had faced enemies twice his size, led the Firelights against the worst of Zaun’s threats, and survived things that would haunt him forever. He had taken beatings, stolen from those who would kill him if they caught him, and carried the weight of an entire rebellion on his back.

But this?

This was different. This was fragile. Precious. This was something he couldn’t afford to mess up.

Nia stirred against him, shifting in his arms, a soft, breathy gurgle escaping her lips. One of her tiny hands twitched, fingers uncurling before gripping onto the loose fabric of his shirt.

Ekko held his breath.

��Uh… hey, baby girl,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, afraid too much noise might break the delicate moment between them. “It’s just me and you now.”

Nia didn’t respond—obviously. But she blinked up at him, eyes big and unfocused, her soft face scrunching up as she worked through whatever newborn thoughts babies had.

A breathless chuckle escaped him, the corner of his lips tugging into a small smile. He shifted his hold slightly, carefully supporting her head the way Y/N had shown him so many times. He had watched her do it effortlessly, adjusting without even thinking, but now that it was his turn, everything felt impossibly complicated.

“I think we’re gonna be cool, right?” he tried, rocking her slightly. “Just don’t—uh—start crying. Please?”

Silence stretched between them for a heartbeat.

Then, as if sensing his hesitation, Nia’s lips trembled, her tiny face turning an alarming shade of red. Ekko’s stomach dropped.

“Wait—no, no, no, no—” A sharp, piercing wail tore through the quiet. Ekko panicked. His brain short-circuited, running in every possible direction at once. What was he supposed to do again?!

He bounced her a little, a movement he had seen Y/N do countless times, hoping it would work like magic. “Shhh, hey, hey—it’s alright, I got you, I got you,” he soothed, voice soft but uncertain.

No luck.

Her cries only grew louder, her tiny body wriggling against his hold, her distress clear in every shuddering sob. His mind scrambled for answers. Was she hungry? No—she had just eaten. Diaper? Maybe. Tired? Definitely.

“Okay, okay, uh—” He moved toward the small pile of supplies nearby, balancing Nia with one arm, fumbling clumsily with the blankets and spare cloths with the other. He felt like a fool, one wrong move away from dropping everything—including her.

“You’re good, Nia, Daddy’s got you,” he murmured, more to convince himself than anything else.

He paused.

Daddy.

The word felt strange in his mouth. Foreign. Unfamiliar. And yet, saying it aloud sent a slow, deep warmth curling through his chest.

He was a father.

Not just a leader, not just the boy who had once tried to outrun time itself, not just the kid who had watched everything around him fall apart.

A father.

A real one. A present one. Someone who would never leave, never abandon, never let his daughter grow up in a world that had already taken too much.

The weight of that realization settled on him like a heavy cloak, pressing down, grounding him.

Nia sniffled, her wails quieting for a brief moment as Ekko finally managed to tuck her into the soft swaddle again, wrapping her securely the way Y/N had taught him. He adjusted his grip, cradling her close to his chest, her tiny body warm and fragile in his hands.

Slowly, gently, he began to rock side to side, his movements instinctual now, his voice dropping to a quiet hum.

A song.

A melody from his childhood. Something old, something distant—a lullaby his mother used to sing before the world had stolen his innocence. The words were faint on his tongue, the memory blurred by time, but the rhythm, the feeling—it was still there.

Nia’s breathing slowed. Her fingers uncurled from his shirt. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

Ekko let out a deep breath, relief washing over him like a tide. He rested his forehead lightly against hers, his heart hammering against his ribs, overwhelmed and yet—oddly at peace.

“You got me wrapped around your tiny little fingers already, huh?” he murmured. The door creaked open.

Ekko looked up, caught in the soft glow of the moment as Y/N stepped inside. She looked exhausted—so exhausted—but the smile on her lips was nothing short of radiant.

She paused in the doorway, eyes flicking between him and their now-sleeping daughter, taking in the sight before her.

Ekko, rocking their child in his arms. The dim, golden light casting a halo around them, the soft lull of his voice still lingering in the air.

It was a picture she would never forget.

“How’d it go?” she asked, voice quiet.

Ekko glanced at her, his grip on Nia tightening just slightly, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. “Terrifying,” he admitted, his voice light but honest.

Y/N chuckled softly, stepping closer, pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek before brushing her fingers over Nia’s soft curls. “You did good,” she murmured.

Ekko leaned into her touch, his free arm slipping around her waist, pulling her close.

Maybe he didn’t have all the answers. Maybe raising a child in a world like theirs would be the hardest thing he’d ever do. But he had them.

His family.

