#personally i am just not sleeping at all between now and then

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH7

You spend the night in the woods and find solace in Daddy's arms. Meanwhile, Mommy isn't too happy he disrupted her plans for the day...

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Dom/sub undertones. Pet names. Age gap. Size difference. Frottage/dry humping. Fluff. Angst. Fear of doctors. Medical exams. Date night with Mommy. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 6.3k 🔷️READ ON AO3🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6–7

A/N: So, spoiler but: in this chapter, Reader (more info on her listed in the last chapter's A/N) gets a birth control implant. Now, I am not an expert on birth control, not even that particular kind, I am just an author with a bit of research on her hands. And I will not explain in detail how it works or why I chose it, it fit my story telling needs, and that's why. Please educate yourself if you want to learn more and do not take a word I'm writing here at face value. This is fiction, and in fiction anything goes, exactly how I, the author, want it to go. ❗ (Please READ THIS if you're confused about the tags I listed this under!) ❗

Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7 🔷️ Chapter 8

The two of you spent the rest of the night huddled together on the hard floor, the food Daddy brought spread out in front of you. You were sitting between his legs, warm and cozy with your back to his chest (and his groin to your ass) as he leaned over you to reach for the thermos.

You were snuggled into the hoodie he had put into your backpack, while both of you were wrapped in the blanket. It was a picnic in the dark, with only the flashlight pointed at the nearest wall to give some light. He said his chef (it was still a somewhat otherworldly thing in your mind to have a personal chef) had prepared all kinds of finger foods, and while you expected chicken wings or fries or maybe nachos, it looked more like these fancy little snacks you'd only ever seen in movies (canapés or something? You weren't sure).

There was also a container full of cut fruit: apples and strawberries, pear and mango, and another full of cherries and all kinds of berries. You tasted something of each, quickly feeling full. Daddy was sitting behind you, sipping the tea he brought. Occasionally he'd feed you something, and you'd do the same, giggling happily when you watched the cherry slip between his lips. He'd kiss you after, sharing the taste.

You felt good, safe and protected, warm and happy. A strange feeling. In the quiet moments you wondered if it was real. Maybe you were still on that park bench, dreaming these things up. But then you'd feel Daddy's hands around your waist, rocking you gently against him as he nibbled on your neck, and you didn't care if it was real or not. It felt too nice to nitpick.

When the first yawn broke on your face, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, wrapped the blanket around you like a cocoon and sat on the edge beside you, rubbing his large hand over your hip. You looked up at him, smiling tiredly, wanting to ask him to join you, but the words wouldn't come. And the bed was really small also...

He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, lingering there a little as he watched you. “Sleep now, pumpkin,” he whispered, his breath ghosting your lips.

“What about you, Daddy?” you managed to croak out.

“I'll clean up our mess and will take the other bed, don't worry about me,” he replied, leaning back slowly.

“Let me help,” you mumbled, trying to get your arms out of the tightly wrapped blanket.

“No, it's fine,” he said, pushing you back down, his hand heavy on your shoulder. “It was a long day, you need your sleep, baby girl.”

You huffed a sigh, snuggling into the blanket, blinking up at him. “M'kay,” you pressed out under your breath, your lips pursing into a pout.

He gave a short chuckle and pressed his mouth to yours. “No pouting, pumpkin, go to sleep. Another long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

You inhaled deeply, stretching your neck to keep close to him, but he leaned back, causing you to slump down again. “What's tomorrow, Daddy?” you whispered, already fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Mommy has something planned for you, I don't want to spoil the surprise,” he said, his voice quieter as he stood up, his hand leaving your arm.

You gave an unintelligible noise before you sighed, your eyelids fluttering closed. “Okay...” you breathed.

“Good night, sweet girl,” you heard his voice from a little away.

“Good night, Daddy,” you mumbled back, inhaling deeply before sleep gripped you fully.

You woke up with a voiceless shriek, your eyes flying open, but there was nothing but darkness around you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a cold breeze washing over your sweat-slick face. A whimper escaped you as you lay stock-still on the hard bed, the blanket wrapped around you in a suffocating manner. You couldn't remember what woke you, if it was a nightmare or dream or just the noises of the forest. Oh. Forest. Right.

The hoot of an owl brought you back to the little cabin in the woods, and as your heart slowed a little, you could hear the deep breaths, almost snores, from the other bed. Without thinking about it much, you scrambled out of yours and stumbled through the dark towards the comforting noises, ignoring the cold shudder crashing down your spine as you left the safety of your cot. The blanket was still around your shoulders, dragging after you, and when you extended a hand to feel where you were, your fingers brushed against something warm.

“Daddy?” you whispered barely audible, voice heavy with sleep, a hint of growing panic vibrating through you. The impenetrable dark around you was beginning to feel suffocating. He didn't stir, just kept breathing deeply. “Daddy...” Your hand was on his shoulder, moving up, blindly feeling around until your fingertips nudged against his beard, the scratching sound sending pleasant shivers over your skin, dispersing the cold that had settled there.

Biting your lip, your heart beating faster, you decided to climb into his bed. There was no space, he was already filling out the small frame, so you clambered on top of him, carefully putting your knees on either side of his hips (having to spread your legs quite far to fit him between your thighs) before you lay down slowly, resting your weight on his torso, one arm cradling his head, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

A garbled snore escaped him, before his hand shot up, feeling around until it curled around your side. “Pumpkin?” he rasped, his voice so low it was a mere vibration through your body as you pressed your chest to his, trying to relax on top of him. “What's wrong?”

“Couldn't sleep,” you mumbled into him, your hand teasing his neck, producing more scratching noises as you rubbed your fingers into his beard.

He exhaled loudly, making your hair fly. His arms closed around your body as he shifted beneath you. “S'okay,” he muttered hoarsely, pulling you against him.

For a moment you just lay there, your eyes falling closed again, the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his body lulling you to sleep once more. Then his hands moved, rubbing from your shoulders down to your rear, and when his long fingers curled around your ass, you gave a little squeak, suddenly wide awake.

You leaned back on your elbows, looking down at him, trying to, but the room was too dark to see anything but more shadows. Your hands cupped his cheeks, the feel of his beard a calming thing under your palms. He kept kneading your rear, somehow the blanket had slipped off, adding a cold breeze to the shivers that traveled down your spine.

He breathed loudly against you. “You have no idea how hard it is to resist you, baby,” he growled, his voice just a rumble in the air, a thrum against your chest. “If you do things like this... all I want to do is grab you, turn you around, spread you open and sink my cock into your tiny cunt.” His low words, so lewd and tempting, but frightening too, made you gasp softly.

His hands tightened around your ass cheeks, pulling them apart, kneading, fingers slipping along the hem of your shorts. You were breathing harder, feeling a tense heat growing inside you, low in your core, a little throb, a clench, and then you were grinding your pelvis into him, against the bulk of him, hard and warm.

He gave a low grunt, pushing you against him, hands heavy and scorching, even through your clothes. “I can't do this, pumpkin,” he muttered. “Not yet. As much as I want to, as much as I need to... ugh,” he groaned, bucking his hips up against yours. “Little temptress,” he breathed, one of his hands moving up to grab the back of your head, pulling you down until your lips collided with his, his tongue quickly forcing into your mouth, a desperate gliding and rubbing and tasting.

He kept talking between kisses, his fingers tight around your nape, the other still groping your ass. “Soon...” he growled, kissing you harder with each word slipping past his warm lips. “Soon I'll fill you up, fill you up so good, all mine, you're mine, baby, mine to fill up, mine to open and use, your cunt will be molded to my cock and mine alone...”

You felt hot all over, his kisses and touches and words melting into a strange sensation floating through your body. You squirmed on top of him, grinding into him, your thighs trembling with how far they were spread over the bulk of his legs. Your fingers dug into his hair, holding on, kissing him back just as hungrily, your motions guided by pure instinct, by need, by unbridled lust. Nothing you'd ever felt before.

Your panting breaths mingled with his groans, the rubbing and grinding getting faster, more intense, his hand bruising your soft flesh. You wished there weren't so many layers of clothes in the way, it all felt too much, too warm, your clit throbbing under the constant friction of your underwear and shorts pressing into it. The hand on your neck was heavy, pressing you down, keeping you glued to his mouth, his tongue licking into yours as if he wanted to eat you alive (a thought that made your head spin). You tried your best to mirror the motion.

The tension in your stomach grew and grew, coiling so tight you were afraid it would break you from within. That heat gathering in your core, in your cunt, felt like liquid fire, burning through your nerves, setting everything aflame. Whimpers left your throat, your hands gripping his hair tighter, your hips rutting into him with desperate need now. His hands moved, gripped your waist, started pushing and pulling you over the bulge in his pants, a consistent pressure, burning friction, a deep shudder.

And then the lights came as you gasped into his mouth, a stifled little “Daddy!”, a swarm of fireflies dancing at the edge of your vision, your breath hitching in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You felt your orgasm crashing through you like a wave, the first rough impact made you stiffen, then turned into a gentle lapping as it glided through you, spreading from your core into your trembling limbs, until your toes curled and your fingertips tingled.

He held you as you shivered, erratic breaths fanning over his face, his own body hard beneath you. Still shaking, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, his hands rubbing over your back, gently smoothing down your jittery nerves. Your core was pulsing, throbbing, blood pumping just beneath your skin. A low thrum that slowly eased into a little buzzing, fizzling out like a sigh in the wind. A sticky warmth settling in your underwear.

“My good girl,” he cooed softly, his lips brushing against your ear, voice low and soothing. “You're alright, baby.”

You relaxed on top of him, practically melting into the hard shape of his body, a little boneless thing held by strong arms. Head empty, filled with cotton, no thoughts, except for a tiny nudge of something, of wanting to give back, of wondering how he felt, but you were too tired to voice it. He didn't seem to mind either way, only shifted slightly beneath you before you slipped into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

This time you woke up to a rumble below you, a little bump that made you shift against a warm body. Grumbling under your breath, eyes too heavy to open, you snuggled into the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your legs were angled, knees pressed into your chest, your head slightly lifted, resting on something warm and solid.

A hand rubbed along your arm, a soothing noise coming to your ears. “Go back to sleep, pumpkin,” you heard Daddy's quiet voice, but the low thrum of it surged through your body, giving you the energy you needed to open your eyes.

Squinting into the light, you found yourself curled up on the bench seat beside him, your cheek resting on his thigh, his hand on your arm. The truck rumbled beneath you, a constant drone that almost lulled you back to sleep, but you forced yourself to wake up fully. Slowly you turned onto your back, legs stretched out as far as possible (they remained angled at the knees, sock-clad feet pressing into the passenger door), before you looked up to the upside-down view of the tall man behind the steering wheel.

He gave you a gentle smile and a short gaze, then focused back on the road. “Good morning, Daddy,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

“Morning, pumpkin, did you sleep well?”

“Like a stone, apparently,” you whispered, looking around. “Did you... did you carry me all the way back to the truck? You could have woken me, I could have walked...”

“You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb your beauty sleep, baby,” he said with a slight smirk, his fingers digging into the blanket, teasing at your armpit. You scrunched your nose, squirming against the touch, feeling your lips twitch.

“Did you get some sleep too?” you asked carefully when he pulled his hand back, brushing it over your forehead before gripping the steering wheel. Last night came into your head, hazy and fuzzy, a buzz in the back of your head and deep in your core. Heat crashed into your face. “I... I didn't mean to –”

“It's okay, sweetheart. I slept really good, you make for a great weighted blanket, so soft and cute how you snored right into my ear,” he teased, his hand back to caress your hair. You turned your head and pressed your hands to your face, hiding the blooming warmth on your cheeks. He laughed softly. “Don't be ashamed. And don't stress about sneaking into my bed. You are welcome to do so, it makes me so happy to know that you're comfortable enough with me to do that.”

You spread your fingers and peeked through them as he talked, his words burning the doubts away again. His fingers brushed over your hair (you noticed he'd loosened the braids and smoothed it out again). He seemed to have had a whole morning while you were unconscious. You wished you could remember how he carried you, probably on his arms, through the waking forest, tugged you into his car, positioned your head on his thigh...

You turned onto your side again, shuffling closer until your chin rested on his leg, your eyes directly in line with the bulk of his cock behind the thick denim of his jeans. His hand moved over your forehead, tucking a few stray strands back, before his fingers dug into your hair, grabbing a bunch of it as he tugged lightly.

Your eyes moved up as you watched him from under your lashes, your cheeks still warm, your hands resting on the side of his thigh to steady yourself. “Are you okay, Daddy?” you whispered, watching his face, the creases in the corners of his eyes deepening as he smiled down at you.

“I'm fine, baby. Why do you ask?”

You licked your lips, that little urge in your stomach crawling up until it sat heavy in your throat, making your mouth both dry and saliva to pool on your tongue. You looked back at the bulge in front of you, your fingertips itching to touch it, feel how hard it really was. Wanting to give back.

“I just... uh... did you... did you come... last night? When I...” you stammered, swallowing thickly.

“It's fine, pumpkin,” he said, easing your stuttering. “Don't worry about me.”

“But –”

“No,” he shot down your attempt to voice the growing need. To feel, to taste... You blinked up at him, frowning slightly. “Sorry, baby girl, we don't have time. Mommy is already very angry with Daddy.”

“Oh,” you mouthed, biting your bottom lip as you sank back into the seat, away from his crotch. Exhaling loudly, you curled up against his side, pulling the blanket back over your body. “I'm sorry...”

“Don't be, it's my fault,” he said quietly, his hand back on your shoulder, warm and heavy, a comforting touch. “I should have planned this better. But it'll be fine. We'll be back in town in a bit, and then Mommy can have her day with you. Try to relax now, I don't know what she's up to after your appointment, but expect a lot more walking and shopping and whatever else girls do, hm?”

You frowned, feeling something cold and heavy in your stomach. Slowly you turned your head to look up at him. “What appointment, Daddy?”

“She's taking you to the doctor, baby girl,” he replied nonchalantly, while you stiffened. “Don't worry about that, just a check-up, some precautions and all that jazz. You were not on birth control, right, pumpkin?”

You looked away, swallowing. “No,” you mouthed, curling more into the blanket, not really wanting to face the reality of things. You hated going to the doctor's office, but in the back of your mind you knew it was important, a necessary step to assure your new life with these generous people. You still felt weird about it, and the implications of it all made you a little nervous.

His hand rubbed over your arm. “You'll get an implant, darling, Mommy's got one too, it's the best way, won't hurt much either. No need to be afraid. And once that's settled,” he added quietly, his hand slipping down your front, giving your chest a gentle squeeze, “well, I can't wait to get real close to you...”

The innuendo wasn't lost on you (your cunt giving a little clench), but you focused more on his other words. It felt as if you didn't have much of a choice in the matter, they had already planned out your life, and while it was comforting on one side, it made you feel a little useless and trapped on the other.

Then again, you did sort of trust them, Mommy and Daddy, somehow you knew they only wanted the best for you, and if that one little inconvenience (that felt like a big stone in your guts though) would ensure that you could stay with them, hug them, kiss them, feel Mommy's fingers and Daddy's cock, then it had to be done.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you exhaled loudly, grabbing Daddy's hand and cradling it to your chest. “Okay,” you muttered, snuggling into his side.

“It'll be fine, baby,” he said, squeezing your hands. “Mommy will be with you, she'll take care of you today.”

“What will you do?” you asked after a moment of rumbling silence, the tires droning over the road beneath you.

“I have to go to work, pumpkin,” he replied with a sigh. “But I'll be back tonight. We'll have dinner together and watch another movie, okay?”

“Okay,” you said again, closing your eyes as you let the noises of the car and his warmth lull you back to sleep.

“You're late.”

“You already said that...”

“Seriously, you gotta work on your time management. And maybe next time you could have the decency of telling me if you plan to spend the night somewhere else? I was worried sick!”

“I didn't think you'd care.”

“Of course I care! What is that supposed to mean? She is mine too, you know? Our little girl, Noah! Our! We take care of her, we, both of us! Get that into your thick skull!”

The voices were muffled, slipping in and out as you slowly regained consciousness. Inhaling deeply, you rolled onto your back, blinking your eyes open. You were in your bed, in your room, alone, a sudden cold crashing over you.

Listening to Mommy and Daddy's heated voices reminded you of your childhood, spent under the covers with your hands on your ears, trying to drown it all out. The constant fights, the screams and shouts, everything ultimately leading to your father leaving and your mother bringing in new men every now and then, before it all happened again, and again...

Your door opened, making you flinch and gasp. Mommy came in, confident steps before she slumped down on the edge of the bed, her hands grabbing yours. “Hello sweet pea, are you alright?” she whispered, cradling your hand, giving you a soft smile. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.

“I'm fine,” you replied, sitting up slowly, watching her. “Please don't be mad at Daddy,” you then said, furrowing your brows as you looked into her pretty face.

“I... Did you hear us? Oh baby girl, I am so sorry,” she cooed, scooting closer before she pulled you against her chest, her arms tight around your shoulders. “I was just worried. This is all new to us, too, you know? Daddy has to understand that he can't just whisk you away without telling me.”

You leaned against her, breathing deep, her soft scent, warm and somewhat flowery, filling your nostrils, calming you. “It's my fault,” you mouthed into the soft slopes of her breasts, the low neckline of her dress allowing for your cheek to press directly to her skin. “I... I distracted Daddy...”

Mommy laughed softly. “I bet you did, but that's not your fault. It's his for not being able to control himself.”

“I don't want you to fight...”

“Oh honey, don't worry your pretty little head. We do that sometimes, but it's nothing bad. It's natural and necessary to talk about things, even if we don't always see eye to eye. I still love and respect your Daddy, but he does need a little kick from time to time, you know? And I'd do it more, but he's kind of into it...” she added with a chuckle.

You still felt a little bad for disrupting their plans and making them argue, but the longer you snuggled against Mommy's warm body, the quieter those doubts got. At least until she suddenly grabbed your arms and leaned you back, looking at you.

“Alright, so, I did plan for our day to be a little less stressful, but it is what it is now. We gotta get you ready and then we have to go.” She stood then, grabbing your hand to pull you up.

It was a blur how she nudged you into the bathroom and made you brush your teeth. While you did, she untangled your hair and braided it into a thick side braid that she fastened with a little pink bow. You blinked, and suddenly you stood in front of your closet, your reflection showing you that you had stripped (or were stripped?), before Mommy pulled a pink sundress over your head. She crouched beside you and helped you into a pair of white lace panties, then pulled frilly ankle socks onto your feet and made you step into a pair of pink ballerina flats.

She was gentle, though anything but calm, time (or lack thereof) probably making her a little hectic. You didn't protest, just let her do her thing, feeling more and more like a little lifeless doll. Somehow that was a comfort, not having to think what to wear, what to do, but it also unnerved you a little. When you were dressed, she turned you around and smiled, then grabbed your flushed face and brought her mouth to yours.

Her kiss was sweet, tasted like the glossy stuff on her lips (peach maybe?), her tongue giving yours a gentle massage you tried to meet in equal. It was only a short delight, before she grabbed your hand and pulled you after her. Down the stairs, a fleeting look through the house, realizing Daddy was already gone, then through the front door and onto the yard, a car waited there and she motioned you onto the backseat before slipping in beside you.