And that was all he needed.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader #ekko x reader

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cherryheairt · 2 days ago

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The Line

Viktor x reader slowburn

chapter one

Masterlist

baby Viktor is on my mind today and I wanted to write a childhood friends to lovers trope (my absolute fav because of its softness). Like wdym this kid is just on his own most of the day and his only friend is a deranged scientist GET AWAY FROM HIM. and THEN what do you mean he grows up to also have his only friend/situationship be his lab partner who prioritizes his gf 😭🙏 then I happened upon a small detail that someone pointed out, which was that Viktor (child) always paused before he spoke because he was mentally translating from his native tongue to English.

also, Tyler Joseph you will always be famous (his life action singing of The Line inspired this)

"My body's on the line now

I can't fight this time now"

Years of living in the Undercity had made you grow to expect three certain things. One, that everyone always wanted something from you. Two, that no one is trustworthy. And three, that only you can help yourself.

You considered yourself lucky to have someone to raise you. Not your parents, who either died or left before you could remember, but a woman who was tough as nails and didn't take shit from anybody. Tiff, the name she told you but never quite matched her, worked at Babette's brothel during the night and slept most of the day. This left you sleeping with a knife under your pillow, knowing that you were ever more vulnerable without an adult in the home. During the days while she snored away in the only bed in the studio apartment, you went off to waste the day away. Not being homeless was a fortune you hadn't expected to be granted, especially when Tiff never mentioned any connections to your parents. No debts or favors to be fulfilled, just a child plucked off the damp streets of the lanes.

The best place to be was the river. It was small compared to most, but shallow water was safe water. In the upper part of the lanes, where sunlight actually hit and water wasn't as polluted, many children of the Undercity made it their safe spot to hang out. You came every day to pick up canteens of fresh water from flowing falls between the rock formations. Two canteens every day for you and Tiff to drink until the next. After filling them, you spent the hours Tiff slept observing the children you'd grown up with. You made a point to sit on the sidelines, never mingling with them or making friends. You knew the time might pass faster, but something always prevented you from making the first steps.

Perhaps it was your fears of being an outlier or your penchant for stuttering when you were nervous or excited. Tiff always hated that habit and just waved you off to stop talking entirely. You'd taken to staying quiet unless spoken to first, although you never really talked to many people in the first place. Tiff, the guy down the street, Pato, who made the best and cheapest takeout food, and the occasional visiting coworker of Tiff's who crashed at the apartment. With all the free time you had, you filled it with random hobbies.

First, there was reading. With whatever books you could find lying around, you taught yourself the basics of language. Although you couldn't get far past that, considering Tiff was also never taught how to read as a kid. She comforted you by telling you no one needed it down here. Reading was a topside luxury. You moved on to drawing, which also didn't last very long. Supplies cost money that Tiff was unwilling to spend on wants instead of needs. You used rocks as your utensil and walls as your canvas, stopping only when your hands were dry and bleeding from the grip you had to use on them.

Stealing was your calling, Tiff had told you. With your quietness and keen eyes, you were skilled at sneaking around. After giving up all other options, you tried to help around the house with bills and rent instead. To earn your keep, which you knew wouldn't last forever. You started with pockets, your small size and nimble fingers making it all too easy. Wallets, jewlery, pocketwatches; all made their way from unsuspecting victim's hands and into Tiff's savings. A nice man by the name of Benzo bought whatever valuables you showed him, shaking his head all the while in slight disappointment at your thievery. You moved to the occasional house that had a cracked window or broken door lock. You never took enough to be devastating to the owners, but just enough to make a difference with every person you took from. The guilt quickly went away after the first few times, with Tiff validating that "hey, everyone's got to get by, kid. It'll teach them to keep their shit tighter."

You watched with satisfaction as Tiff was able to work shorter shifts occasionally. Once a week, she would take you past Pato's shop and to a place that served sweet milkshakes. A small delicacy that never failed to make both your and your guardian's mood shine.

Today, you were back at the river. The sun rose lazily from the time you arrived, watching it the entire time while waiting for other kids to file up in the area. The peace and quiet of the morning turned into a rowdy afternoon. It seemed busier than usual, children of all ages splashing around and tossing toys around while boisterously laughing.

Curled up in your space on a batch of rocks, you soaked the sunlight in. Parallel to you, on another raised batch of stones that kids like to stand on and 'fight' over, climbed a girl your age. With tan skin and curly hair, you remembered her as Sky. She tried making friends with you months ago, but your tense silence led her to give up after days of one-sided conversation. Still, you liked seeing her thrive among the rest of the kids. From a distance—like everything else you observed.