A few more hectic heartbeats later, the car stopped again and she helped you out. You were shaking then, noticing the sign on the building. She held your hand and you just followed, trying to breathe easy, telling yourself it'd be alright. At first you felt invisible next to her, a mere child pulled along by a parent, when she talked to the lady at the reception, when she did small talk with other people waiting there as well, but then it was your name echoing through the room, your name being called, and you slipped back into the focus with a clenching feeling in your guts.

But Mommy stayed with you, led you into another room, told you to sit down on one of those reclined chairs. The air was tight, it smelled so sterile and clean, and you hated it. She must have noticed your erratic breathing, how clammy your hand was, and she stepped to your chair and cupped your face, rubbing your cheeks, smiling down at you softly.

“It'll be alright, cariño,” she cooed. “Be a good girl, okay? No need to be afraid. It's just a check-up, some questions, a few tests, and then a tiny poke into your arm. But you're a big girl, you can handle this, can't you?”

You wanted to sink into the floor, vanish from her warm gaze. You didn't feel like a big girl, you felt helpless and small and pathetic, and you were ashamed that at your age you were still afraid of doctors and needles and examinations. You felt horrible, your stomach so tense it hurt, your throat tight, mouth dry, lips wobbling uncontrollably, tears burning in your eyes. And one thought came back over and over again.

I want my Daddy.

It was silly, he couldn't help you through this any better than Mommy did, but maybe he could have talked you out of your fear, held you tighter, his low voice thrumming through you, calming you. Mommy did her best, but she was not Daddy, wasn't as tall and broad, as strong, there was no soothing scratch of a beard or the steady heartbeat in a warm chest, coarse hair tickling against your cheek.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, thinking back to your time with him, thinking ahead to later, after, when you'd see him again. You realized then that it wasn't fair. Mommy was here now, holding your face, trying to calm you. And you remembered her words (“our girl... we take care of her, both of us...”), knowing she was right. You agreed to live with both of them, Mommy and Daddy, and you shouldn't choose one over the other. They both let you into their lives, made you a part of their routines, they both took time out of their busy schedules to be with you, help you, make it better.

And being here, getting a check-up, was a step into that better future, you knew it, you didn't like it, but you accepted it.

Exhaling loudly, you nodded into Mommy's hands. Opening your eyes, you attempted a weak smile, and hers widened before she leaned in to give you a quick kiss. She stepped away when the doctor entered the room, but kept a hold of your hand. You barely remembered his questions or your answers or what Mommy said to fill in the blanks. You couldn't concentrate on the explanations of whatever procedure you were supposed to be getting either. Your mind was reeling, in a bad way, but you forced yourself to stay strong, to not cry, and it took all of you not to flinch or wince when you felt cold gloved fingers between your legs.

You tried to shut it all out, go back in your mind to the better moments, Mommy's kisses, Daddy's touches, her soft laugh, his low voice praising you, pumpkin, baby girl, words like caresses, Mommy's fingers in your cunt (a different set of fingers parting your labia), the rise and roll of your orgasm as you dry humped Daddy this morning, how your clit had throbbed against your panties (how it was prodded at now, the hood lifted, a clinical gesture), your insides feeling as if frozen in place, forced to remain neutral (this isn't sexual, not sexual, a normal thing, an examination, nothing more).

Your head was spinning, your hand tensing around Mommy's, your eyes glued to the ceiling, not acknowledging what was happening below. Didn't matter, it'd be over soon, very soon (soon... he'd said... soon he'll fill you up... your cunt that belongs to him... for Daddy's cock to mold into his shape... soon).

And then it was over. You blinked in confusion when a nurse wiped something over your upper arm, then put a band-aid on a spot on your skin that felt tense and as if on fire, a warm feeling soothing through you.

Mommy was on your other side, rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand, smiling softly. Her other hand reached out and wiped under your eye. “My good girl,” she whispered. “You've been so brave. Barely cried. I'm proud of you.”

At first her words stoked your embarrassment, flared up the unease that had settled low in your guts (you already felt like a stupid child, she didn't have to talk to you like you were one too), but the longer she looked at you with her warm eyes, the calmer you felt. You blinked, licking your dry lips, taking a shuddering breath, focusing back on her. Maybe you were a child (no matter your age), but you were also hers, her little girl, she was taking care of you, and that was all that mattered.

Later you sat opposite her in a cute little restaurant tucked into a charming side street, soft piano music was playing in the background, the lights were dim and cozy, paintings of old architecture lined the walls, chatter was hushed. The waiter brought bread sticks and a menu you couldn't read, so you had Mommy choose something for you.

It felt nice, almost like a date. The wine arrived, and you were allowed one glass too, and when she raised hers, you grabbed yours and gently clinked it, smiling at her. “To new beginnings,” she said quietly before bringing the glass to her full lips and taking a sip, watching you over the rim.

You gave her a shy nod, taking a sip yourself, feeling the rich flavor glide over your tongue and down your throat, a fruity taste ending with a buzz. You liked it.

“Don't tell Daddy,” she mused with a chuckle. “He was quite impressed that you said you didn't drink, a kid your age no less. Now, I don't want to be the one to seduce you after all, but this is a special occasion, wouldn't you say?” She took another sip. “By the way, is there a reason you don't drink? Usually?”

You put the glass down, looking at it for a moment. “Well, I... I saw what too much alcohol could do to a person...” you replied quietly, unable to look into her eyes.

Her hand reached out to you, her fingers curling gently around yours. “Oh honey, I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, looking around the room. “No, it's fine. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“Hmm,” Mommy hummed, squeezing your hand. “If you change your mind, I'm here for you, always, okay?”

You looked up at her, meeting her warm gaze. “Thank you,” you whispered.

The food came then, pasta you couldn't pronounce, but liked all the same, nothing you'd ever eaten before. Mommy tried holding the conversation with simple topics like food or travel or exotic countries you might like to see one day. The more she talked, the smaller and poorer you felt. You had your dreams of seeing the world one day, but deep down you knew you would never be able to afford it. She, however, seemed to have seen it all already.

Though you felt a little jealous at first, you soon realized that this kind of lifestyle was open to you now. And while you imagined traveling the world with Mommy and Daddy, you opened up more and more, the fears and doubts of earlier falling off you bit by bit. By the time you'd finished your dessert (the most delicious tiramisu you'd ever seen and eaten), you were fantasizing about sitting in a gondola with Mommy, her arm around your shoulders, listening to some Italian dude singing as he steered you over the Canal Grande.

Mommy either kept holding your hand or bumping her knee into yours under the table, her other hand rubbing up your leg occasionally. It felt nice, she was so attentive when you did manage to say a few more sentences, smiling softly, her dark eyes wandering over your face. In a way it really felt like a date.

After a while, she was sipping on her third glass of wine, you gathered the courage to speak up again. “Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head. “Of course.”

“I... uh, I told Da– uh, well, I'm... I'm not too comfortable... yet... to call you and him... uh, the names I'm supposed to call you... you know? In public? So I asked him for his name, and he said I could call him that when we were around people, and I was wondering... if –”

“Isabella,” she said with a smirk and her beautiful accent. “And yes, you can call me that in public. But when we're alone, I'd prefer... the other name,” she added, winking at you.

“Of course, Mo– Isabella,” you replied with a timid smile. She squeezed your knee under the table. “That's a really pretty name...”

“Thank you,” she laughed. “I think your Daddy, Noah, may see that differently. He only uses it when I screwed up somehow.”

“Oh,” you mouthed, blinking at her.

“But don't mind that, we do have a special relationship as you may have gathered by now. I do like it when he calls me by my name, with that deep voice of his. It really turns me on...”

Her confession made you blush, and you looked away, inhaling deeply. “M-me too, his... his voice, I mean,” you then mumbled, earning you another laugh and squeeze of the leg.

“Yeah? Well, I'm glad we share the same taste in men then,” Mommy said with a smirk in her voice. “Honestly, cariño, no need to be embarrassed about it. This is an open relationship, a love triangle if you will. We are sharing him, as well as he is sharing me, and I am sharing you, and however else you want to see it. And there's nothing weird about it. You are our little girl, you chose to be with us and we welcomed you into our midst. Say, after these few days, how do you feel about it? Do you still want to be our girl?” she asked, nudging your knee to make you look at her.

You nodded as soon as you met her gaze, almost a little too desperate for your taste, but it was true. You couldn't imagine being anywhere else at the moment. “I do,” you said quietly. “I really like it, being with you and Da– Noah, you've been both so kind to me, so patient and welcoming. I... I've never felt this safe before...”

Her features softened as she watched you, her dark eyes so warm and caring. Your own started watering the longer you watched her, recounting your experiences.

“I am really grateful,” you choked out, your eyelashes fluttering as you fought the tears trying to spill from them. “Really, thank you... so much, I... I have no idea how I will ever repay you for your generosity...”

She gave a soft chuckle, leaning over the table to grab your hand and cradle it between hers. “Oh sweetie, do not worry your pretty head about that. You will, very soon. You already made me so happy, and Daddy too, and I'm sure you will be just as perfect in the future. I honestly can't wait...”

She didn't say it, barely grazed the topic, but you felt it in your core, the implication. Daddy hadn't been as subtle about it, and you knew what was expected of you once you settled in more. Somehow the idea both scared and aroused you, and you wondered whether you could live up to those expectations in the first place. The last thing you wanted was to disappoint them, Mommy especially.

Apparently your worries were plastered all over your face, because suddenly she was there, had rounded the table, and crouched down beside you, cupping your face, resting her forehead against yours.

“It'll be fine, mi amor, do not stress,” she whispered. “All you have to do is submit to us, we will guide you through it all. You just let it happen. Do you want to let it happen? Do you trust us?”

You swallowed, biting your lip. “Yes,” you breathed. “I do, both, I trust you, I want this...”

“Good girl,” she cooed.

Her eyes bored into yours and the restaurant around you faded. All you saw was her, and when she tilted her head and brushed her lips against yours, she was all you felt. Warm, soft, the subtle taste of peach flavored lip gloss and red wine, and you soaked it up like a sponge, meeting the delicate swipes of her tongue, tasting her, feeling her...

She was gone before you could really register it, sitting back on her chair, licking her lips as she smiled at you. Your cheeks were aflame, but you didn't care who saw them. You were focused on Mommy, the beautiful woman who could honestly convince you to do anything with just a kiss.

What a dangerous gift.

Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7 🔷️ Chapter 8

End notes: You may argue that some of the things that Mommy and Daddy do to pumpkin are dubcon, as they just “force” them onto her without asking first. Yes, maybe that's the case, but remember this is fiction and Pumpkin is too mentally unstable to decide on her own at the moment. It's for her own good, they really only want the best for her! There is no bad intent, even if it feels like dubcon.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: Mommy takes you to a special shop...

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝒷𝒶𝓇𝒾 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You and Geo have always been so close that sometimes you wonder if there’s an unspoken thing between you two. Are you just really good friends? Or is there something deeper neither of you is willing to say out loud? Of course, you could always just ask him. That would be the normal thing to do.

Instead, fate—or your own questionable choices—ties you to a much more hands-on way of figuring it out. So, is this just another weird chapter in your situationship or the moment that finally forces you both to admit the truth?  

Only one way to find out.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Sooo, I stumbled across a header picture by @mint0hhh on Twitter, then commented, "HELP, I’M WRITING A FANFIC ABOUT THIS!" …except I never actually did. So a promise is a promise; I made this fanfic EXTRA LONG, so even though I’m very late—here it is.

Also, I included @alienfreak124 OC, Perssila Keithens as the reader’s friend and Crowe’s girlfriend. Sorry, not sorry to the Crowe fans. I HAVE officially switched sides to the tall, silent type.

Geo stole my heart~

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: geo x reader, friends to lovers, slow burn (but with tension), mutual pining but make it stupid, light bondage, small smut part, awkward intimacy, geo is soft (but not really), and perusal absolutely is done with you.

No one really knows Geo. 

People just accept his existence as a natural phenomenon. He’s there, he does things, he’s filthy rich for some reason, and he knows how to handle a weapon with the kind of ease that makes you wonder if he was trained in a secret underground assassin program as a child. 

No one dares to get on his bad side. No one knows his hobbies. No one knows his personality. No one knows anything.  

Except you.  

For some reason, you made the cut. Congratulations. You’re one of exactly two people in Geo’s life that he actually likes. Maybe not in front of Crowe because, let's be real, he plays favorites, but it’s pretty damn close. 

To this day, you’re still baffled by the fact that when you casually admitted you liked being around him, he just... agreed. Like, straight-up nodded and went, “Same.” No hesitation. No sarcasm. Just acceptance.  

Which was shocking, because Geo does not, under any circumstances, like people. He barely tolerates society. 

The only reason he’s slightly more bearable now is because of Crowe, his first friend—who, let’s be honest, probably deserves a medal for putting up with his cryptic nonsense for so long. But let’s rewind—why did Geo allow you to be around him? According to him, you’re "interesting." Which is bullshit, because compared to his lifestyle, you’re about as interesting as a blank piece of paper.  

See, there’s this saying: the quietest people have the weirdest interests.

And oh boy, does Geo live up to that. Over time, you’ve picked up on his oddly specific, borderline ancient-man hobbies: potted plants—a whole collection, opera music—who even listens to that willingly? Theatre—he could quote Shakespeare in his sleep, cats—makes sense, and reptiles—also made sense, but in a ‘he’s definitely plotting something’ way.  

Everything about this man screams, ‘I am a young adult but my soul is a retired professor who sits in a leather armchair and contemplates the meaning of life.’ And yet, despite his old-as-hell interests, his quiet judgmental stares, and the fact that he could probably take you out in 0.3 seconds if he wanted to—you still love him.  

Old-ass hobbies and all.

As time went on, you started noticing something about Geo—most of his hobbies, the ones he actually lets you see, seem to be deeply tied to his Japanese culture.

Like, ridiculously tied to it.

The way he listens to opera music when he’s focusing? Turns out it’s specifically Japanese opera. His appreciation for theatre? Kabuki and Noh. Even the way he arranges his potted plants—it’s not just some random aesthetic choice, it’s done with an almost ritualistic precision that makes you wonder if this man has secretly mastered the art of bonsai pruning in his free time.

But here’s the thing—Geo never talks about his family. Like, ever.

And when someone does bring it up?

He effortlessly sidesteps the conversation like he’s dodging arrows in slow motion. The man could be the heir to some untouchable, secretive empire, and no one would ever know because he simply refuses to acknowledge it. Despite being filthy rich, he lives like someone who’s been independent his whole life—fully in control, fully detached.

No explanations.

No unnecessary details.

No personal history.

And, well… you’re curious.

Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little—but more in the "I am slowly realizing how little I actually know about my closest friend who, by all logic, should have kicked me out of his life by now, yet for some reason tolerates my presence despite allegedly hating people" kind of way.

It’s been picking at your brain for a while now, but there was no one you could talk to about it without sounding weird. Who were you gonna ask? Crowe?

Absolutely not.

Because Crowe—your usual go-to source for all things Geo—has been utterly, completely, and frustratingly useless. Not in a mean way, of course. No, he refuses to tell you anything in the most annoyingly polite way possible.

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

Like Sir. Just say no and move on. At this point, you’re convinced the paperwork is a myth—just an excuse so he doesn’t have to answer any questions. 

Which is how you found yourself out at a chill bar, drinks in hand, with the one person who might actually give you answers—Perssila Keithens.

The manic pixie dream girl. The alternative-broke-college-student-in-heavy-debt. And quite possibly the coolest and best girlfriend Crowe has ever had.

Actually, scratch that. She’s not just his coolest girlfriend—she’s one of the coolest people you know, period.

You adore her.

Perssila and Crowe were the first people to help you when you ended up in the Low-Class building, and honestly? You might not have survived that transition without them.

They made it easier.

Better.

And while Crowe is the reliable, big-brother type, Perssila is the type of person who somehow always knows exactly what to say—whether it’s life advice, existential ramblings, or just some insane conspiracy theory that somehow sounds plausible when she says it.  

Need life advice? She’s got you.

Existential ramblings at 2 AM? She’s down.

Random conspiracy theories? She makes them sound weirdly plausible.

And right now? You need help. If anyone could help you figure out the absolute mystery that is Geo, it was her.

You take a slow, contemplative sip of the deep red wine in your hand, watching Perssila as she processes everything you just dumped onto her.

She stares at you. Blinks once.

Tilts her head. Opens her mouth—closes it. Squints.

Then, without warning, she snorts—an ugly, loud snort that startles the guy sitting at the table behind her.

And then she loses it. Like, full-on wheezing, slapping the table, looking like she just heard the funniest thing in the entire world.

“Oh my God,” she chokes out between gasps, “you’re—you’re stalking him.”

You nearly choke on your wine. “What?! No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!” she howls, wiping tears from her eyes. “You’re out here piecing together this man’s entire existence like you’re some detective in a slow-burn mystery novel, and for what? Because he likes plants and doesn’t trauma-dump on you?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “I barely know anything about him!”

“Oh, boo-hoo!” Perssila mimics fake crying, dramatically dabbing at imaginary tears. “You poor thing, your filthy rich, ridiculously handsome, archery-prodigy friend won’t trauma bond with you. How tragic.”

You groan, letting your head fall back. “This is serious, Perssila.”

“Is it?” she shoots back, grinning like the devil. “Or do you just have a little crush on Mr. Mysterious?”

You almost drop your wine glass. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t you ‘excuse me’ me,” she smirks, leaning in. “I’ve seen this before. The accidental obsession, the need to figure him out, the sudden interest in his culture like you’re about to write an essay on it—classic pining.”

You scowl. “I do not have a crush on Geo.”

“Uh-huh.” She takes a slow, smug sip of her drink. “And I totally don’t owe six months of rent.”

“Perssila.”

“I’m just saying!” she grins, propping her chin up with her hand. “If you wanna get all up in his business, just ask him out already. You’d get answers and possibly a rich boyfriend. Win-win.”

You groan, dramatically slumping forward. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me,” she sing-songs, swirling her drink. “And you love Geo, too. It’s okay. You’re in a safe space.” Perssila is still grinning like she just won the lottery at your expense when you sigh and swirl the wine in your glass.

"First of all, I don't love Geo. Second of all, Crowe is also lowkey rich. You know that, right? He was in high society before he got kicked out—same as Geo."

Perssila snorts and leans back in her chair, balancing on the two back legs like she has no regard for gravity or her spinal cord. 

"Yeah, but Crowe acts like it. You can tell he grew up rich. Man’s got that ‘I was raised with money but still humble enough to not be a complete dick’ energy. Geo, though? Geo acts like he just spawned into existence one day with a full bank account and a bow."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Okay, but seriously—you know anything about Geo's past? I feel like Crowe knows, but he just refuses to tell me. Like, I get it—privacy and all that—but it’s weird how little anyone knows about this guy."

Perssila tilts her head, tapping her chin. "Mmm... Well. Yeah. I know a little."

You nearly choke on your drink. "Are you serious?”

"Why do you think I let you buy me this wine?" she says, smirking. You narrow your eyes. "That was not the deal."

"It is now," she shrugs, taking a slow, smug sip. "Anyway," she continues, resting an elbow on the table, "Geo’s the same as Crowe. Formerly ranked as High Class—was probably on his way to being untouchable, too. But then there was this incident—a near accident or something—and Subaru’s status plummeted. Next thing you know, he's been transferred down to the Low-Class building, and boom—mystery man appears."

You sighed, listening, "Okay and…?"

She rolled her eyes at you. "And my point is—dude went from being top of the world to low-tier real quick. So yeah, it makes sense why he keeps to himself. Probably doesn’t want people prying into his past. Which, by the way—" she levels you with an amused look, "—is exactly what you're trying to do."

You groan, sinking into your chair.

"I just want to understand him."

Perssila snickers. "Yeah. That’s what they all say before they fall madly in love." You consider throwing your entire glass of wine at her.

Just for a second, anyway. Perssila twirls her wine glass between her fingers, watching you with the kind of smirk that suggests she’s having the time of her life watching you suffer.

"Look," she says finally, leaning forward. "If you’re that curious, why not just hang out with him more? I mean just go over his place, bothering him about Japanese culture of all things—might as well keep the momentum going."

You shoot her a dry look. "Bothering?"

She grins. "Annoying. Pestering. Loitering in his presence like a cat that refuses to be kicked out—take your pick."

You take a long, long sip of wine, debating whether or not it's worth the effort to argue. Spoiler: It’s not.

Perssila props her chin on her hand, watching you with an unreadable expression. "But honestly? I think he might actually be more willing to talk if it’s you."

You blink. "…What?"

She gestures vaguely. "I mean, I’ve seen the way he acts around you. The way he actually responds instead of just ignoring people into oblivion. He listens to you. He pays attention to you. You think I don’t notice the way his eyes flick over when you’re talking? Like he’s actually engaged?"

You scoff. "He insults me half the time."

"Yeah, but in a constructive way," she says, dead serious.

"What does that even mean?"

Perssila shrugs. "I dunno, man. He doesn’t tolerate anyone unless he has to, but you? You’re like this weird exception. He puts up with you—voluntarily. That’s gotta mean something."

You stare at her, processing. "…So what, you think if I just keep hanging out with him, he’s gonna start spilling all his secrets?"

She smirks. "I think if anyone’s gonna get him to talk, it’s you."

You squint at her. "You’re saying this. You, who just five minutes ago was laughing at me for giving a single shit about this man’s life."

Perssila grins, sipping her wine. "Yeah, but now I’m having fun watching you spiral."

You groan, slumping onto the table. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," she sing-songs.

You do not dignify that with a response. But as much as you hate to admit it… She might have a point.

You’ve spent most of your time around him, yet most of what you know about him has been pieced together through sheer observation, like you’re some amateur detective tailing a particularly secretive suspect. 

Sure, you’ve figured out some things—his absurd wealth, his love for bow and arrow, his absolute refusal to react to most human emotions—but beyond that? The man is practically a ghost.  

So one day, curiosity gets the better of you. Instead of coming at him with a grand interrogation plan—because, let’s be honest, he’d shut that down immediately, you decide to start small. Real casual. Real low-stakes. Just like what Perssila said. 

"Hey, Geo, can you teach me more about Japanese culture?"  

You brace yourself. You expect something—a deadpan stare, a scoff, maybe even a sarcastic ‘Oh sure, let me clear my nonexistent schedule for that.’ But no. Geo doesn’t even blink. He just looks at you, considers it for all of one second, and says—  

"Yeah, sure."

Just like that. No hesitation. No follow-up questions. No cryptic conditions or exasperated sighs. Just a casual agreement, like you’d asked him to hand you a napkin or something.  

And now, here you are.  

Dressed in a dark purple velvet top, the fabric rich and soft against your skin, its lace-trimmed V-neck adding just the right touch of elegance without feeling overdone. Sleeveless, effortlessly stylish, yet comfortable enough to move in.

Then there are the denim shorts. Not the stiff, awkwardly long kind that makes you look like you borrowed them from a lost tourist. Not the aggressively high-waisted ones that practically scream ‘I’m trying too hard’. No, these fit just right—cuffed at the hem, hugging your thighs in a way that’s both flattering and casual. The kind of fit that feels natural, like they were made just for you.  

To pull it all together, you pair them with deep purple tights, perfectly matching your top—subtle, yet polished. A balance between laid-back and put-together, casual but undeniably ‘intentional’.

You weren’t dressing to impress, per se. But if Geo happened to take notice? Well… that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

What...?

Don’t look at yourself like that.

It’s not like you're not here for a date or anything. It’s just a casual cultural lesson, nothing more. But let’s be honest—if you’re going to spend time with Geo, a man who looks effortlessly cool even while glaring at people, you might as well put in some effort.  

Now, getting to this moment? That was a whole other battle.  

Standing in front of his door now feels like a victory because getting into this building was a nightmare. 

First of all, Geo’s place isn’t just some high-end apartment. No, this place is fortified. Locked down tighter than a government facility. You half-expected to see snipers on the roof and retinal scanners at the entrance.  

The lobby alone had more security than an underground vault. And let’s talk about the front desk—the lady sitting there? She took one look at you, scanned you up and down like she was a human lie detector, and immediately hit you with:  

"Do you have an appointment?"

And, of course, because Geo is Geo, he wasn’t answering his damn phone.  

The first call? Ignored.  

The second? Straight to voicemail. 

By the third, you were starting to wonder if you should just accept defeat and go home before you got physically removed from the premises.  

“If you don’t have a resident escorting you in, I’ll have to ask you to leave—"  

Then, finally, Geo picked up. "Yeah?" 

"Geo, open the damn door before I get tackled by security."  

There was a pause. A long one. You could feel him debating whether or not he actually cared enough to let you in.  

Then, at last—the golden words. 

"You can come up." Click. 

No ‘sorry for the wait,’ no ‘I was busy,’ just those four words, and he hung up. And now, after making it through what felt like a high-security clearance checkpoint, here you are. Standing in front of his door, mentally preparing yourself for whatever the hell this cultural lesson is going to entail. 

The door swings open, and there stands Geo—towering as usual but looking noticeably different from his usual composed, almost untouchable self.  

Black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. A tight, black sleeveless workout shirt that clings just right to his broad chest and toned arms. And the finishing touch? A white towel lazily draped over his head like he’s some kind of retired warrior fresh out of battle or, more accurately, a guy who just took a shower and couldn’t be bothered to dry his purple-bluish hair properly.

"Hey," he says, voice deep and casual. "Sorry, I just got out of the shower."  

Your brain? Gone. 

Just poof, Out the window.  

Because first of all, when the hell did Geo have muscles like that? You always knew he was strong—archery class legend and all—but this is next-level. Broad shoulders. Defined arms. That tight shirt clinging like it was custom-made for him. The kind of physique that makes it very clear he doesn’t just train for precision—he trains to kill. 

And second of all—this man really just answered the door looking like this, completely unfazed, like he didn’t just hit you with a full visual assault. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, struggling to form a coherent thought, your brain short-circuiting like an old Windows XP system.  

Geo, of course, notices immediately. Because of course, he does. He quirks an eyebrow, giving you that unreadable, slightly judgmental stare of his. "...You good?"  

You blink rapidly, realizing you’ve been staring for way too long. "Huh? Oh—yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Totally normal. Yep."  

Geo doesn’t look convinced. "...You sure?"  

"Yes, absolutely, 100% fine, nothing weird happening here at all," you say, definitely not sounding like someone who just had an internal crisis over their best friend’s post-shower look.  

Geo shrugs, seemingly letting it go, before stepping aside with that effortless, unbothered grace of his. "Come in. Make sure to take your shoes off."  

The moment you step inside, it’s like entering another world—one that is so distinctly Geo that it almost feels surreal. His apartment is nothing like the cold, modern, minimalist penthouses you’d expect from a ridiculously wealthy guy. No obnoxious glass walls or sterile, personality-devoid furniture. Instead, it’s an elegant, traditional Japanese-style home, infused with warmth and quiet sophistication.  

Dark brown wooden floors stretch across the space, polished to perfection, so smooth they practically reflect the soft, ambient lighting. The walls are lined with beautifully crafted wooden panels, accented with shoji screens that subtly filter the sunlight, giving everything a serene, almost dreamlike quality. It smells faintly of cedar and something else—maybe incense? Or maybe it’s just the natural scent of the place, like old books and earth after rain.  

Everything is arranged with the precision of a man who either has way too much self-discipline or secretly enjoys interior design. The furniture is low to the ground—traditional tatami mats, a perfectly placed chabudai table in the center of the living room, and plush zaisu chairs without legs inviting guests to sit comfortably. A bonsai tree sits on a small wooden stand near the window, pruned so meticulously that you wouldn’t be surprised if Geo meditates over it in complete silence for hours at a time.  

And the plants—oh, the plants.  

Lush, thriving, impossibly well-cared-for. A variety of potted greenery lines the corners of the room, each one placed with almost suspicious intent as if they weren’t just decoration but rather a carefully curated collection. They look too healthy, their leaves glossy and vibrant.  

You narrow your eyes. 

This man definitely talks to them when no one’s around.

No dust. No clutter. Nothing out of place. It’s so perfectly maintained that you wouldn’t be surprised if he has a precise time schedule for cleaning, organizing, and making sure everything remains in its exact position. Even the books on the low wooden shelves are arranged with an almost obsessive precision—some in height order, others in a specific color gradient.  

It’s the kind of home that feels like it belongs to someone with complete control over every aspect of their life. Someone disciplined. Someone who doesn’t let chaos seep in.  

Geo doesn’t give you time to keep gawking at his ridiculously well-put-together apartment. Instead, he just gestures lazily toward the open sliding door leading to his private balcony.  

"You wanna sit outside? The weather’s nice."  

You nod, mostly because you're still trying to process the fact that you're even here in the first place. Geo invited you over. He didn’t scoff, roll his eyes, or hit you with the usual "Why do you care?" deflection. Nope. He straight-up agreed. 

And now, you’re in his very Japanese—let’s not overthink that—ich-person apartment, about to learn more about him in the only way you could think of—by asking about his culture.  

Because let’s be real.  

You had no clue what else to ask him.

You could've asked him about his interests, his childhood, his favorite color—literally anything that would make this mission of ‘Figure Out Geo’ easier. But no. Your brain completely short-circuited, and the first thing that tumbled out of your mouth was:

"Teach me about Japanese culture."

Which, looking back, is hilarious.

Because let’s be real—Geo’s entire life is already Japanese culture. That’s not some hidden interest of his; that’s just his reality. It’s like walking up to a fish and asking it to teach you about water. But hey—if nothing else, at least it gave you a solid reason to be here. And considering how rare it is for Geo to willingly spend time with anyone, you were not about to waste this opportunity.

"Is there anything specific you wanna learn?" Geo asks, already making his way toward the kitchen, rolling his shoulders like he’s still shaking off the remnants of his shower. "Or are we just gonna chill until something comes up?"  

You thought for a moment, “Not sure yet, still thinking about it.”

You follow him, stepping out onto his private balcony—because of course he has one. And not just any balcony. No, Geo’s balcony is a whole experience.

The dark wooden floors extend outward, resembling a carefully crafted deck that seamlessly blends into a patch of neatly maintained artificial grass. It's modern but still carries that traditional Japanese touch, like the rest of his immaculate apartment. 

A soft breeze rolls through, bringing with it the scent of greenery—mini bonsai trees placed with precision, a perfectly arranged rock garden that looks like it belongs in a meditation retreat, and even a few bamboo plants swaying gently as if they, too, had been trained to stay in line with Geo’s whole aesthetic.

And then, there's the setup.  

Off to the side, there’s a neatly spread blanket on the ground, surrounded by a few pillows that look way too comfortable to be casually ignored. You squint at it. Did he… did he actually set this up ahead of time? For you? 

Geo, the same man who doesn’t even like answering basic questions about himself, prepared for this? You glance at him, but he doesn’t acknowledge your obvious staring. Instead, he casually lifts the towel from his head and drapes it around his neck like some kind of makeshift scarf before heading toward the kitchen. As if he didn’t just casually prove that he does put effort into things when he wants to.  

"I’ll make lunch," Geo calls over his shoulder, already moving with the kind of quiet efficiency that tells you he’s got a plan. "Might as well feed you while you’re here."  

You blink. "You can cook?"  

Geo stops mid-step. Turns his head slightly. Levels you with an expression so flat it could press a shirt. His eye twitches. Just a little. The slight downturn of his lips—the barest hint of a frown—tells you everything.  

He is not happy.  

"Of course, I can." His voice is sharp, clipped—cool in that ‘I’m one second away from throwing you out’ kind of way. "I’m not so useless that I don’t know how to cook."  

Right. Of course. Rich, hyper-competent, and mildly terrifying. It was stupid to assume he wouldn’t know how to cook. What else was he going to do in his free time when he wasn’t being a god-tier archer or brooding in corners like some tragic anime character?  

Geo gives you one last, unimpressed glance before continuing toward the kitchen, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the audacity of your question. He pulls open a cabinet with precision, grabbing ingredients with the same efficiency you’ve seen him use with a bow. There’s no hesitation, no wasted movement—like he’s trained for this.  

You watch as he moves, effortlessly switching between prepping ingredients and heating up the stove, his focus entirely on the task at hand. He doesn’t need a recipe and doesn’t even pause to think. Everything is second nature.  

You settle onto the blanket outside, still processing the fact that this is actually happening. You are here. Geo is willingly spending time with you. And now, he’s cooking for you.  

All right. Step one of ‘Figure Out Geo’ is officially in motion.  

Now, the real fun begins.

With Geo busy in the kitchen, you take the opportunity to *explore*—not snooping, of course. Just… observing.  

You step lightly down the hallway, the soft padding of your feet barely making a sound against the dark wooden floors. The place is eerily silent, save for the faint sounds of chopping from the kitchen. Geo’s apartment is massive, and yet it feels too orderly like every single item has been placed with careful intent.  

The walls are adorned with sleek, traditional touches—dark wooden beams, sliding shoji doors, and minimalist decor that screams expensive. The warm glow of soft lighting casts gentle shadows across the space, adding an almost serene atmosphere. Potted plants rest in the corners, each one thriving in a way that suggests meticulous care. 

Everything about his home is calculated, and precise. Just like him.  

But as you move deeper, something feels… off.  

There are no family photos. Not a single framed memory, no candid snapshots, no evidence of a past beyond the person he presents to the world. Instead, the walls are lined with framed art—landscapes, abstract pieces, and traditional Japanese prints. Beautiful, sure. But impersonal.  

No childhood photos. No family portraits. No friends. Just silence and a carefully curated existence. Weird. Your curiosity gets the best of you, and before you can fully think it through, your fingers move on their own—lightly gripping the handle of a sleek wooden dresser drawer and pulling it open just enough to peek inside.  

What you find makes you pause. Rope. A lot of it. Neatly coiled, stacked with precision, different thicknesses, and textures. Some of them have knots already tied—intricate, practiced, deliberate.  

Your brain short-circuits.  

Why… does Geo have so much rope?  

Is he an extreme camping enthusiast? A *very dedicated climber? Does he secretly moonlight as a sailor?  

…Or worse.  

Has he been preparing for something?

Your mind spirals through every possible scenario, and none of them make sense. You reach for one of the coils, running your fingers over the smooth, tightly wound fibers. The knots aren’t random; they’re specific—intricately done, almost decorative. Like whoever tied them had skill. That’s… concerning. You need an outside opinion. Grabbing your phone, you quickly type out a message to Perssila. 

You: Hey, random question—what does it mean if someone has, like… a concerning amount of rope in their dresser?

You hover over the send button, still staring at the strangely organized collection of rope. Your thumb twitches, hovering just above the message. What the hell is Geo into? You can't help but wonder. You're so lost in thought that you don't even notice the heavy silence settling in around you.

And then it hits you.

That presence.

The unmistakable, terrifyingly silent presence of Geo standing directly behind you.

You freeze. Your heart leaps into your throat, and your phone feels suddenly too heavy in your hand. You don’t dare move—just stare at your phone, unable to even blink, your thumb still lingering a breath away from sending the text.

Slowly—very slowly—you turn your head.

Geo stands there, towering over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that seems to fill the entire room. He leans slightly forward, his hands pressed flat against the dresser, a move that traps you in place. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the slight tension in his muscles that only emphasizes just how much bigger he is than you. 

His presence alone is overwhelming—an unspoken dominance that somehow manages to feel both protective and intimidating. His expression is unreadable—his features smooth, his eyes sharp, with that cold intensity that’s become all too familiar. But his gaze? Heavy. Like he’s weighing you, evaluating you, and you’re not sure you’re winning this game.

"Interesting," he murmurs, voice impossibly calm, almost too soft. "You find something you like?"

You swallow hard.

Oh. Oh, you messed up.

You don’t even get the chance to respond. The next thing you know, you’re gently nudged out of the room and back onto the balcony, your feet barely brushing the floor as Geo wordlessly leads you outside. You sink onto the blanket, feeling the cool fabric beneath you like it's somehow a symbol of your failure.  

Geo follows you out with a tray in hand—cut-off sandwiches—seriously, did he cut these into perfect triangles just to mess with you? And a steaming cup of green matcha tea that looks like it could’ve been brewed in a high-end Japanese teapot or straight from some Zen temple. 

He sets the tray down next to you, and you swear you feel the weight of his gaze even before you look up. You sit with your arms crossed over your chest, awkwardly trying to look like you're not completely out of your depth here. The sandwich corners are a little too neat, and the way the matcha steam rises is almost a little too calm. Your eyes avoid his—because the last thing you want is to see that expression.  

Geo sits right next to you, arms crossed, then turns and looks down at you with a silent intensity that feels more like a lecture than anything else. His gaze isn’t soft. It’s deliberate, calculating like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything, that doesn’t sound like an awkward mess.  

You stare at the sandwiches. They’re perfectly arranged—just like everything else in his life.  

He doesn’t break the silence.  

Finally, after a moment that feels like an eternity of pretending you’re not absolutely freaking out, you glance up at him. You have to. He’s just sitting there, legs spread wide, shoulders broad, looming over you, radiating a sense of control that makes you feel even smaller than you already do. His eyes—cool, dispassionate—lock onto yours.  

"Are you going to eat or just sit there and stare?" His voice is as sharp as ever, but there's a hint of something you can’t quite place.  

You blink, then look down at the platter again. The sandwiches look innocent enough. You pick one up, hesitating for just a second before taking a bite. It’s delicious—of course it is. The kind of simple yet elegant meal that somehow makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a high-class tea ceremony instead of a quiet afternoon with a guy who’s clearly got way too many layers for your brain to handle.  

Geo keeps watching.  

Geo’s eyes don’t leave you as you struggle to form a response. The air between you both is thick, every second stretching longer than it should. He doesn’t even blink, waiting for you to find your words.