Today, another had caught her interest. Peering over the edge, you saw a mess of dark brown hair holding something in his lap like a precious heirloom. Briefly, you wondered if what he guarded would sell for anything good. The two stared at each other for only a few moments before Sky was called away by the group. Hesitantly, she left back over the rocks.

You stayed at the ledge. Inching ever so closer, you squinted to try and peer over his shoulder. While he focused on it and twisted a few metallic gears, you noticed the cane sitting by his side. Handmade, presumably, and likely by himself, judging by the contraption in his hands. When it made a loud 'click!', you startled enough to be thrown out of place. With a yelp, your grip on the rock had loosened, and you fell to the sand in a heap.

Groaning, you raised yourself pathetically to your hands and knees, spitting out sand from your mouth and wiping the rest off your face with the back of your hand. Not very well, from the indents you felt on your cheeks and chin. Glancing over at the boy, you saw him staring at you as if you were a ghost.

More than embarrassed, your face and ears burned stove-hot. Sitting up with scratched up palms and knees, peaks of raised white skin and red mixed together through the grains of sand.

"...Are you alright?" A heavily accented voice asked. Bright amber eyes continued staring down at you, but he made nary a move to assist. In fact, he clutched his thingy, which you now know as a boat, even closer to his torso as if you'd take off with it.

Grimacing, you nodded. Scooting past him to the water, you cupped up some and washed it over your scrape. Wincing at every touch, you cringed at the scolding you were in for at home. Can't run from angry bystanders after an unsuccessful theft.

No, not with your legs burning like this. It would be at least a week before you could be on the streets helping Tiff again.

"Your nose is bleeding." He pointed out from next to you. You jerked your head up, meeting his eyeline. Narrowing your eyes, an annoyance flowed through you. When did he move? Why had you not heard him?

Wiping at your nose roughly, you indeed found red dragging from your hand to wrist. Before you could dunk your head unceremoniously under water, a piece of cloth was thrust in front of your face. Winding back, you were surprised to see the boy merely offering it to you instead of taking advantage of your distracted mind to attack. You didn't carry anything but the water flasks, anyway, but still you stayed cautious.

"Hold your head down, not up." He instructed. Eyeing him, you almost scoffed outwardly at his assuredness, as if you didn't know how to handle a nosebleed. Grabbing the cloth, you cupped it around your nostrils and sat forward. Dizzy, the water in front of you seemed to spin.

He took a moment to adjust himself, slowly sitting next to you with a safe distance. The stream steadily flowed with a calming tune in your ears as time seemed to pass eternally slow. He kept the boat in his lap idly, legs crossed politely to take up less space even in the empty area.

After minutes of silent waiting, you uncovered and held the cloth away. Finding it absolutely unsalvagable, you glanced to the boy apologetically. He shrugged, not moving to take it back. "Keep it. It's only a hankerchief."

Folding it to wet and wipe excess blood from your face, palms, and knees, the sting lingered on, but the pain from tiny pebbles digging into your skin stopped. From your peripherals, you saw him staring. Turning, you raised your brows as if to ask, 'what's your problem?'

Again, he nearly flinched back. "Ah—my name is Viktor." His accent sharpened on the end of his name. It was considerably thick but not entirely foreign to you. Many people congregate in the lanes and hailed from other countries, including those of different languages or species, like Vastayas or Yordles. His mother tongue wasn't one you spoke but instead heard flowing through the markets on a lively afternoon. "What's yours?"

Pursing your lips, you bit your tongue. Unsure if the words might fumble coming out of your mouth, you resigned to write it in shaky letters in the sand grains. It wasn't neat or even, but you at least knew to spell your name and Tiff's in case of emergencies.

Viktor spoke your name aloud, feeling the syllables roll off his tongue in his accent. You nodded once, confirming that he pronounced it correctly. You pointed towards the mechanical boat in his hands, curious to know whether it worked or not, considering how it had only sat lamely in his lap since you first saw him.

He looked down in surprise, remembering he had been working on it the entire morning. "I named it Sunny." He started shyly, cheeks turning pink from the attention on him. "I finished working on her today."

You smiled slightly, urging him to go on. Looking between the boat and the stream, your eyes sparkled with curiousity. He seemed hesitant, perhaps embarrassed at the possibility of the small ship not working. After some careful thinking in his own little space, he finally sat up and wrapped his hand on a little crank, the same that startled you off the ledge.