"You know," Geo’s voice cuts through the silence again, low and sharp. "You came here to learn about Japanese culture, right?"

You nod, though it’s more of a reflex than any solid commitment to the plan.

"But..." He raises an eyebrow, his voice turning slightly more curious, but still with that edge. "Do you actually want to learn about Japanese culture, or is it just an excuse to figure me out?"

The question hits you like a bucket of ice water. Your breath catches in your throat as you freeze, staring into his unreadable eyes. You open your mouth, but no words come out at first. You’ve got no idea how to respond. Not without sounding like a total idiot.

"Well?" His voice is quieter this time, the same calm tone, but there's something deeper—something that feels a little too close to the truth for comfort.

You shift uncomfortably, your fingers nervously tapping the side of your tea cup. Your heart rate picks up, and your mind starts scrambling. 

What did you even come here for? 

To understand him? To learn about his life and mind? Or maybe—just maybe—you were trying to learn something else. Something about Geo that you knew he wasn’t just going to hand over easily.

The silence stretches on. And then, all at once, you give in.

"Okay, fine," you blurt, not caring how much it sounds like you're confessing something you’ve kept hidden for a while. "I… I wanna know more about you…” You started before adding, “Not just Japanese culture. I mean, I do want to learn about that too, but it’s kind of hard not to get curious about you when you're this impossible to figure out."

The words tumble out of you faster than you can stop them. The rush of honesty almost makes your head spin. You haven’t admitted this to anyone, and now it feels like you've exposed yourself in front of someone who could probably read you like an open book.

You finally glance up at him, expecting some kind of judgment or mockery, but instead, Geo’s expression doesn’t change. He’s still watching you closely, not saying anything. His eyes are calculating, sharp as ever, but there’s a faint softness in them. Just a flicker of understanding. 

And then, just when you think you’ve completely bared your soul to him, Geo does the unexpected. He leans back slightly, a small but knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Mhm,” he says again, but this time, it’s not quite as cold. "So you’ve been trying to figure me out all this time, huh?"

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you quickly take another sip of matcha to hide the embarrassment.

Geo shifts, his posture still relaxed but somehow more at ease now. "Well, you’ve got a whole rest of the day. But I’ll warn you," he adds, his voice low and serious, "I’m not as simple as you think I am.”

You narrow your eyes at him over the rim of your teacup. "Yeah, no kidding. You’re like one of those 5,000-piece puzzles with no edge pieces and half the picture missing."  

Geo snorts, just barely, but you catch it. A tiny victory.  

"I’ll take that as a compliment," he said.

"Wasn’t meant to be," you mutter, stuffing a sandwich into your mouth before you say something else that could get you kicked out.  

Geo watches you chew like he’s evaluating your life choices, then tilts his head slightly. "So, since you’re so determined to learn about me, go ahead. Ask something."  

You swallow your bite too fast and nearly choke. Great. Fantastic start.  

Geo waits, unimpressed, while you regain control of your breathing. You rack your brain for something that won’t make you sound like an idiot. "What’s your favorite color?" Too basic. "Have you ever been in love?" It’s too invasive—you’re not trying to get kicked out twice in one day.  "Why do you own an unsettling amount of neatly coiled rope?" 

…Yeah, no. That’s gonna have to stay a mystery for now.  

So instead, you blurt out, "Do you talk to your plants?" Geo blinks. Slowly.  

Then, in the most deadpan tone possible, he says, "Do you talk to your plants?"  

"That’s not an answer!" 

He raises a single, judgmental eyebrow. "That’s not a real question."  

You gape at him. "Excuse you, I think it’s a very real question. Considering the fact that your plants look like they get more love and affection than most people." Geo doesn’t even try to argue. He just shrugs, gaze flickering out toward the balcony where his suspiciously thriving potted plants bask in the sunlight like spoiled little creatures.  

"I read that talking to them helps them grow," he finally admits, voice casual, but his eyes dart to the side like he knows you’re about to make this a Thing.  

"Oh my god," you gasp dramatically, leaning forward. "What do you say to them? Do you whisper sweet nothings? Give them motivational speeches?"  

Geo exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a sigh you’ve heard from him so far. "You are unbelievable.”  

"I need to know. Do you call them by name? Compliment their leaves? Tell them you’re proud of their progress?" He levels you with the flattest look imaginable. "Are you done?"  

You beam. "Not even close."  

Geo stares at you for a moment longer, then—without a word—reaches forward, plucks a sandwich from the tray, and shoves it directly into your mouth. Your muffled protests do nothing.  

"You talk too much," he mutters, leaning back like he didn’t just feed you like a disobedient pet. You chew aggressively, glaring at him the entire time, but you can’t even be that mad. Mostly because the sandwich is good.  

Geo lets out a deep, drawn-out breath like he’s regretting every decision that’s led him to this moment. Instead of answering your barrage of ridiculous questions, he shifts positions, stretching out fully onto the blanket, arms folded behind his head as he gazes up at the sky.  

The warm sunlight filters through the clouds, casting soft shadows across his face. His aquamarine eyes catch the light, the color deep and almost translucent—like the ocean before a storm. You take in more details now that he’s still, noticing the sharp structure of his jaw, the slight upturn of his nose, and those plumper-than-expected lips.

The dark bluish-purple strands of his neatly tied ponytail contrast against the light fabric of the blanket. His long, rectangular earrings shift slightly as he settles/ 

And, well… you definitely staring.  

Geo cracks one eye open. "If you’re going to hover like that, at least make yourself useful and block the sun." He exhales sharply through his nose, something between a sigh and a quiet laugh, before tilting his head back against the blanket. His eyes flicker to yours, sharp and assessing, before he shuts them completely, soaking in the sun once more.  

You, on the other hand, are very aware of how precarious this position is. Your knees are dug into the blanket, your hands braced beside his head, your face way too close to his. You hadn’t even realized how low you were leaning over him until now.  

Your body jolts slightly when the realization hits, and the movement doesn’t go unnoticed. 

His lips twitch, just barely. "Something wrong?"  

"No," you say, too quickly, shifting slightly, but not enough to actually move away. His eyes are still closed, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. And then, because you refuse to lose whatever this weird battle of wills has become, your mouth moves faster than your brain.  

"Just wondering when you’re going to start interrogating your plants since you're obviously dodging my questions."  

His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a noticeable pause before he speaks. "They’re still better questions than yours," he mutters.  

You gasp in mock offense, shoving at his shoulder—not hard enough to move him, just enough to make a point. "Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t come prepared with an official interview sheet, Mr. Mystery."  

Geo finally cracks an eye open, unimpressed. "Maybe you should’ve."  

You huff, shifting again, but instead of moving away, you lower your weight onto your elbows, your face hovering just a little closer over his. You don’t miss the way his brows twitch slightly at the movement, but if he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it.  

Your gaze flickers over his features. His dark bluish-purple hair is fanned slightly against the blanket, framing his face in a way that makes him look softer, and more relaxed. The sunlight catches on his aquamarine eyes as they track your expression, the color so vivid it almost looks unreal. His septum piercing glints when he shifts, and the earrings dangling from his ears sway slightly with the movement.  

You clear your throat, trying to steer your thoughts back on track. "So what, you want me to ask—what? Your deepest fears? Your worst childhood memory?"  

Geo hums thoughtfully, tilting his head just enough to make it obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing. "Better than whatever nonsense you’ve been throwing at me."  

"Fine," you challenge, narrowing your eyes. "What’s your biggest regret?"  

For a second, just a second, something shifts in his expression. His gaze sharpens like he’s considering whether or not to answer. Then, his lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smirk but isn’t entirely neutral either.  "Letting you into my apartment."  

You gasp, scandalized, pulling back slightly. "You’re so mean!" Geo exhales a long-suffering sigh and drags a hand down his face. "You really don’t know when to quit."  

"Not when I sense weakness." You grin, watching the muscles in his jaw twitch. Slowly, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, closing the space between you again. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes glint with something that makes your stomach flip.  

"Then I suggest you stop poking at things you’re not ready to handle," he murmurs, voice low, deliberate.  

Your breath catches for just a moment. You narrow your eyes at him, shifting slightly but still keeping your position above him, bracing yourself on either side of his head. 

His answer doesn’t really answer anything, and that smug little smirk tugging at the edge of his lips tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. You hum, pretending to think. Then, because you know you’re pushing your luck, you grin. "Fine. Why on earth do you own so much rope?"  

Silence. 

Geo’s expression doesn’t change. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t so much as flinch.  

And yet, you feel a distinct shift in the air as his eyes half-lid in something that looks suspiciously close to amusement. "Why do you think I own so much rope?" he asks, voice smooth—too smooth.  

You immediately regret your curiosity. Your brain conjures up a hundred different answers, none of which you should be saying out loud. Unfortunately, silence isn’t an option either, because Geo is just waiting, watching, unblinking, and enjoying this way too much. You shift, eyeing him with exaggerated suspicion. “…Rock climbing?"

A barely-there twitch of his lips. "Try again."

"Crafting?"

"Be serious."

You narrow your eyes, gaze flicking toward the closet where you first spotted the neatly coiled bundles of rope. "Do you… tie up intruders?"

Geo exhales sharply, a breath of quiet amusement through his nose. "Depends on the intruder."

Your body stills, heartbeat ticking just a little louder in your ears. His tone is too even, too unbothered. He didn’t say no. Your eyes flick back to his, scrutinizing. "That is not a denial."

And then—he smirks. A slow, lazy, knowing half-smirk. One that curls at the edges just enough to make your stomach dip slightly before you shove the feeling away.

"Geo," you say, scandalized. "Are you—are you a kidnapper?"

He groans, tilting his head back against the blanket, hands covering his face like the sheer force of your stupidity is physically painful. "Oh my god."

"You are!" You gasp, jabbing a finger into his shoulder. "I knew it. You totally—"

You don’t get to finish. Because a hand moves. Fast.

Before you can react, your wrist is caught in a firm grip, momentum flipped with practiced ease. The world tilts abruptly, breath-catching as your back meets the blanket in an unceremonious sprawl. You barely register the shift before you’re caged. Geo looms above you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still securing your wrist against the fabric. His weight barely touches you, yet the closeness—the gentle control—presses into the air between you like something tangible.

You blink. His expression is unreadable. Calm. Studying. There’s no smugness, no teasing grin—just a quiet, sharp scrutiny that makes your breath hitch despite yourself. A test. A silent now what?

Your throat bobs as you swallow, suddenly very aware of every inch of space—or lack thereof—between your bodies. Geo tilts his head just slightly, watching you in that infuriatingly composed way, before finally speaking. "Instead of throwing random questions and assumptions at me," he murmurs, voice low, measured, "I need you to think—why do I own rope?"

Your lips part, mind racing through every possible implication before landing on the most obvious one. You stare up at him, blinking rapidly, feeling the heat creep up the back of your neck.  

Geo doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word—just waits, eyes closed, basking in the sun, perfectly content in his victory while you sit there malfunctioning.  

Your breath catches slightly as you shift beneath him, just enough to test the hold he still has on your wrist. His grip is firm but not painful, a simple, unspoken reminder that he had flipped you onto your back with barely any effort. You feel the weight of his presence, the way his body shadows yours, his long fingers still loosely wrapped around your wrist.  

You swallow. Then, in a moment of pure, unfiltered realization, your eyes widen. "Oh." Geo hums, the sound deep in his chest, a silent acknowledgment that he knows exactly what just clicked in your brain. "Oh." You swallow again, blinking up at him. "You… you like tying people up."  

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t deny it. Your stomach does something weird. Not bad, not unsettling—just… weird. Geo finally opens his eyes, looking down at you with an expression that is both unimpressed and deeply entertained. "That took you longer than I expected."  

You huff, willing the heat in your face to die down, but it’s no use. "I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt."  

He sighed, tilting his head slightly. "That was your mistake."  

You scoff, shoving at his shoulder with your free hand, and to your mild frustration, he doesn’t budge. "So what, you have some secret collection of knots you practice? Like, ‘oh, here’s my specialty hostage tie’—"  

"Shibari."

You freeze mid-sentence, your brain hitting a wall. "What?"

Geo’s gaze remains steady, unreadable, his voice a little too casual—too smooth. "The word you’re looking for. It’s called shibari."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. "Oh." A pause.

Geo just watches you, waiting, his expression calm—expectant. The realization fully dawns, your mind short-circuiting as pieces snap together at an alarming rate. And because your brain has officially abandoned all common sense, your mouth moves before you can stop it. "You practice?"

Geo exhales a sharp, amused breath that’s almost a laugh before he finally releases your wrist. He shifts effortlessly onto his side, propping his head up with one hand while the other rests lazily against his stomach. He looks relaxed—too relaxed—like he’s completely enjoying watching your mind self-destruct. "Wouldn’t you like to know?" 

You groan, dragging your hands down your face, already regretting everything. “Fuck. You totally do." Geo just smirks—entirely unbothered—as he reaches for a sandwich from the tray, taking his time, fingers deliberate as they pull it apart slightly before bringing it to his mouth. He chews, slow, unrushed as if this entire conversation hasn’t completely derailed your ability to function.

You watch him, brain still spinning, words refusing to string together properly. Finally, you take a deep breath, collecting yourself, sitting up slightly. Your eyes narrow. "So…" You tilt your head. "How good are you?" 

Geo stops mid-bite. For the first time, his composure cracks—not much, just the briefest flicker of something in his expression before he chokes on his sandwich. He coughs once, sharply, hastily covering his mouth, eyes momentarily widening as he tries to recover.

Geo’s gaze sharpens, his smirk turning razor-sharp, like a cat that’s just cornered something far too cocky for its own good. He stretches his fingers slowly, considering his next move with the kind of deliberation that sends a shiver down your spine. Then, he tilts his head, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Since you’re so curious," he muses, voice smooth like silk, "Want me to show you my skills?"

Your stomach does a flip. A nervous flip. This could go very, very wrong.

Without thinking, the word slips out of your mouth before your brain has a chance to catch up. "Yes."

You instantly regret it. Almost.

Geo looks at you, his gaze flickering with something unreadable, something that makes your heart skip in a way you really don’t want to acknowledge. Then, he exhales through his nose, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Brave."

No. Stupid, actually. You realize just how far you’ve gone now.

Geo moves with an ease that shouldn’t be this intimidating. One moment, he’s leaning back on the blanket, casually finishing his sandwich, and the next, he’s pushing himself up onto his knees with the same fluid grace he’d exhibited when first walking into the room.

Suddenly, the air feels heavier. You blink, realizing you’ve just entered a zone you didn’t even know existed. And now, standing over you, Geo looks… dangerous.

His fingers brush against your wrist with startling precision, his touch cold and deliberate as he gives you a look that sends an unspoken message straight to your gut.

Without a word, he takes your wrist, his grip firm, like he’s done this a thousand times before. You go rigid for a moment, heart racing. It’s not that you’re scared—well, not exactly—but there’s something about the way Geo moves, the way he controls every single moment, that sends a chill down your spine.

He stands up, pulling you gently yet firmly along with him, leading you towards a door at the far end of the room you hadn’t noticed before. There’s something darkly intriguing about it—something about the way he moves, how confident he is in his space, that you can’t help but be drawn to it. 

Geo opens the door to reveal a room you can’t even begin to process at first. 

The air smells like straight rope, and in the center of the room, there a different types of ropes and several other tools--neatly arranged on shelves. "Welcome to my practice space," he says casually as if this is all completely normal. 

Your brain takes a moment to catch up. This is real. This is actually happening. 

You’re standing in Geo’s personal bondage room.

He looks at you, sensing your hesitation but not saying a word. Then, with the flick of a wrist, he unhooks the nearest length of rope, a purplish one, and begins unraveling it, the motion fluid practiced.

"So," he starts, voices casually again as he turns to face you. "You were curious. You want to see how it’s done?"

You swallow, trying to regain control of your brain which seems to have temporarily shut down. "Do you practice on others?" you ask, voice more steady than you feel.

Geo doesn't answer right away. He simply raises an eyebrow and finishes pulling the rope taut in his hands. When he does speak, it’s calm, but with an underlying tone of something deeper, something that makes your heart rate spike again.

"I used to take classes," he admits, his gaze never leaving you. "But eventually, I taught myself. After a while, I didn’t need anyone else." He steps closer, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst ways. "I practice on myself now."

The words settle like ice in your stomach.

"You practice… on yourself?" you repeat, trying to grasp the weight of what he’s just said.

Geo nods, his expression unreadable. "It’s... efficient." He moves towards the bench, the sound of the rope sliding against itself making your chest tighten. "But if you really want to know what I’m capable of, you’ll have to trust me."

You blink, realization dawning on you. 

This is no longer hypothetical. No longer a curiosity you can walk away from. 

This is real, and you’re in it now.

Geo watches you for a moment longer, waiting for your response. His fingers gently twirl the rope, giving it a little snap as if to remind you of its presence.

"I think you’ll find that trust is a pretty key ingredient here," he adds, voice low, almost predatory.

Your heart skips a beat, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. 

Trust. 

The room feels smaller now, and your breath seems louder as you take in the ropes and tools scattered around the space. It’s not like you hadn’t known what you were walking into when you’d asked—no, you were fully aware—but actually being in this moment, in this room, with Geo, makes everything feel so much more... real.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something patient but knowing, as if he’s watching you carefully, measuring your every move. He’s not in a rush, and that’s what makes it worse. You know he’s waiting for you to make the next move, and yet you’re caught in this swirl of confusion and curiosity.

"I..." you start, but the words feel clumsy in your mouth. You don’t know what to say, how to ask, or if you even want to ask any more questions. You were just playing around before, throwing out a joke, trying to break the tension. Now, it feels like you're treading water in a deep ocean, and you're so out of your depth.

Geo doesn’t speak for a moment, just watches you, his expression unreadable. It’s like he’s giving you space, the kind of space that feels so heavy you can’t even breathe. Then, he moves again. It’s fluid, and smooth, with the same effortless grace as before. He steps closer, narrowing the gap between the two of you until you can feel the heat of his body in the space just in front of you. 

"Would you like me to tie you up?” he asks, his voice a soft drawl, almost teasing. His words send a ripple of something sharp through your chest. You’re dying to know more, to ask more, but something in the pit of your stomach warns you that diving deeper into this conversation might lead you somewhere you can’t come back from. 

You glance at the ropes hanging from a hook by the wall, the tools that could easily be used to restrict, to bind, to hold. But the question still lingers in the air: Are you willing to be tied up?

"So..." you murmur, trying to keep the shakiness out of your voice, “That”’s what you gonna do to me? …Tie me up?”

Geo tilts his head slightly, watching your eyes flicker between him and the room around you. He knows exactly what you’re doing, exactly what’s running through your mind. He sighs and steps even closer now, reaching for the ropes, his fingers curling around the smooth, coiled lengths as if they’re an extension of him. 

"I’m not going to do anything with you," he says, low and almost comforting, as if trying to ease some of your panic. “I can tie you and explain to you how this works, we can go through it. If not, we can pretend none of this happened,” 

And with that, he steps back, letting the ropes fall slightly into his hands. His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. 

“I’ll let you decide how deep you want to go,” he says again, his tone calm and almost soothing. “No pressure. No rushing into anything. I’m not going to force you, okay?” His eyes are steady on you, searching for any sign of hesitation, and you can feel the sincerity in his words. 

You nod, understanding the subtle care behind his words. He’s not trying to control this moment; he’s giving you space to back out if you need to. But, something inside you makes the decision, and you meet his eyes with quiet determination. 

Trust, like he said, is mutual. 

You don’t have to dive into something you’re not ready for.

After a breath, you whisper, “Okay. Please show me, Geo.”

Geo’s lips quirked into a soft hum, a sound that almost felt approving, but it was casual, with no force behind it. He nods as if you’ve passed some kind of unspoken test. 

The rope in his hands makes a satisfying snap as he tightens it, and his movements are slow, and deliberate, like he’s trying to make sure you’re okay with everything that’s happening. “Let’s take it slow, all right?” he murmurs as he guides you down to the floor, gently encouraging you to kneel. He follows your lead, his body moving with purpose but no rush.

“Is there a specific way you want me to tie you?” Geo asks, watching you closely. His gaze is soft, but the way his eyes study you says he’s waiting for your answer, giving you control in this situation. His voice is unhurried, and there's no pressure behind it—just genuine curiosity.

You swallow, feeling a sudden warmth spread through your chest. 

"Not sure," you admit, your pulse quickening as the anticipation starts to settle in. "Pick for me." A flicker of something crosses his face—maybe interest, maybe amusement—but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he just nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. 

Without skipping a beat, he reaches for the coil of rope beside him, his movements fluid and practiced. He holds the rope for a moment, running it through his fingers like it’s second nature. “Ushiro takate kote,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself, as he gathers the rope in his hands.

It’s a technique you don’t fully know yet, but the sound of it, the way he says it, almost feels like an invitation to trust him completely. Then, meeting your gaze, he explains, "It’s foundational. Classic. It controls the upper body, secures the arms behind the back in a balanced U-shape… and it’s one of the first ties I ever learned."

You swallow, watching his hands with quiet intensity as he begins to unravel the rope. The fibers slide smoothly through his fingers, each coil effortlessly falling into place like a dance. There’s a calm, steady confidence in his movements as if this is second nature to him—no hesitation, no rush.

“Hold still,” he says, voices soft but firm, and you do as you're told, heart, picking up just slightly.

Geo moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence without him touching you. His breath brushes against your neck as he reaches for your wrists in front of you, and for a moment, you freeze. His touch is gentle, but firm as he guides your arms behind you, positioning them to rest one on top of the other. 

His fingers brush your skin as he pulls the rope taut for the first time. It’s not painful, but you feel the pressure, the way the fibers bite into your skin just enough to make you acutely aware of each movement. His touch is careful, deliberate, adjusting and readjusting, as if he’s taking the time to make sure everything aligns perfectly.

"This tie," he says, voice low and smooth, "is the foundation for a lot of shibari forms. It's about balance. Control. Presentation." The rope winds around your arms, pulling them into position. Each pass tightens just a little more, and you feel the steady pressure increase, the sensation settling across your muscles. It’s precise and controlled, and you can feel the thought behind each knot, each loop.

He doesn’t fumble, doesn’t hesitate. 

Every movement is calculated and effortless.

You shift slightly, feeling his breath warm on the back of your neck. You move just enough to give him space, and he works, tying the rope around the top of your arms, and lacing it across your chest. The rope swings behind you, crossing over your back before he brings it back to the front again. Each movement is purposeful, each knot placed with a careful consideration that leaves you breathless.

Geo’s hands never rush. There’s something almost meditative in the way he works, his fingers moving with quiet intention. He pulls the rope under your arms, adjusting, making sure the fit is even. The rope brushes against your skin in a way that feels almost too intimate, but it’s not uncomfortable. There’s a raw emotion in the way his hands move—each tug, each twist, feels like it has its own weight, its own purpose. It’s not just about tying knots; it’s about creating something—something deeply personal.

Your fingers twitch slightly, the only sign of your growing awareness of how tightly secured you are, but the pressure is balanced—just enough to feel the restraint, but not so much that you’re overwhelmed. 

As Geo finishes the final section of the knotting, he shifts slightly in front of you, his hands moving with a practiced, fluid grace. He pulls the rope snugly, adjusting the tension with precision, focusing on each curve and contour of your body. 

You can feel the weight of his careful attention, the way he enhances the shape of your breasts with the gentle pressure of the rope, each loop placed with purpose but never rushed.

The quiet in the room feels heavier now, almost suffocating, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, a soft, rhythmic thrum that echoes against the stillness. 

“You’re really good at this,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Geo pauses, his hands lingering on the rope for a beat longer than necessary. A soft exhale escapes him, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, as if amused by your comment. “I should be,” he replies, his voice smooth and warm with amusement, but it’s not arrogance. No, there’s just a quiet acknowledgment, a hum of experience behind his words. 

You can’t help but notice the way his touch seems to linger a fraction longer than required, his fingers grazing your skin as he double-checks his work. Every motion is careful, almost reverent, ensuring the ropes are secure but never too tight, and that everything sits just right. He moves like this is second nature to him, yet with an intimacy that makes you feel as if you’re the only one who matters at this moment. 

When he leans back slightly to admire his handiwork, you feel the subtle shift in the air—the space between you expands, but it feels like an unspoken agreement that this space, this connection, is something shared. 

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment on the knots, his eyes scanning the ropes with the quiet intensity of someone making sure everything is perfect.

You shift a little, testing the ropes again, feeling the tension and the tightness wrapped around you, but there's a steady calmness that follows. You meet Geo’s eyes and ask, almost shyly, "Hey, can you... can you take a few pictures of me? I want to see how it looks, like, all of it. My phone’s in my back pocket." 

Geo’s expression softens, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. He doesn’t respond immediately, just watches you with a quiet intensity as if weighing your request. His hands, which had been making final adjustments to the ropes, now still for a moment. 

"Yeah?" His voice is low and thoughtful. "You want to see it that badly?" 

You nod slowly, a faint blush creeping up your neck, suddenly aware of how exposed you are in the moment—physically, sure, but also emotionally. Still, the strange sense of comfort you feel keeps you grounded. 

Geo sighed before his lips curled into that subtle smirk again—the kind that makes you feel like he knows something you don’t. 

"You got it," he says, leaning forward, his hands moving with practiced ease to slide your phone out from your back pocket. His touch is gentle, but there’s a confidence in it, a steadiness that matches the way he’s holding you all along.

As Geo adjusts the phone, getting it in place, you sit still, your breath slowing as you prepare to see the image. You feel strangely exposed, but not in the way you'd imagined. Instead, it’s as if a new part of yourself is being revealed, not just to Geo, but to you as well.

The click of the camera snaps you out of your thoughts, and before you can say anything, he lowers the phone, locking eyes with you. “You ready for your reveal?” he asks, his tone teasing, but there’s a slight softness there too. 

"Yeah," you reply quietly, and when you glance down at the screen, your breath catches for a split second. It’s not just a picture; it’s a snapshot of vulnerability, of a moment you didn't think you’d be able to capture. You’re wrapped in those ropes, but somehow, you look... confident.

Even empowered in a strange, sexy way.

Geo watches your reaction carefully, his fingers grazing lightly over your arm. “How does it feel?” he asks again, a little more curious now as if he’s checking in with you in this new space you’re in together.

You swallow, your heart racing a little faster at the image in front of you, the surreal combination of submission and control. 

"It feels... right," you admit, your voice quiet but steady. "I didn't expect it to. But it does."

Geo’s eyes linger on you for a moment, as if committing the sight to memory, before he sets the phone aside. But before he can move on, you shift slightly against the ropes, tilting your head as an idea pops into your mind.

"Hey, can you take a few more?" you ask, glancing up at him.

Geo raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. "More?"

You nod, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze, but the desire to see more of this side of yourself outweighs the embarrassment. “Yeah, I... I just wanna see how it all looks. Like, from different angles or something.”

Geo exhales a slow, dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "You're lucky you're cute," he mutters, but there’s no real annoyance in his voice—if anything, there’s a hint of fondness.

Still holding you in place, he shifts slightly, reaching for your phone again. With the practiced ease of someone who’s far too used to indulging your whims, he angles the camera, snapping a few more pictures—some closer, some showing the full extent of the bindings.

Every now and then, his eyes flicker back to you, silently making sure you’re still comfortable. And each time, you nod, feeling more at ease than you ever thought possible in this kind of setting.

After a few more clicks, Geo finally sets the phone down for good and shakes his head, smirking. “All right, you got your pictures. Happy now?”

You grin, cheeks warming at the nickname. “Yeah, I think so.”

He huffs, but the corner of his mouth betrays a hint of a smile. Then, without another word, his fingers begin to work at the knots, skillfully undoing them with the same precision he had when tying them. 

His fingers working with the same precision and care they had when tying them, you can’t help but let your mind wander. The way his hands move so naturally, unhurried yet efficient, has you thinking more about the quiet intimacy of the moment. 

Your mind wanders to the question that’s been nagging at you, the one that you can’t quite shake. You hesitate for a second, but then the words come spilling out, almost like an afterthought.

“So,” you start, voice a little tentative, “why are you into this stuff? I mean... I get the skill part, you’re really good at it. But what about the... whole thing?” You gesture vaguely at the ropes, unsure how to articulate the question any better, but hoping he understands what you mean.

Geo doesn’t immediately respond, his hands still working to untangle the ropes with careful precision now behind you. It’s almost like he’s contemplating the answer, taking his time. When he finally looks up at you, his expression is thoughtful, almost distant.

Geo’s hands work methodically, each pull of the rope gentle, his fingers tight and precise. He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s a certain edge in his voice like he's trying to keep control of something else.

“It’s not about... what you think it’s about,” he says, his gaze focused on the ropes, but there’s a subtle tightness in his jaw, as though he's fighting to keep his composure. “It’s the process. The control. The trust. The way it all comes together. It’s calming, something I can’t really explain to anyone else.” His hands don’t waver, but you notice the muscles in his arm flexing just a little more, a slight tremor that betrays his calm façade.

He doesn’t look up as he continues, but his voice falters ever so slightly like he’s trying to keep it even. “I’ve never really... shared this hobby of mine with anyone before, not even Jericho.” His gaze flickers to yours, but he doesn’t hold it, his eyes quickly darting away. The vulnerability in them is fleeting but undeniable—something he doesn’t show anyone.

“This part of me? It’s just... for me. I keep it to myself.”

The ropes fall away with each tug, and even though he’s untying you, there’s an odd sense of tending to you in the way he works. His hands are sure but gentle like he's aware of every inch of your skin, the subtle pressure of the rope, the way it all connects. It's intimate in a way that makes your pulse quicken—like he's paying attention to things that no one else ever has.

The words he shared hang in the air between you two, heavy with meaning. You feel a shift in the atmosphere like you've crossed a line—one that was never meant to be crossed, yet somehow, you’ve managed to find your way through it. 

And you're here. 

With him. 

A place that not even Crowe has been allowed to reach. A small, half-joking thought slips past your lips, an attempt to lighten the mood. “Well, at least I’m ahead on Crowe.”

Geo’s lips twitch in response, the corner of his mouth pulling up into the faintest of smiles. “Don’t get any funny ideas,” he mutters, his voice low and soft, though the amusement is unmistakable. There’s no malice in it, just playful restraint like he’s trying to keep his composure in check despite everything.

You shift slightly, feeling the weight of your body settle against Geo’s chest now that the ropes have been fully untied. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s something almost grounding in the position. Something soothing. His chest rises and falls beneath you, steady, but there’s a tightness in the air, something suspended, like an unspoken tension that hangs between you both.

You glance at his hands again, watching as they smooth over the final knots, the last of the rope slipping away from your skin. You can’t help but lower your voice, soft and thoughtful, as you speak.

“You know,” you murmur, “it’s kind of fitting that you’re into this. I mean, you’re good with your hands, you’re patient. It makes sense.”

Geo’s chest tightens beneath you, the breath in his lungs hitching ever so slightly. It’s subtle, but you feel it—his body betraying something. His fingers twitch, flexing as if battling against some internal war. His voice drops, so low, it’s almost a whisper, and you feel the warmth of his breath against the back of your neck as his arms hover around you, hands frozen, not daring to touch, yet not pulling away.

“You’re right,” he says, voice almost strained. “I’m good with my hands. I’m patient. But... it’s not just that.”

Your curiosity piques, and without thinking, you shift, turning in his lap so that you’re facing him. His breath catches again, just barely, and you can feel the way his muscles tense with restraint, but it’s fleeting. His arms still hover, uncertain, like he’s fighting against something more than just the physical proximity. 

You tilt your head up slightly, eyes meeting his as you wait for him to finish his thought. Your patience is wearing thin, the space between you both growing more charged with each passing second.

"Then..." you murmur, voice soft yet teasing, "What is it?" 

Geo inhales sharply, his body shifting beneath you, muscles tensing as if fighting off the urge to move, to react in ways that would break whatever fragile control he’s desperately clinging to. 

His gaze falters, darting away for a second, like he’s trying to understand the intensity of what’s happening between you two, trying to fight back whatever feelings are rising to the surface. His fingers twitch at your waist, and then, as if losing that battle, they curve around you, pulling you closer.

There’s a slight shift in the air as his face nuzzles against the nape of your neck, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. You can feel the weight of him against you, his body leaning in, pressing against you like he’s desperate for something he’s unwilling to admit. His lips hover near your ear, his words laced with an honesty that surprises you.

“I don’t let people in like this,” he murmurs, voice rough and vulnerable in a way that makes your pulse skip. “Not like this... not ever.” He exhales, shaky, before continuing. “You’re the first.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone, a rawness that cracks through whatever walls he’s tried to build around himself. His admission hits you harder than you expected, leaving a knot in your chest that you can’t untangle. The realization that you’re the first person he’s let in like this—that you’ve somehow managed to get past every guard he’s built around himself—settles over you like a heavyweight. 

It’s a strange feeling, one that both unsettles and comforts you at the same time. For a long moment, you’re still, trying to process everything. You knew something was there, some sort of pull, but this? 

This is something else entirely.

Geo’s grip tightens, fingers pressing just a little deeper into your waist, like he’s trying to anchor himself—trying to hold onto something steady while his world tilts in a way he wasn’t expecting. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, slow and measured, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. 

“I’ve been trying to figure this out... for a while now,” he murmurs, voice rough, hesitant. “I don’t really understand us…”

His words sit heavy between you, threading through the quiet like something fragile. You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, to meet that storm behind his eyes, but you don’t hesitate. 

You don’t second-guess. 

Instead, you lean in, closing the distance and pressing your lips to his—soft, unhurried, but firm enough to leave no room for doubt. It’s not desperate, not rushed, just something real. Something that’s been waiting to happen for longer than either of you probably want to admit. 

Geo stills beneath you, breath catching for just a second before he melts into it, his grip shifting, hands splaying over your back like he’s memorizing the way you feel in his arms. He doesn’t kiss back right away, like he’s trying to make sense of it, trying to process the fact that this is happening. But then, his lips move against yours—gentle, cautious, like he’s testing the weight of the moment. Like he’s afraid to break it. 

And it’s good. It’s slow and warm and careful in a way that makes your stomach flip. His fingers curl slightly against your skin, hesitant but firm, and there’s something about the way he holds you—like he wants to pull you closer but doesn’t quite know how. 

When you finally pull back, you’re both quiet, breath mingling in the space between you. His eyes flicker, searching yours, still trying to catch up with everything that just happened, his cheeks were flushed slightly and he was looking at you with a flustered expression.

“You’re not the only one who’s been trying to figure out what’s between us,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, your fingers still resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “I like you, Geo. I do. The question is do you like me back...”

Geo blinks at you, lips slightly parted like he’s still working through the weight of your words. He remained quiet for a moment before he spoke softly.

"I do... I do like you,” he says slowly, his voice steady but quiet. “But I don’t really know how to show it.” His brows furrow slightly like he’s frustrated with himself. “Not like… like that, at least.”

You watch him for a second, then huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t have to do anything, Geo.” Your fingers brush lightly against his shirt, grounding yourself in the warmth of him.

Geo exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. His arms are still around you, still holding on, even though he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. 

But he doesn’t let go. 

“I still want you,” he mutters after a pause, almost like he’s testing the words, trying them out before fully committing. His gaze flickers to yours, hesitant but steady.

“But you already have me,” you whisper, forehead resting against his. “And that’s okay.”

Geo exhales, his arms tightening around you for just a second before he shifts—sudden, decisive. His grip is solid, and firm, and before you even register what’s happening, your feet leave the ground.  

“What the—Geo?” Your voice comes out half a sputter, half a breathless exhale as your hands instinctively clutch at his shoulders.  

He doesn’t falter. He doesn’t hesitate. Carrying you is effortless like you weigh nothing in his arms. The way he holds you isn’t rushed or careless—his grip is secure, steady like he’s making sure you’re safe, making sure you know he won’t drop you, won’t let you go.  

And yet, his face is unreadable.  

His jaw clenches slightly, his brows drawn together in the way he gets when he’s overthinking something. His arms remain firm around you, one hooked beneath your legs, the other supporting your back, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of your clothes as he walks. The silence between you is thick, charged with something you can’t quite place, and you barely register the way the space around you changes until he steps into his bedroom.  

Wait. His bedroom?  

Your back meets soft sheets as he lowers you onto the bed, his movements gentle, careful—like he’s afraid of startling you, of doing this wrong somehow. His hands linger at your waist, just for a second, before he steps back, rubbing the back of his neck. There’s something hesitant in the way he shifts, something uncertain in the way he avoids your gaze.  

“I—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s trying to gather his thoughts like he’s trying to piece together the right words. His shoulders tense before he finally speaks.  

“Look, I don’t… need this,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “I don’t crave it. Sex. Any of it. I don’t think I ever have.”  

You blink, your brain lagging a second behind. “Okay…?”

“But,” he continues, eyes flickering to yours, hesitant but serious. “If you wanted it… I’d do it. For you.”

You stare at him. And keep staring. Because—what?

Geo shifts under your gaze, growing visibly uncomfortable. “What?” he mutters, crossing his arms like he’s suddenly feeling too exposed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because that makes no fucking sense, Geo.” You sit up, your mind still scrambling to piece together what he’s saying. “You just said you don’t want it, don’t need it, but you’d still do it? For me?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, his expression twitching into something like frustration—at himself, not at you. His fingers flex, like he wants to do something with his hands, but he doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” he finally mutters. “I would.”

Your head tilts, trying to wrap your brain around this. “But… why?”

Geo lets out a sharp breath, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t fucking know,” he admits, his voice edged with frustration, though not directed at you. “I just— I like you. A lot. And I wanna… I don’t know, make you happy?” 

Your stomach flips at that, at the sheer honesty of it, but you’re still trying to piece it all together. “So you’d do something you don’t even enjoy just because I wanted it?”