He winded it a few times, slow and steady. When he popped the lever out and it made a loud 'crick!' Yet again, you held yourself from flinching. Mesmerized, you watched as the boat's winded gears turned the ship's paddles forward. He smiled brightly, tooth gap showing itself from between his lips as he giggled softly. He placed the boat gently into the water, allowing it to row itself downstream. Quickly, he beckoned you up at the same time that he took hold of his cane to lift himself.

You both followed after Sunny. Sand turned to rock and your knees burned as you trailed behind Viktor, always keeping your eyes on the boat as it sped faster than you expected. The water got deeper when the overhead rocks turned into a cave, one that you'd been too fearful to explore alone before. As it sped and the water became more of a current than a stream, you and Viktor had to start into a run.

Unfortunately, due to his leg and needing the cane just to walk, Viktor couldn't keep up. He tripped, yelling out as he fell to the rocks. "Viktor!" You yelled too, surprised at your own concern for the stranger. He was quick to recover, focused on the boat still heading further into the stream. You offered a hand as he used the other for his cane, seeing his ears brighten from what you guessed was embarrassment at the fall.

"We're even now." You mumbled out, quiet voice echoing in the small cave.

He stood taller upright, fixing his gaze between you and the now-dissappeared boat. "You can talk?" He asked, looking frustrated at the loss.

Fighting to urge to bite back a sarcastic response, you sighed and nodded. You had to remind yourself that most might assume you were totally mute or unable to speak for a physical reason, like Viktor had. You might assume the same if you met another like yourself. It was simply easier not to.

"Oh." He deflated, disappointed that you had stopped. "Let's find Sunny. I can't lose it." He turned around, determined to find his special project even in the dark and damp cave. Truthfully, although you often ran around the lanes on your own, the dark still scared you. Huddling closer than acquaintances should, you were nearly clinging to Viktor's arm as he led the way.

If he was bothered by the shoulder-to-shoulder touch, Viktor did not say a word. In fact, you could hear his breaths grow quicker as you decended. He was equally as frightened as you were, but he put on a brave face despite it.

Descending the cave, Sunny continued its drift downstream faster than either of you could keep up. You only heard the mechanical sounds whirring and turning in the internal parts of the machine and the water wheels against the surface. Finally, you heard it stop like it was jammed on something. A dim but frankly pretty purple light came from your destination. When entering another opening of the cave that widened from the narrow entrance, you found yourself in awe of the naturally growing violet flowers on the stone walls.

Flowers or fungus? Either way, they were luminescent and possibly the best thing you'd ever seen in the lanes.

A slithering caught your attention, and Viktor pulled you down to hide behind a jutting stone. You gasped, and Viktor was quick to slap a hand over your mouth regardless of the fact that the man and his large lizard companion definitely knew you were there. You both kept your eyes glued to the pink creature, wondering what it was and if it was aggressive or not. You knew that in a moment of great adrenaline, you could run away from anything, but your new friend could definitely not.

The creature roared, spotting you both huddled together. You clutched his hand tight, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing yourself for an imminent attack.

A voice, not your own or Viktor's, startled you both. "Don't be afraid." Soothing, almost fatherly.

"Did you build this?" It was the man, possibly in his early 30's or so and human, sitting on a rock that was bathed in sunlight from a small opening in the top of the cavern and inspecting Sunny in an impressed way.

Viktor stood up slowly, wary of the pink lizard, but even more curious.

"Why aren't you two playing with the others?" He continued, seeing as neither of you answered verbally.

Viktor stepped out, letting the cane speak for him. The man hummed thoughtfully, running a hand over the mechanisms. "Loneliness is often a byproduct of a gifted mind."

"What—" You swallowed harshly, scolding yourself internally for stuttering in front of both of them, but forced yourself to finish now that their eyes were on you. "What is that?"

"Oh," he started, looking sideways at it as if he'd forgotten it was there. "This is Rio. She is a rare mutation that I cultivated myself." He said, sounding almost somber.

Viktor and you exchanged a glance as the pink lizard named Rio blinked at you both. It was cute, as cute as a beast five times the size of you could possibly be. You'd rarely see pets around the lanes—far too expensive for the normal citizen to keep around.

"Here," he stood, plucking one of the purple flower things from his pocket. "Would you like to feed her?"

Viktor stepped forward first, cane tapping with every small step he took. The flower was tightly clutched in his small hand as he approached the lizard, carefully eyeing her mood to see if the flower or himself might be her meal. To your amusement, Rio eagarly gobbled the flower up and left a string of thick saliva on his arm. You giggled, moving to pet her now that you were sure she was friendly. The lizard purred under your gentle touch, yellow eyes blinking innocently up at you and sniffing for more treats. Viktor joined you as Rio settled down on the rock like the movement exhausted her greatly.