He shrugs, looking away. “Yeah.”

“That’s stupid.”

Geo whips his head back to glare at you. “Fuck off.”

You snort, but there’s warmth behind it, something fond as you shake your head. “Geo. You know you don’t have to do that, right? I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give.”

“I know that,” he grumbles, rubbing at his temple. “It’s not like I’d be miserable or anything, I just… It’s not something I think about. But if it was with you, I wouldn’t mind.”

You watch him carefully, the way he keeps shifting, the way he refuses to look at you directly, and it clicks. He’s not just saying this out of obligation. 

He means it. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, but there’s no bite to it, no real complaint.

You reach out, grabbing his hand, and pulling him just a little closer. “You really don’t have to prove anything to me, you know.”

His shoulders drop slightly, some of the tension bleeding out. “I know.”

But then—he moves. Before you can process it, Geo’s hands are on either side of you, pressing into the mattress as he leans over, caging you in. His weight shifts just enough to pin you in place, and your breath catches.  

His gaze finally meets yours.  

There’s something unreadable in those deep, aquamarine eyes of his—curiosity, maybe, or something tangled and complicated that even he doesn’t fully understand. His lips press into a thin line, his expression flickering between hesitant and determined.  

You swallow hard. “Geo—”  

“I just…” He trails off, exhaling through his nose. His head tilts slightly, studying you. “I’ve never really wanted it before. Never needed it. But with you…” His fingers flex against the sheets, like he’s testing the waters, testing himself. “I don’t know. I kind of want to try.”  

Your pulse thuds against your ribs, a slow, steady drumbeat of disbelief. Because what the fuck? Geo—the man who barely lets people touch him, the one who’s always kept this sort of thing at arm’s length—wants to try?  

It’s not desire in the traditional sense. Not some burning, uncontrollable need. But it’s something.  

Curiosity, maybe. 

The old saying comes to mind, unbidden. Curiosity killed the cat.

You search his face, trying to find some kind of hesitation, some sign that he’s unsure. But he just looks… focused. Determined.  

You wet your lips, your voice quieter now. “Geo, you don’t—”  

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head slightly. “I know I don’t have to. That’s not the point.” His voice drops just a little, something softer threading through it. “I want to see what it’s like. With you.”  

Your heart stutters. Not because of the words themselves—but because of the way he says them. The way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world.  

Like this—whatever this—actually matters to him.  

His fingers brush against your wrist, light and careful like he’s still figuring out how this is supposed to go, “If that’s okay with you,” still navigating the unfamiliar weight of what he’s just admitted.  

Then, you decide to push your luck. 

You tilt your head slightly, your voice smooth and even, testing the waters. “If you wanna try… maybe you can blindfold me and tie me up, please?”

Geo stills, his reaction immediate, brows furrowing as he processes your words. His grip tenses slightly, his entire body caught somewhere between confusion and intrigue.  

“…You thought of that way too fast,” he mutters, staring at you like you just threw a wrench into his entire thought process.  

You blink up at him, watching as his mind visibly short-circuits, gears turning in real time. It’s rare to see him this thrown off, and you fight the smirk tugging at your lips.  

“What?” you say, feigning innocence. “You did say you wanted to try.”  

Geo narrows his eyes slightly like he’s trying to see through whatever game you’re playing. “And what exactly does that do?”  

You tilt your head, your voice smooth as you explain, “So you can focus on the feeling instead of overthinking everything.”  

His expression shifts—just slightly. His fingers tap idly against your waist, and his lips press together as he exhales sharply through his nose.  

“You’re serious?”  

You shrug beneath him, but there’s no true nonchalance in the gesture.

Soon the room is quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the faint sound of your breathing. Geo sits on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on the silk blindfold as he finishes tying it securely around your eyes. The smooth fabric glides over your skin, cool and delicate, before darkness envelops you completely. 

Your world narrows to the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body so close to yours, and the faint scent of him—something clean and faintly musky, grounding you in the moment.

Your arms are bound behind you, the rope firm but not uncomfortable, a reminder of his control and your trust. You shift slightly, testing the restraint, and feel the subtle bite of the rope against your wrists. It’s enough to make your pulse quicken, your skin tingling with anticipation.

Geo hesitates for a moment, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as if unsure what to do next. You can feel the tension in his touch, the way his fingers flex slightly before stilling. The silence stretches, thick and charged, until you break it.

“Here,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady. “Let me face you.”

You start to move, but your lack of sight makes you clumsy, and you fumble slightly. Geo’s hands are there in an instant, guiding you with a gentleness that belies the intensity of the moment. His palms are warm against your hips as he helps you turn, his touch firm but careful.

When you’re settled in his lap, your legs straddling his, you feel the heat of his bare skin against yours, the intimacy of the position making your breath catch.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his gaze on you, tracing the lines of your body. The rope around your wrists, the blindfold covering your eyes—it’s all so deliberate, so purposeful. You can almost hear the thoughts racing through his mind, the way he’s trying to reconcile the sight of you like this with the part of him that’s still unsure.

Is it wrong that he likes seeing you like this? Bound, vulnerable, yet completely trusting? 

The question lingers in the air, unspoken but palpable. He shifts slightly beneath you, his hands resting on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin in absent circles. The touch is light, almost hesitant as if he’s still processing the reality of the moment.

You feel him exhale, a slow, measured breath before he lifts one hand to cover his face. His forearm rests against his forehead, his expression hidden, but you can sense the conflict in him. He knows why you asked him to do this—it wasn’t just for you. 

It was for him, too. For his enjoyment, his curiosity, and his desire to explore this side of himself. And that realization seems to weigh on him, even as it excites him.

You lean forward slightly, your movements slow and deliberate, and feel the way his body responds to yours. His breath hitches, his hands tightening on your thighs as if to steady himself. The air between you feels electric, every touch, every shift of your body against his, sends ripples of sensation through you both.

“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: God no, he would never ! Kinda the opposite !

Perssila paused, trying to decipher what you meant. It sounded vague, and that only made her more curious. 

She stared at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. She didn’t want to sound like she was pushing, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking the next question.

Perssila: What the opposite?? Girl explain…

Her stomach churned, a mix of concern and confusion settling in. She didn’t know what you were getting at, but it sounded like things had shifted in a way she hadn’t expected.

Geo’s 'interesting hobbies' and the way you'd worded things made her think that maybe you were a little more tangled up in all this than you were letting on.

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

The suspense was killing her. What did that mean? 

Ding!

You: sent images !!!

Perssila let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a gasp and a scream, her phone slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the counter. 

“What the actual fuck,” she whispered to herself, staring at the device as it had personally committed a crime against her. But despite her body’s visceral reaction, her hands itched to pick the phone back up, to confirm that she hadn’t just hallucinated whatever the hell you had just sent her.

Slowly, hesitantly, she snatched it back and forced herself to look at the images again.

The first one was already enough to make her brain melt—your arms bound behind your back, the ropes so expertly placed that they framed your body like something out of a goddamn high-fashion photoshoot. The tension in the bindings was obvious, snug but not harsh, emphasizing every curve and dip in a way that was almost too intimate. It was... artistic. Too artistic. 

She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the phone like it was the only thing grounding her in reality.

Then the second photo. 

Perssila slammed a hand over her mouth to muffle the horrified squeak that nearly escaped. Geo’s goddamn foot was planted firmly on your back, pressing you down against the floor in a way that was undeniably dominant. The bastard wasn’t even looking at the camera properly—his gaze was fixed on you, half-lidded and unreadable, like he was admiring his own work. 

"Oh my god," she muttered, her brain absolutely refusing to comprehend the implications. 

But then—the third image.

Her stomach dropped. She should ignore it. She really, really should. But of course, she didn’t.

With trembling fingers, she tapped on the notification, opening the third picture.

Perssila regretted everything.

Geo was seated behind you, his pale hand curled loosely around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to tilt your chin up. Your lips were parted slightly, your expression unreadable but undeniably relaxed, almost like you belonged there. Like this was normal. 

And the ropes? The way they framed you? The way they emphasized every inch of your body?

Her soul left her body.

Perssila: WHAT AM I LOOKING AT. HELLO??? 

She barely had time to process it before another message popped up.  

You: Just Geo and I playing around. I learned some things about him. About myself too, I guess. 

Perssila: LEARNED WHAT???

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

You: Noooo, you’re fine. It’s all fun. Geo has taste.

Perssila: TASTE??? THAT MAN JUST USED YOU AS A GODDAMN FOOTREST.

Perssila screamed into her hands, her stomach twisted in confusion, concern, and the undeniable urge to scream. What kind of ‘learning’ was this?? What did you mean you were learning about yourself?!  

Meanwhile, Crowe, who had been quietly watching her meltdown from across the room, finally leaned over, his curiosity piqued. 

"What’s got you all worked up?" he asked, his tone far too casual.

Just as she was about to throw her phone across the room, Crowe’s voice sliced through the tension in the air, his frown deepening as he noticed her sudden, extreme reaction.

"Everything okay?" His voice held a soft, concerned edge as he set his food down and leaned forward. 

Perssila jerked, her face heating up even further. She quickly tried to swipe the phone out of view, hoping he wouldn’t see what she was looking at, but it was too late. Crowe squinted. His eyes flicked between the images, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he sucked in a breath through his teeth.  

“Damn.” He leaned back, nodding to himself. “Did not have that on my bingo card.”  

Perssila slapped his arm. “This isn’t funny, Crowe!”  

He chuckled, rubbing his arm as he stole another glance at the screen. “I mean... it kinda is.”  

Perssila groaned again, dropping her head onto the table. “I hate everything.”  

Ding!  

Another message.  

You: Don’t worry. It’s all safe, promise. Geo’s a real perfectionist when it comes to this. It’s called ~shibari~. 😌

Perssila lifted her head just enough to type out a response.  

Perssila: I’M SURE HE IS. BUT WHY DOES IT LOOK LIKE YOU'RE HAVING A DAMN SPIRITUAL AWAKENING IN THESE PHOTOS.

You: Because I am !  

Perssila: I’M GOING TO THROW UP.

Perssila stared at her message, her mind struggling to comprehend what she was reading. Her phone buzzed again with another reply, and against her better judgment, she looked.

You: sent an image !

A selfie from you popped up, your face in a peace sign, a grin stretching across your face, while Geo lay on top of you—completely out of it, arms wrapped around you like a teddy bear, his face nestled against your neck, dead asleep. You looked half-amused, half-chilled, while Geo was in another world, like a snuggly corpse.

Perssila: …Mission success, huh? 😑

You: Yeah. He’s a snuggly corpse now. 10/10.

Perssila groaned and dropped her face into her hands, completely mortified. 

Perssila: BUT NEVER SEND ME YOUR KINKY SHIT. MY EYES HAVE TRAUMA. 🔪

Crowe’s gaze was still locked on her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You okay there, love?" He asked his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of genuine concern. 

She glanced at him, blushing hard, but the absurdity of the situation made her crack a smile. “…I’m never going to unsee that," she muttered, rolling her eyes. 

Meanwhile, back with you, your eyes lingered on your phone, a mix of emotions twisting in your chest. You hoped Perssila knew you hadn’t meant any harm with the pictures—you thought it was funny. But despite that, an awkward tightness settled inside you, making it hard to shake the unease.

Just as you were about to type something else, Geo suddenly reached up and snatched the phone straight from your hands. The sudden movement startled you, your body freezing for a moment as your gaze snapped to him.

He still held you tightly, one strong arm wrapped securely around your waist, keeping your back pressed against his chest. The warmth of him was grounding, but his grip on the phone was firm, ignoring any protest you might’ve made.

You blinked in shock, barely able to process what just happened before his fingers curled around the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. The motion was gentle but deliberate, keeping you locked against him. 

“Be still,” he murmured, his voice low and unwavering, carrying a quiet authority that made it impossible to ignore. His thumb absently brushed over your wrist, the same one that had been holding your phone just moments ago. You could feel the subtle tension in his muscles, the way his body stayed attuned to yours as if making sure you didn’t slip away. 

“No texting Perssila right now.”

You stared at him, confusion flickering across your face. "How do you even know I was texting her?" you asked, your tone just a little accusing.

Geo exhaled sharply, amusement flickering in his eyes as he kept his hold on you. "Because," he said, tilting his head slightly, "I saw the messages and missed calls from her earlier—before we took those pictures of you." 

Your stomach flipped.

Wait. 

What?

Your mouth opened, but no words came out at first, your mind scrambling to catch up. "You—what?" you finally spluttered, unable to hide the shock in your voice. You’d assumed he was just letting you send a few messages, not that he had been paying attention the entire time.

Geo exhaled, shaking his head, though the subtle smirk tugging at his lips gave away his amusement. "You really thought I wouldn’t notice?"  

Your face heated instantly. “I’m sorry, Geo, I—”  

He cut you off with a quiet chuckle, his grip on your waist unwavering. “Relax. I don’t really care if it’s just between her.” His voice was calm, almost too casual. “And I’m sure Jericho saw too.”  

Your stomach dropped.  

He gave the slightest squeeze, his fingers pressing against your side, grounding you in place. “I just have to make sure they keep quiet about it.”  

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your ears. There was something about the way he said it—so effortless, so damn confident—that sent a shiver down your spine.  

This man was impossible.  

And yet…  

Who would've thought a little bondage would lead to this?

[yey56]

Hey I just wanted to say I really love your Harley and believe you're the only one who got his character so far.I am also in love with your y/n and how you didn't make her perfect or useless.Not to be a bother but can you show or tell us Harley and y/n's relationship after their first kiss or just any of their general interactions?Whatever suits you,thank you.

It doesn't bother me at all, thank you for asking and I so happy I got Harley right. 💖💖

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCOLOGIST READER

AFTER KISS HEADCANNONS

The first thing you noticed was Harley's hand on your face, caressing your cheek. He was only going to quickly clean near your lip but after feeling your jaw, your face, brushing his fingers against your neck he couldn't resist to cup your cheek.

The other hand fell down to loosely grab your waist. He was getting closer and you could feel his breath on your lips. You slowly put your hands on his shoulder, testing how he would react.

"Harley" you mumbled, you lips brushing his. That was enough for him to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips moving together, not in perfectly or coordinately way, but in your own way.

You tightened your grasp in the fabric of his shoulder as he fully envolved your waist with his hand while the one that was on you face fell down to your neck where he started caressing.

Finally you both separated from the kiss, both of you agitated but still close. His hand was still on your cheek and yours still on his shoulders

You looked at him again and got close to give him another short kiss. "Do you have any appointments left for today?" Harley asked you. "Yes I do, I still have to supervise Kissy Missy, she hasn't been responding lately"

"Good, come to my office after that, we have to discuss this in depth." He let you go and while you went to the enclosure of said toy, he remained still in the corridor looking at you intensely.

HEADCANNONS After the kiss:

At first sigh, there wasn't much change, maybe the staff of the company noticed you being closer than usual.

Now, Doctor Sawyer and you were seen together very often. Maybe not all lovey dovey but together nonetheless. The caretakers saw often Dr Sawyer accompanying you when you needed to go to Home sweet Home to talk with the children.

Once Ludwig joked to Sawyer that you two seemed glued together and Harley only shrugged not denying anything.

Now that you two had already acknowledged your feelings, little things he did for you sometimes became the norm and started becoming part of your routine.

For example: When you were finishing a design late at night in his office (you often spend time together in each others offices) and he was finishing surgery reports, he would offer you the sofa to sleep in.

Once you were asleep he would raise his gaze from the papers and look at you. Some nights, he would even approach you and touch your face very lightly, not wanting to wake you up.

Quiet moments like this made him calm and let him forget, just a little, about all of the chaos and restriction that your jobs were.

In the nights that he was in your office, he would be just behind you with his hand on your shoulder, looking at you writing and archiving some documents. Caressing your shoulder, then the back of your neck and sometimes, if he was feeling kind enough, he would massage the back of your scalp with his long, cold fingers.

Another thing that became more regular between you both was physical contact. He wasn't a touchy person. Hell he even felt repelled to it sometimes, but one thing he loved was the back massages you gave him.

He had a very tensed back and it felt like heaven whenever you would untangle all of the knots.

So he payed you back giving you head massages. He was probably the only person allowed to tangle and touch your hair. You two just melt into each others arms when you had contact.

Another thing that was common now was that you would do little task for each other. Like for example, Harley reminding you that you needed to drink water. You were so concentrated into your work that you just forgot how much time it had been since your last glass of water.

You sometimes shave the little stubble he had on the sides of his face, styling his facial hair so he would look all put together. This also applied with the hair. You cut his hair and mantain it in the way he liked.

One night that you miraculously ended your work sooner than expected he invited you for dinner.

The restaurant was a fancy one, both your salaries permitted you to be there.

The night went by very calmly, you talked about work and what projects you had in mind. At some point you started talking about your experiences in collage...

The night continued to go on until you both finally went to your apartment. You lived in a good neighborhood and your place was nicely decorated. The first thing Harley though when entering your apartment was you. Everything in there screamed you.

You invited him to a few drinks and gave him some reports and books about investigations on child psychology so he could study his experiments on a deeper level.

The drinks were forgotten on the table after a few sips.

He barely talked while you ranted for minutes about techniques to manage anxiety crisis or stress attacks that sometimes overcame the toys on the prison.

He looked at you, talking and talking. It was always like this. You talked nonstop and he would listen, but lately he also started admiring you. Your hand gestures, you movements, your words slipping due to talking to fast...

You stopped talking when he started to gently stroke your neck with a precision only a surgeon could manage to have. He started naming the muscles, nerves, veins and arteries that were in your neck

With each name he said, he got closer to you to the point of feeling his lips touching your neck.

He repeated the list of names but now kissing each place he named while laying you on the sofa of your living room.

There's no need to say that the night didn't end quickly.

————————————————————————

Another thing you both got used to do was taking books from your offices. Harley had anatomy books and autobiographies in his office and you had sociological, historic and anthropological ones.

Often you would spend your breaks in each others offices reading in the sofa, just enjoying each others presence.

The staff already suspected that you two were either together or at the verge to be. Hell even one of the children had drew you and Harley sit together in a chair while interviewing him.

Stella went to tease you about the drawing, and insisted on you keeping it.

At some point some guards started to joke about the two of you being together.

"Where is Dr (Y/L/N) right now, we have matter to discuss with them?" Leith asked to one of the guards accompanied by Stella

We need to discuss with her some changes on the home sweet home caretakers" Stella added.

She is in the observation room 007, accompanied by Dr Sawyer, sir" He responded cordially.

Both executives went to said room while the guard looked sideways to his coworker who was chuckling to himself.

"What are you laughing about" He asked, questioning what had his companion found that it was so funny

"Nothing, just wondering how Dr Sawyer would react when 'Mrs Sawyer' gets taken by these two for a reunion. I bet five dollar he will accompany them when they get out." He was now laughing a little bit louder but covering his mouth.

"You shouldn't be talking about that kind of stuff. If either of them hear you you might be the next dinner of Boxy Boo." He couldn't believe his coworkers audacity. He wasn't being discreet at all and that might cost them their jobs and life's.

Just as the guard predicted, the four executives went to the upper levels. Apparently Harley insisted on supervising the changes on the environment of the potential experiments children

-Unedited-

[notlongtolove]

suddenly, here it is

it’s sunday. his rest day. he used to protest—murmuring something about loving the sight of you when he woke up—but three sundays in, waking to coffee in your hand and the cat curled against your hip, he’d had nothing left to argue with.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: reader and spencer spending a sunday morning together with their lovely little boy (cat), domestic fluff and bliss

word count: 1.8k

note: entry for the lovely @gold-onthe-inside's 1k event aaa congrats pookie! finally some fluff to get you through the drought. angst flood incoming. weee also mugi makes a reappearance. a line: His voice is unbearably soft, the telltale sign of Sleepy Spencer slipping in. It’s pure warmth, all gooey and loose.

I waited so long for love and suddenly, here it is standing in the garden, hands full of heirlooms hot from the sun. Soon we’ll make a supper of them. Salted slabs between slices of bread. Your beard silvers. My hips ripen. The mail piles up. - joy sullivan

You wake to warm breaths against your neck as Spencer sleeps heavy behind you, pressed against your form. It’s sweet, in theory. In practice, the warmth that emanates from him makes it unbearable. You last maybe two seconds before you’re peeling yourself away, kicking off the covers with a sigh. Spencer stirs, hand twitching against the sheets before settling again. 

It’s Sunday. His rest day. Something you enforced, because watching him drag himself out of bed before dawn every day had started to feel like a crime. He used to protest—murmuring something about loving the sight of you when he woke up—but three Sundays in, waking to coffee in your hand and the cat curled against your hip, he’d had nothing left to argue with.

You slip into the kitchen to set the kettle on and Mugi meows at you from his perch. It takes a bit of wrangling to scoop him into your arms, but he settles soon enough, purring in your arms. Coffee and cat in tow, you make your way back to the bedroom, where Spencer has reached an arm out toward your side of the bed in an unconscious attempt to hold on to the last bits of your presence. 

Released from your arms, Mugi instinctively jumps onto the bed. He stretches once before padding over to Spencer, curling into the space where his face is pressed into his arm. Spencer hums in his sleep, content. 

Mugi shifts only a millimetre as you slide back under the covers. Just enough to prove a point. Little menace. Your boyfriend might be an early bird, but you’re a night owl through and through—the three-hour screen time report from last night would agree. The only reason you’re even upright right now is love. Love for him, love for caffeine before 10 am, though you’re more than happy to let Spencer believe the former. Besides, this way, you get to regulate his sugar intake at least one day a week. A small but meaningful victory, considering the sheer amount of sugar he insists on pouring into his coffee.

You’re pretty sure he’s caught on—the slight pause after his first sip consistently gives him away—but he’s too much of a sap to call you out on it. S’perfect, baby, murmured against your cheek, warm and easy, before he goes in for another (reluctant) sip.

His hand fumbles blindly across the sheets in search of you, landing a little too close to Mugi’s face. The cat swats at him in protest, but Spencer simply redirects, hand sliding across the mattress until he finds your hip. He sighs, satisfied. You smile. 

You have a theory. A hypothesis, if you will. Elementary, perhaps, but Spencer once explained that a theory is any well-substantiated explanation for a phenomenon, supported by a significant body of evidence from observation and experimentation. So, you believe this stands as a theory too. 

And you have a theory that Spencer Reid is touchy.

Gasps from the crowd. The hypochondriac? The germaphobe? The man who once rattled off a statistic about how handshakes transfer more germs than kisses? 

Touch-starved? Impossible. 

But as his girlfriend, you see what no one else does. Or more specifically, feel. Hips pressed together as you stand at the sink, toothbrushes clinking against porcelain, eyes meeting in the mirror as you giggle through foamy mouths. In bed, where your legs drape over his as he reads from your Kindle—an indulgence he initially abhorred but tolerated for the sake of convenience. One hand balances the device, the other, absentminded, traces the curve of your thigh. 

Because, as your theory suggests, Spencer Reid needs to be touching you at all times.

And right now, the evidence is overwhelmingly in your favour. 

You start small. A simple shift, moving your hip from his hand and crossing your legs. Even in sleep, Spencer adjusts instinctively, lifting his hand to accommodate your movement. It hovers as he waits. When you don’t return to him, you catch the quietest little grumble escape his throat.

He doesn’t say anything. But under the sheets, his leg inches forward until his shin nudges against your ankle.

You bite back a grin.

A few minutes pass. You roll onto your side, pretending to check your phone, and like clockwork, Spencer shifts too. This time, with a sigh through his nose like he’s accepting some great burden. Blindly following your warmth, his arm drapes over your waist before you can stop him.

Alright. Upping the stakes.

You scoop Mugi into your arms, shifting again, knees tucking to your chest entirely as you cradle the cat against you. Mugi lets out a long, slow yawn but ultimately settles, eyes already slipping shut. Spencer, however, is not as easily appeased. One eye cracks open, heavy-lidded and suspicious, before he closes it again.

“I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs sluggishly. 

You blink down at him. “I’m not doing anything,” you say, all innocently. “I’m simply showing our son some love.”

“Yes. And he looks really appreciative of it.”

Mugi lets out a soft meow—more out of obligation than anything—before blinking at Spencer with the deadpan stare of a cat who is completely unbothered.

“You’re being mean,” Spencer mumbles. His voice is unbearably soft, the telltale sign of Sleepy Spencer slipping in. It’s pure warmth, all gooey and loose.

You hum, shifting just enough to let his fingers brush against your thigh. An unspoken truce.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right, just like how you have no idea why my coffee tastes like it’s sweetened with a single grain of sugar?” 

“Mhm. Exactly like that.” 

Spencer exhales, something between fond and exasperated, before shifting closer, fluffing the covers as he moves. The slight disruption is all Mugi needs as he takes that as his cue to leave, hopping off the bed with a soft thump before padding back to his perch without so much as a glance back.

You gasp, scandalised. “Now look what you did. You chased him off. You’re a horrible dad—”

Before you can get another word out, Spencer’s fingers curl around your wrist, tugging you forward with a slow, deliberate pull until you’re nose to nose.

“I know, I know. I’m horrible, aren’t I?” His voice is still drowsy, edged with sleep—It’s truly gooey warmth in every syllable. “Imagine wanting to cuddle my girlfriend first thing in the morning. What kind of monster does that?”

You try to huff sternly, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the way his thumb brushes absently against your neck, slow and steady. “It took two whole tuna crunchies to get him off the cat condo. I hope you’re satisfied with yourself."

Spencer makes a noise of deep consideration before burying his face into the curve of your shoulder, sighing deeply. “Mm. Forgive me, but I am very satisfied with having to settle for you instead.” His legs tangle with yours beneath the sheets, warmth blooming everywhere your skin meets. His hand splays against your back, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns. 

You sigh, long-suffering but half-hearted, making no effort to pull away. “I suppose I can allow that.”

“Allow that?” Spencer pulls back just enough to level you with a sleepy smirk. “Is that how we’re playing it now? I suppose I’ll allow it if Hotch needs me in today, I do have some case files to finish up—”

“You wouldn’t dare!” you gasp, immediately swatting at him, half-faking an attempt to sit up.

Spencer barely budges, catching your wrist with ridiculous ease and tugging you right back down. “I’d never abandon you or our son on a Sunday,” he chuckles. A quiet nod to the rule you’d cemented ages ago—that Sundays belonged to the three of you—and only the three of you. “As much as he apparently hates us.”

You roll your eyes, tilting your head toward the open bedroom door, where Mugi now sits perched on the couch, tail flicking in slow, deliberate disinterest. “He loves us, and you know it,” you argue, rubbing slow circles into Spencer’s forearm where you previously smacked him lightly. “He’s just in his teenage angst phase right now.”

“Aren’t you, Mugi?” you call, voice dripping with mock offence.

Mugi blinks at you. Then, in the most deliberate display of apathy, turns his entire body away, facing the wall instead.

Spencer snorts, shaking his head into your shoulder. “Yeah. He’s definitely real fond of us.”

You laugh, tipping your head back against the pillow, and Spencer takes the opening immediately, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your collarbone.

“Instead of wrangling an already clearly reluctant cat, we could just stay like this, cuddling all day, if you want,” he murmurs, lips still pressed against your skin. 

“Tempting,” you admit, stretching just enough to press a kiss to his jaw where your lips drag against the rough edge of stubble. “But I think I’d like some coffee first,” you say, already reaching over to your nightstand where the coffee has no doubt, gone cold. 

Before you even move an inch, Spencer shifts, pressing more of his weight into you, arms tightening around your frame, effectively pinning you beneath him. “Mm. No. Bad idea," he murmurs, muffled against your shoulder. “If I let you up, you’ll abandon me for at least five minutes, and I don’t think I can handle that kind of heartbreak right now.”

You laugh, squirming, but he’s relentless.

“Spencer.”

“Nope.”

He begins launching a full-scale attack—kisses pressed everywhere but your lips. Quick, fleeting, feather-light. A kiss to your cheek, your nose, your eyelid. There’s no real pattern, all soft and scattered and insistent, and by the time he gets to your temple, you’re giggling, hopelessly resigned to your fate.

“Are you done now?” you manage between laughs, breathless, as he plants another to the corner of your jaw. 

“Never.” His lips graze the shell of your ear. “Could do this all day if you’d let me. Would do this all day—”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” you cut in, fingers sliding up the nape of his neck, settling there with gentle intent.

“Hm, never heard that one before.”

“Shocking,” you quip, fingers threading into his curls, tugging just enough so he leans down, nose nudging against yours before he presses a kiss to your lips—

“Ow!”

Mugi, wide awake, has apparently decided that now, after an entire morning of pretending you both don’t exist—is the perfect time to show affection, rubbing himself insistently against Spencer’s forearm. He meows, triumphant, before padding around in a deliberate little circle and curling up—right between your pillows.

You giggle, nudging Spencer lightly. “You think we have room for one more?”

Your boyfriend groans in response, dramatically flopping onto his back. “What an ass,” he huffs, wholly unamused. 

You’re already reaching over to scratch behind Mugi’s ears, delighted to have your little boy back to his affectionate self, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment. “Oh, come on, you love him.”

Spencer exhales, resigned. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: falling in love by cigarettes after sex when you know by neck deep (my attempt at converting everyone into a neck deep fan)

[wolftarotcrafts]

*Art is mine*

Hey everyone! If you are looking for personal paid readings, you can now find them on my Ko-fi. I also have a few readings on there, and I am planning on adding more readings on there too.

I also have more readings on my tumblr page if you want to check those out. I will make a master list soon to make it easier and more organized. 

If you want to leave a request for readings you want to see, you can leave a comment on this post.

Pile One

Hi pile one. I see that other people think of you as very powerful and intuitive. People's impression of you is that you are charming and caring. Some of you could be quite emotional and very empathetic. People also see you as optimistic, and there is this sense of innocence. Almost starry-eyed and dreamer energy. Some of you could be daydreamers and could always be looking at and for the light in dark situations. People see you as light and airy; you could even be a healer. You make others feel comfortable and safe. You make others feel like they can be themselves without being judged. You have a healing and calm energy about you. People may go to you for advice and just to rant. Some of you could be therapists or looking to go into some healing careers. You could also just take your healing journey very seriously. When making decisions, you can think and lean more into what your heart wants. You have that Disney princess vibe. This is a wonderful and beautiful energy you all have.

Extra:12, 21, 1212, 1221, F, V, B, L, T, Blue, Red, Stars, idealistic viewpoint, dancing, ballroom, quinceañera, Huapango, Jarabe Tapatío, Disney, Princesses, Cinderella/movie, ‘A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes’, Sleeping Beauty, Aurora, ‘When you wish upon a Star, healing, vibrational, Vivian, Vera, Val, Vasquez, Gloriana, Loriana, Laura Fran, Tony, Toby, Beatrice, Braun, Luck, decisions, blond hair, water signs, long hair, elegance, in touch with the feminine side, and Latina.

Pile Two

Hey pile two. Some of you may have been drawn to pile one, and I see there's some similarity between the very feminine aspects. I also see that they have more princess vibes; you guys are more of queens. You guys may be on the quieter side and keep to yourselves in some ways or be ambivert, but when you need to be a leader or take over, you stand on business. Other people see you as someone who can take control when needed. I see them seeing you as the boss and looking at you as a leader. People see you as hardworking and intelligent. You are very caring and grounded. You treat others with respect, and you demand the same treatment back. People close to you see you as witty and sometimes even sarcastic. Some of you may be gift givers or just really love to help others out. Some of you could be on the more spiritual side or practice witchcraft/the occult. You have the energy that turns heads, and people definitely notice you. You could be very independent and strive to get where you want to be. You make goals, and you achieve them. You carry some strong and intense energy, pile two.

Extra: 10, 23, 26, 34, 35, 39, 333, 555, Q, R, E, B, S, Queen, Queen energy, Reyna, Reina, Elissa, Gimme More—Britney Spears, stand for no BS, move in silence, Earth signs, Air signs, Capricorn, Cancer, Aries, Bad B energy, Mexico, Europe, Russia, Slovakia, Scandinavia, making money moves, chill, down to earth.

Pile Three

Hello, Pile Three, people see you as a bit of a badass. Some of you could have been bullied, or you were the bully, but something shifted, and you decided to stand up for yourself and others. You aren't afraid of confrontation, and you will stand up for what's right, and many people admire you for that. People see that you fight for others and root for the underdog. People see you as very quick-witted and fast on your feet. I also see you maybe a little impulsive at times. People see you as strong, and you possess great strength. You may have gone through some challenges, but you have passed them, and now you are stronger than before. Those challenges shaped and made you into the person you are now. People may also view you as spontaneous and very funny. People see you as fast and when you are in you are all in. People see you as passionate about things you care about. 

Extra: G, O, N, D, T, Donovan, Orlando, Orlando Bloom, Omar, Gloria, Go, Race, Ready Set Start, jumping, leaping, pole-vaulting, athletic, strong, working out, school, martial arts, Shy by Jai Waetford, relationship, happy home, DND, gym, training.

[sacrilegesummer]

Wet, Hot, American Nights - Part 1

Heat of the Moment

summary: Steve thinks summer camp is terrible until a conversation that sparks a new found appreciation for all that camp can do for a person, and maybe he'll even make a friend out of it. warnings: underage drinking, future smut (maybe idk monkey covering eyes emoji), bad writing :p a/n: I am VERY nervous pls be kind this is the first time I have ever posted ANYTHING i've written (at my big age). I am really trying to not describe the reader in any way besides age and gender, but if there's something written that feels like projecting a certain look, pls lmk and I will edit/fix it for the future:)

word count: 4.5k

Camp Elk Heart was your home. You knew the layout of Elk Heart like it was the back of your hand. Every turn, every dip in the path, every root and stone, your body had grown accustomed to the trails like it was a part of you. It was a beautiful Friday evening, no clouds, hot but not too humid, and a rare silence was set over the camp grounds. After cleaning all of camp, a brutal time consuming task that was always the bane of everyone’s Friday, you took a well deserved shower. Scrubbing for nearly thirty minutes at your scalp to alleviate all the dirt and sand that kicked up throughout the busy day and cleaning your face to wash away the marks from teary eyed goodbyes to your campers. You changed into a tank top and a pair of sweatpants and as you went to put your shoes back on, you realized you left your sandals in the dining hall. Stepping out of the bathhouse and on to the trail, you grimace as you glance down at your once clean and bright pink shower shoes now dirty, with gravel stuck in the holes after only a few steps.You began to walk a little quicker to the dining hall.

As you walked you admired the land camp occupied. The pines that grew as tall as cathedrals, the lagoon that in its stillness reflected the sky in between large patches of water lilies, and the look of the freshly painted cabins settled in the trees. You came to camp a few weeks early to help with that task, and you took pride in your work. Camp had given you so much, you would do anything to keep in good shape, both internally and externally. You saw a head of hair through the window as you approached the dining hall, not giving it much more thought as you ripped the heavy door open. 

The AC was emitting a terrible grinding noise as you walked into the dining hall, but you were still absolutely sweating despite the pitiful movement coming from the machine. You thought of the last few things you needed before heading home for the weekend. Making a list in your head, dirty laundry, sandals, swimsuit, repeating so you wouldn't forget. Nearly every weekend someone hosted the whole camp for a couple nights. And this week, it was your turn to offer up your house to your friends and co-counselors for the weekend. After this week in the heat, everyone could use a break. A fun, alcohol fueled break. 

You walked briskly into the break room collecting your well worn pair of sandals from your cubby. You noticed your coworker, Steve Harrington, sitting on the couch, clearly not packed or ready to go, he might have even been pouting, you couldn’t tell. You were going to just keep walking, but instead you whipped around and smiled at him.

“Hey! Are you coming tonight?” 

Steve looked up from his Game Boy, the sounds of Super Mario playing gently from the small device in his hands. He looked surprised. 

“Oh, uh, is there something going on tonight?” Steve questions, sounding a little irritated. 

“Yeah! I put it on the Staff board a couple days ago,” you said, acting a little too happy and kindly gesturing towards the note that clearly said ‘MY HOUSE, THIS WEEKEND’ with your address listed below. 

“I’m hosting the party this weekend. Bring beer and a sleeping bag. My dad has a tent set up. You can probably ride with Robin if you ask nicely” you grinned at him. 

Steve first tilted his head towards the board and his face grew red, then he nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll be there.”

You give him a nod back and swiftly turn around, continuing the walk back to your cabin. Steve was…odd. He seemed very charming and friendly, but the only person he ever talked with was Robin, to everyone else he was distant and aloof. Despite this being her first summer as a counselor, Robin had been attending Elk Heart almost as long as you have. Coming to camp for the first time at 8 years old, you completely fell in love with the place. Robin had started going several years later but as campers you became fast friends, growing even closer this summer as counselors.

This was your first summer back since you were 17, and now, at 22, you felt prehistoric compared to the fresh faced 18 and 19 year olds. Steve was the next oldest person after you and Torres, the Northside Director, but Steve was one of the few staff who had never come to camp before. You had sympathy for him, coming to a camp where everyone knew each other and had their friends… that’s a hard barrier to break through. Secretly though, you think the reason Steve only talks to Robin is because he thinks he’s too good for the place, and she just happens to naturally be incredibly cool. You’d heard him complaining about the short breaks despite working 6 days a week, the exhaustion that came with camp life and the lack of ‘babes’ at camp one day. That left a sour taste in your mouth. 

You shook your head from these thoughts, maybe he’s just shy and the shared trauma of being Co’s the first week brought them close. He’s probably not the jerk you’re making him out to be. You entered your cabin and began to stuff your clothes into your duffle bag. Toiletries, towels, dirty laundry, swimsuit… you put your sandals back on your feet and ditched your shower shoes. The one strap sandal was ugly, but functional! You took a second to admire your tan lines, even more obvious now that you’ve scrubbed your feet of all the sand, dirt, and mud that accumulates in a singular day. You completely adored being outside, and the starkness of the tan lines felt like a status symbol. 