"She's dying." The man said simply. You gasped, protectively stroking behind her ear spikes as if the comfort might protect her from his blunt statement. "I am trying to provent that. The mutation must survive." He said darkly. You disliked his tone, thinking of how ominously he spoke and how detached he viewed the beautiful creature. Like it was an experiment and not a being.

"Can I help?" Viktor spoke up.

He seemed surprised, but smiled slightly at the offer. "You want to assist me?"

Viktor shrugged, but you could tell he was eager to help Rio get better. And possibly just have a friend, even if that friend was an old man in a dimly lit cave.

"And you?" The man's grey eyes found you, still petting the lizard and pretending you were invisible. It was easier that way, to stay in the shadows and be unheard and unseen.

You struggled to find the words for a moment, face hot at your admittance. "I'm not smart, like Viktor is." You glanced to the boy next to you, who seemed to smile and crinkle his wide amber eyes at your words.

The man held a comforting hand on your and Viktor's shoulders. "I'll find a role for you both." He didn't even mention your useless stumbling or give you a nasty look for taking too long to speak. Tiff wouldn't have let you get two words in before rolling her eyes and ignoring you. For some reason, you felt a strong attachment to the strange man.

Happily, you nodded. "I want to help, too!"

Stutters are complicated to write and tedious to write the stereotypical format of "S-s-stutter" which is often not accurate. Based off experience of knowing someone with a chronic (?) stutter, people with a stutter often repeat the entire word until they can move on with the next, which is what I imagined the mc to do. Its not written out but implied for the sake of smooth formatting. Her stutter is neurological and stems from her caretaker not properly taking time to speak with her and teach her language beyond clipped sentences. As mc grows older and more confident, she grows out of it as most children do (though thats not to say people with stutters can simply grow out of it as if its a bad habit, every case is different)

I legit dont even have Netflix anymore but keep started these series (Alice in borderland, squid games, Arcane) that NEED netflix to write scenes from ughhh but its so overpriced for even the Ads version of subscription, so basically this is now a one-shot until I decide to buy Netflix again bc I started this when I had it 😇

#Spotify #arcane viktor x reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #writing #fanfic #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane x reader

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vibelladonna · 1 hour ago

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❛ 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝒷𝒶𝓇𝒾 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You and Geo have always been close—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 chaotic friendship 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 (who drew the art above) Twitter and immediately thought, "HELP, I’M WRITING A FANFIC ABOUT THIS!" …except I never actually did.

A promise is a promise, so even though I’m very late—here it is, I made sure to make it looooooog story. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Also, I included @alienfreak124 OC, Perssila Keithens as the reader’s friend and Crowe’s girlfriend. Sorry, not sorry to the Crowe fans, but I’ve officially switched sides to the tall, silent type. Geo stole my heart. Still love you, Crowe, but… priorities.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: geo x reader, friends to lovers, slow burn (but with tension), unspoken feelings, questionable life choices, mutual pining but make it stupid, light bondage, small smut part, awkward intimacy, geo is a soft (but not really), tangled ropes and hearts, and perssila 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!"

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 again, 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 blink. "Wait. Subaru?"

"Yeah," she grins, watching the realization slowly hit you. "That’s his real name. Geo is just a nickname or whatever."

You stare at her, processing. "Wait, wait, wait—you mean to tell me this whole time, I’ve been calling this man Geo like a dumbass, and his name is Subaru? Like the car?”

"Yep," she chirps, clearly delighted by your suffering.

"Why did no one tell me this?"

She shrugs. "Dunno. Maybe they wanted to see how long it’d take for you to figure it out yourself."

You drag your hand down your face. "I hate this place."

She ignores you. "Anyway, 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.

“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. “Geo,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Play with breasts… 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: "Nah, nothing like that. Just… I dunno, learning some things about him. About myself too, I guess."

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 kind of things? You okay?"

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.

Ding!

You: Just... a lot of stuff I wasn’t expecting.

The suspense was killing her. What did that mean?

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 came 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—Ding! Another message.

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 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: Nah, nothing like that. Just… I dunno, learning some things about him. About myself too, I guess.

Perssila: LEARNING???

Perssila: THIS IS A CRIME. I’M GOING TO JAIL JUST FOR WITNESSING THIS.

You: Nah, you’re fine. It’s all aesthetic. 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.

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, Perssila?" 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 earlier—before I 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?

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #tkatb vn #tkatb geo #geo ooga #subaru oogami #geo oogami #the kid at the back mc #tkatb geo x reader #the kid at the back geo

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