A car horn interrupts your thoughts and you hear your friend and fellow counselor, Eddie, scream from his beat up van, “Hurry up Sunshine! Gotta try an’ beat the sunset!” You continued to stuff all the things you needed, triple checking mentally and praying you didn’t leave anything behind. It was only a weekend, but you hated being unprepared. Turning all the lights in the cabin off, you jog out to Eddie’s van.

“I’m here, I’m here!” you shout over the music blasting from the radio. You crack open the door and settle yourself on the worn in passenger seat and chuck your bag into the laps of Torres, Nancy, and Jonathon, all stuffed into the backseat. “Can you toss that in back for me please?” you give the three of them a sweet look and smile. Torres flashes you a sparkling smile and tosses it behind him. 

“You were supposed to meet us at the dining hall! Had to track you down,” he laughed as he grabbed your shoulder playfully. 

“You know how I am,” you roll your eyes playfully. “Had to get some last minute things and thank you for saving me the front seat! Do you know who's all coming?”

Nancy picks up her little pen and paper and begins to read off the list she very generously created to keep track for you, “Robin is driving half of Southside, the other half is driving with Mae, Argyle is bringing all of the people on Northside who are going but Cabin 2, 14, and 4 can’t make it this weekend, so… most of Boys side. I mean Northside.” she rambled.

“Okay, but most of the camp is coming, so that’s great. The tents’ big, but they're not that big!” you laughed and then held your tongue for a moment, “Do you know if Steve is coming?”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t said anything to me. Do you think he got the invite?”

“Yeah, no, I just invited him in when I saw him in the Nor’wester room. Told him to talk to Robin,” I said, trailing off. “I just don’t want him to think I’m like- excluding him or something you know?” I blurted out, looking back at Nancy in the back seat and then at Eddie, sounding a little desperate. 

“I’m sure he’s fine, his ego can take the hit,” Eddie said, passing you his cigarette. As you accept, he asks, “Should I stop at the Junction gas station or wait until we’re closer?”

“Closer, we can get ice at the closer station too”

Eddie smiles and turns the music up even more as you crank his window down, letting the wind whip your hair and cool yourself down, excited for the night but desperately needing a small moment to yourself. 

___

The party is in full swing, bonfire roaring, red solo cups and stomachs full, thanks to your mom’s huge feast. You settled on some light beer and mixed vodka drinks for the night, ‘the full spectrum’, Eddie joked earlier. Filling another cup with a shot or two of cheap vodka and cranberry juice, you walked over to your seat by the bonfire, next to Torres.

“Enjoying the night?” he asked as you sat down, the fire flickering on his smiling face. Torres was one of our international staff members, but you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact he came all the way from Gudalajara to Elkhart, Indiana of ALL places.

“Of course! Are you?” you asked him, leaning close. At the beginning of the summer you harbored a bit of a crush on the man. How could you not! He was handsome and fit and very affectionate, but after a… pretty intense weekend at Mae’s parents house, you both decided to remain friends. Besides, camp relationships hardly ever worked out, it was like incest. Campcest. And you valued his friendship too much to ever ruin that.

“Yeah it’s great, your parents were so kind to do all of this, we’re not an easy crowd to handle you know,” and he wiggled his eyebrows a little and you giggled. 

“I know, Eddie’s already broken one of my mom’s chairs. He begged for forgiveness and promised to repay her but nothing will change the fact that he’s an idiot,” you rolled your eyes. 

Torres laughed at that, and a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. After a distant yell, your friend Patty came over, grabbing on to Torres’s arm, “Torres, you have to be my partner in pong. I will totally suffer without you,” she flirted, looking at him expectantly. Patty was beautiful, tall and thin, with long black hair and the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. You didn’t mind that she liked him, just because you think of it as incest doesn’t mean everyone thinks that way. Besides, they were both close friends of yours, you only wanted them to be happy. 

“Of course pretty girl,” he smiled as he got up, shooting you a wink. You winked back and took another sip of your very strong drink. You stared into the fire for a moment thinking you were alone, appreciating the moment of solitude. You loved hosting but you could only be a social butterfly for so long before you grew exhausted. When you raised your head to look around, Steve was a few plastic chairs away,  already looking at you. He quickly looked away, thankful for the fire to hide his blushing face. You stood up from your chair and walked carefully over to him, being sure not to seem too drunk. Plopping down into the plastic chair next to him you smiled. 

“How are you doing Steve?” you asked him. It was weird. Normally you both were the life of the party. Dancing on table tops, getting kicked out of bars, and trying to beat each other in a shotgun race (your special trick was flashy, but not very effective in a race so he usually won). Tonight though, you were much calmer due to a pretty tiring, hot week with some of your toughest (and most rewarding) campers. 

“I’m good, just a little tired,” he smiled and took a sip out of his water bottle. 

“Me too,” you glanced down at his water bottle, “No drinks tonight? ” you said, faking surprise.

He shook his head and laughed a little, “I promised Robin I would bring her back in the morning and I really don't want to do that hungover. I've had a couple beers though, don’t worry. I’m in a…good spot for now.” He leaned up and to his left, reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of Newports. He sat back and lit one, taking a small drag, he offered it to you, raising his eyebrows. You reached out and imitated him, taking the tiniest inhale. 

“Well, that’s good. Just want to make sure you’re having a good time,” I said very earnestly. A beat of silence. I really don’t know anything about him you thought, disappointed in yourself. Sitting here, realizing you’ve never even been this physically close to him, you felt this deep urge to keep talking to him. Get to know him. Maybe make a friend. 

“Is it weird?” you asked a bit abruptly, passing back his cigarette, “Like, this kind of culture? You’ve never worked at camps before, right?”

“Yeah I mean, it's not what I imagined,” he grimaced a little, “but it’s been alright. I like being able to get tan while lifeguarding,” he said, squishing his face in distaste and taking another drag. “Everyone’s nice…really nice! I don’t know, I just kinda feel different from everyone,” he said slowly, his eyes raking over you in a way that you assume was very unintentional. 

Suddenly, one of your favorite outfits became a source of insecurity. It was simple, but maybe a little too colorful for something so casual. Your shorts were second hand, a light purple pair of quick dry shorts and your sweatshirt was an almost headache inducing pattern of pink, yellow, brown, and purple, but it was your favorite, and the only Patagonia thing you’ve ever purchased. It was expensive, but you were just so drawn to it you had to get. Now, you’re wondering if the bright pattern was off putting to others. You loved how you looked, you thought it screamed ‘camp counselor’ but now you’re wondering if it's just screaming ‘i’m weird - look at me I love attention!!!’. You looked around for a moment. 

“What do you mean? You don’t totally love kids wetting the bed, showering only twice a week, and 6 days of straight 100 degree heat or only pouring rain?” I said, wanting to get my mind off my own insecurities, realizing I was probably overreacting. It seemed malicious though, especially considering every single day he wore jean shorts or an expensive pair of brown hiking pants, while rotating the same few, plain shirts. 

“Yeah, not exactly my thing,” he said, taking another sip. “Do you go to school?” he asked, not looking entirely genuine, you thought maybe he felt obligated to talk to the host of the party. 

“Yeah! Should have graduated last May, but I’ll be done next semester,” You said, feeling a bit ashamed but hoping your face didn’t betray you. Suddenly, a loud cheer exploded from the pong table. Looking behind you, the game looked neck and neck, Torres and Patty having two cups and Nancy and Jonathon having three left. It was obvious Jonathon had no idea what he was doing and Nancy was making all the shots, but still, they were quite cute. You hoped they would last, summer romances were hard to translate into the real world. 

“Really? Why?” he asked, looking entirely shocked, drawing your attention back from the game of pong, “You’re literally the smartest person I know. Are you studying a million things at once?”

“Please, I am not the smartest person you know, you hardly know me,” you shook your head vigorously, “just, you know…do you go to school?” you pivoted, desperate to get yourself out of the spotlight. 

Catching the hint, he nods, “Yeah starting my first year at Indiana,” he said, sounding just as ashamed as you did. “I feel like a… like a weirdo, going to college so late but I didn’t have the grades for the longest time and I honestly had no idea what I wanted to do. Still don’t,” he said, running a hand through his hair. 

“That’s not weird at all. That’s honestly really smart. I really wish I did that. That’s why I’m taking an extra semester. I was so stuck on keeping everyone happy and wanting to make my parents proud that I studied a totally soulless profession that I don’t even care about,” you rambled, surprising yourself with the vulnerability. You don’t even know him, why are you word vomiting so hard right now?

“I wish I had taken a year or two to figure out what I want to do, not what my family wants, not what's expected of me,” you finished, not making eye contact with Steve. 

“What do you want to do?” Steve asked, sounding genuinely interested. 

“I want to teach,” you grinned just thinking about it, “I just love working with kids so much. Not to sound super mushy but… camp has changed my life, it basically saved my life, and it’s made me realize that these relationships are the ones I will cherish forever. The trust you build with your campers is a connection unlike any other and watching them grow in the short time we have them…it’s more rewarding than anything else. I want to do that forever. Camp is so unlike anything I’ve ever done,” you looked over at Steve as you spoke, his eyes were wide and he had a small smile on his face. 

Steve leaned forward a bit, “What do you mean camp changed your life?”

Now was the moment to decide just how vulnerable you wanted to be with Steve. Maybe you just really needed to talk about your feelings or maybe he was just, really easy to talk to. You took a breath, “I came back to camp because I was really unhappy. My major was totally depressing me because I hated the work so much. Coming here really set me on a good direction for life. I was doing things and hanging around people who were bad for me. Being back here makes me realize I don’t need to do those things for friends. Or to be cool. I’m cool without all that other bullshit. You think I’m cool right?” you said, grinning and attempting to relieve the tension of your admission.

“Oh definitely,” he grinned, “all the coolest people I know wear full monochrome outfits on a random Tuesday, start rap battles with condiment bottles, and wear garbage bag ponchos, just so one of your campers wouldn’t feel embarrassed,” Steve laughed as he thought of you this past week, garbage bag poncho over green socks, green shirt, and green pants. He’s not even sure if you’re aware you do that, “I’ve never seen anyone pull off those things like you do. You’ll be a great teacher,” he said genuinely and then took a shallow breath, “My parents told me they’d kill me if I ever became a teacher, so that’s really admirable.”

“What? Why?” you said, still reeling a little from what Steve said. You didn’t think anyone even noticed those things about you, much less Steve, someone you’ve hardly spoken with this entire time. 

“Because it doesn’t make any money,” he looked away, “My parents…my dad… have these sky high expectations for me. I don’t even really know him. He's been pressuring me for years to go to college, study business or something ‘useful’, meet a girl, get married, and all that bullshit,” he spat out, “But it never felt right. I guess that’s kind of why I’m here. Trying something new, trying to find myself, a little,” he said, getting quieter and then, “I don’t think my parents even like me. They’ve never said it but I’m pretty sure they think I’m a failure. My entire life they’ve pushed this- this agenda on me while being states away, working, constantly. Hard to parent when you’re halfway across the country and forget to call,” he said, staring into the fire and taking an aggressive drink of his water, probably wishing it was something stronger. 

You were quiet for a moment and spared a glance into your parents house. Your parents were wonderful, but you were the first of your family to ever go to college and they had no idea the pressure they were putting on you. Your parents were constantly working while growing up so they could provide you the opportunity to go to college. But still, you feel like you hardly know them, “I get that,” you said slowly, “My parents love me, but they don’t know me. They’re so afraid of me becoming like them they tried to force me to become a- a lawyer,” your face twisted at the thought of it, “because all the best lawyers let kids dye their hair blue with Kool-Aid.” You laughed, looking at Steve from the corner of your eye. You felt so comfortable sharing these things with him, but you’re not too sure why. You’re not even friends. Maybe it was the firelight or his big, brown eyes enticing you to spill your guts. Maybe you were just drunk. 

“You’re not a failure, by the way,” you said gently, Steve was still looking at the fire. “I think you did it the smart way,, the right way, if there's even such a thing. Whatever you decide to do you’ll be great at it, but don’t do what I did. Don’t try to study something your heart is truly not invested in, that’s how you fail classes, flunk out.” you said, knowingly.

He smiled bitterly, “I guess we’re two sides of the same coin huh?” but the bitterness melted into a real smile as he looked at you. 

“Yeah,” you said, reaching out to grab his hand gently, “you know, I go to Indiana too. If you want, when you get there, I can show you the ropes. All the best routes, best places to eat, good professors, all that stuff.” you spoke, hoping to not sound too eager. 

“Really? Would you?” He raised his eyebrows, holding your hand tighter.

“Of course Harrington, I love taking a little freshman under my wings,” I winked at him. 

“I am not little,” Steve said leaning in a little more, he looked like he wanted to stay more but then-

“Come on Sunshine, can’t sit by the fire all night! You’re my pong partner!” Eddie yelled from the table, “We play winners,” he gestured to Nancy and Jonathon, who were looking between you and Steve, and your hands held together. 

You abruptly pulled your hand out from his and practically jumped out of your seat. “Don’t have to ask me twice!” and quickly walked over to Eddie’s side. He tossed his arm over your shoulder and you snuck a glance at Steve. Steve was looking at the ground and gave a curt nod to no one in particular, and spun back around to stare into the fire. You felt sick to your stomach for a moment, regretting leaving the warmth of the fire, the warmth of his… 

You blinked hard and looked up at Eddie, who was holding out the other pong ball, “You ready to play?”

___

The sun shone through the windows of the tent you and your coworkers slept in that night, sleeping bags squished together, head to toe and stuffed like sardines. The room was hot with the morning sun beating down, the down in your sleeping bag doing its job, and the heat of a dozen young adults in one room combined with your own hangover was making you nauseous. As quietly as you could manage, you stumbled out of the tent. Immediately, you notice in your driveway that Robin’s car is gone. You glance back in the tent and see most of Southside is gone including Steve. You ignored the slight drop in your heart when you realized he was gone. It wasn’t even 8 am, Robin really needed to get back I guess. You wished you could have spoken to Steve a little more. It was so…refreshing to speak to someone so freely, without judgement. Or was that all in your head, spurred on by the drinks in your hand? You couldn’t be sure anymore, the memory of last night becoming a bit hazy after leaving Steve by the fire. 

You padded across your front lawn barefoot (where were your sandals?) into your parents house. Expecting a morning full of cleaning, you were shocked at the site of your parents home. The destruction of last night was stuffed into garbage bags, plates were in the dishwasher, and your couch, with a million different pillows and blankets, was straightened up. You gasped, seeing how clean it was, and making a mental note to thank whoever did this. You double checked that everything was clean and started up the dishwasher. You walked into your childhood bedroom and coat room to organize everyone’s things to make their departure a little easier and reduce the chances of someone leaving their things. As you entered you saw a note on your bed, scrawled quickly in the glitter pen that sat on your desk. It read:

Thanks for the party. I’m really glad we talked. It meant a lot. Hope I put everything away in the right spot -Steve

You put your hand flew to cover your mouth. How… kind of him. You figured maybe Robin or Patty had cleaned up, but Steve? You’ve seen him clean on Fridays; your first week you had to show him how to hold a broom and mop properly. There was no way he did this on his own. 

You thought back on your conversation last night, forcing your brain to conjure back up the moment, regardless of the headache that was forming. You thought of the warmth of the bonfire and the callous feel of his finger tips, and the genuine look in his eyes when he called you ‘the coolest’. A giddy feeling entered your body, a new friend! Especially to make a friend with someone as standoffish as Steve, this felt like quite the accomplishment. You vowed to seek him out this weekend before camp starts and thank him. Your excitement grew over the prospect of being able to build and share memories with another person, your chest beating quickly just thinking about it. You wondered what traditions he knew of and which ones he didn't. Like, has he ever stargazed on the roof of the Nature Center? Swam to the water trampoline and spend the night? You put the note in your pajama pocket, your face growing warm at the thought of hanging out with Steve. You practically skipped out of your house and began to count down the hours until you were back at camp again. 

[tieflingteatime]

13 days until we get to kiss astarion with no mind flayer screen. how are we feeling

[trekkele]

Fucking Wild that 'children can wrong their parents' is a hot-take.

Like… damn. Parents don’t control their kid‘s every action. Even great parents.

Have these people ever MET a teenager??? They‘re usually at least a little mean and overly sensitive, and sometimes even for no reason.

Idk. Weird that some think of children only as a product of their parents rather than their own person.

Nooooo don’t you know that baby is forever and ever and baby can never hurt anyone???

But honestly i do understand why its a hot button issue and why someone would knee-jerk react like that, its just. Such a basic part of growing up. I wasn’t even referring to teenagers!! Everyone knows teenagers are Like That they grow out of it, its fine (<- doesnt have teenagers, cried in the bathroom the first time her kid called her mean). I was fully referring to grown ass adults with taxes and jobs and college classes.

[july-19th-club]

forced myself to finish this book even though by the last hundred pages or so all i was doing was picking apart the post-catholicism of it all. bc i feel like it's important to read shit you don't gel with . just because. even though the whole way through i was like they HAVE to prove it's not real. they HAVE to. so not the point of any of it but i was desperate for them to Find The Body etc. and of course instead they have mystical time travel experiences and all that because that is the kind of book the actual star is but i was desperate for them to realize that the star you see is the actual star. and then it wasn't

[nobodybetterlookatme]

Guess who's going on an actual fr date on Saturday ahsjakkskaksl

[light-wrath-paradise]

When I start having a panic attack about visiting my family I know it's time to go to sleep immediately no ifs no buts

[selfnss]

// i was gonna write something today like i was gonna write literally anything just Something.... but my meds are changing and im not feeling too hot actually so i just. Didn't write anything at all i guess... getting brain zaps from coming off sertraline and also just not coping well with life atm i guess. sorry for the lack of content i'm just in a very weird place right now and i really don't know how to cope with it tbh

[landofgay]

excited for another day of my one supervisor telling me I'm doing an amazing job and gushing over me vs my other supervisor and my "boss" who's not supposed to still be my boss persay or not in the way she was anyways, they fucking act like I'm scum for trying to get ahead by *glances at notes* helping my supervisors

[naivety]

this is why i'm a deadcoded samgirl

[phagodyke]

ik its 4am I just woke up but I can't believe my roommate got upset with me bc she thought I thought she was "anti feminist" for shaving. girl I literally never fucking said that. sorry I was incessantly bullied by strangers friends and family for not shaving as a teen and so body hair positivity is important to me + sorry I like body hair on myself and other ppl and have explicitly said I find it attractive before. I don't care that u shave but I'm not going to clap and cheer abt it? ur already fulfilling societal expectations so why do u need my approval on top of that? its such a non issue like how the fuck is a masc dyke making u feel insecure abt ur cis femininity lmao

[confinesofmy]

my mom was kinda eh shrug about my cousins but she could call them when she needed help and they'd come. i'm kind of eh shrug about my cousins and i can call them when i need help and they will say they're not really sure what they can do about that but it'll probably work itself out and then talk about watching a dog i used to sleep with every night ***** *** while doing nothing and this will be how i find out he's died.