#asexual reader

Four months ago, you’d agreed to a blind date that turned out to be the best thing you’ve ever done.

You hadn’t dated in years. This was by choice, needing time to figure yourself out and focus on your career.

You hadn’t agreed out of loneliness, exactly. You’d made a life that fit you well, and didn’t need a partner. You had a comfortable home and a good job.

But your friend had asked you to just go on one date with this guy she knows, because you were her only single friend.

“He’s nice,” she’d told you. “Like, such a sweetheart. He’s a schoolteacher, and you can tell he enjoys his job. He’s kind of awkward at first but he’s really funny once he warms up to you. I think you’ll like him.”

You did, in fact, like him.

Ryland Grace is unlike most men you’ve dated in the past. He’s awkward in a way that feels unpracticed rather than off-putting, like he never learned the same script that everyone else seems to follow. Your friend wasn’t wrong about him. He’s kind. He’s funny in a slightly rambling, very self-aware way. He’s genuine in a way that makes you feel at ease.

He’s never been anything but polite since the very first time you met. Careful, almost, with your space. With you.

After a few months of quiet dinners, long walks and good conversation that never felt forced, he’d asked if you’d like to make it official. You’d said yes without hesitation.

The topic of sex hasn’t really come up.

You noticed that quickly. He hasn’t even asked if you’d like to, hasn’t made a single advance. You’re grateful for that in ways you don’t know how to express.

You’re asexual. Always have been, you just didn’t figure it out for a very long time. The idea of sex doesn’t repulse you, you just don’t want to. Past partners haven’t always understood that.

It’s not like you haven’t cuddled with Ryland, been physically intimate in ways that aren’t sexual. You do enjoy kissing him.

But you’re unsure if he wants anything more.

Delaying the conversation even longer just feels stupid when it’s inevitable anyway, so you have a plan.

This evening, you’re going to his place for dinner. You’ll talk to him about it then and hope for the best.

The evening rolls around, cool air and darkness rolling over San Francisco like gentle waves over sand.

You arrive at Ryland’s apartment with a bottle of wine and the words you’ve already carefully chosen flitting around your mind like frantic butterflies with no place to go.

Dinner is nice. He jokes about not getting to cook very often, he usually just opts for frozen meals because he is- he was a single man living alone.

The words slip out halfway through the meal.

“How do you feel about sex?”

You blanch at your own words. That isn’t how you meant to say it.

He chokes on his wine, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Wh-what?!” He coughs, setting his glass down with a slightly unsteady hand.

“That came out wrong, I’m so sorry,” you reply hastily. “I mean to ask, well… is sex important to you in a relationship?”

He blinks at you, processing the words.

“Um- not really. I mean, it’s… okay, I guess? I’ve only…” he trails off, looking embarrassed.

“You’ve only what?”

“I’ve only had it a few times. I enjoyed it, but uh…” he pauses, trying to find the words. “I’m not really- I’m not interested in it, exactly. I could definitely live without it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Good. That makes this so much easier.”

“What? Why?” He tilts his head.

“Ryland, I’m asexual,” you study his face for a reaction.

“Asexual. That’s the thing where you don’t feel sexual attraction, right?” he asks, thrumming his fingers against the table.

“Yes, that’s the definition,” you nod. “But lots of ace people experience it differently, it’s a spectrum.”

“How do you experience it?” He looks genuinely curious.

“Well, I’ve experienced sexual attraction in the past. Sometimes I still do, but it’s very rare. I’ve had sex in the past and enjoyed it, but like you, I’m just not really interested.” You explain, shrugging.

“Oh,” he stares down at his hands then looks back at you. “I didn’t know anyone else felt like that. I thought I was just weird, broken.”

“You’re not broken, Ryland.”

“Do you think I might… be asexual?”

“If that’s what you feel comfortable with, then yes. But you don’t have to label yourself.”

“Okay… I- thank you for- uh- for telling me. For trusting me with that,” he reaches across to you and takes your hand, squeezing it gently.

“You don’t need to thank me,” you squeeze his hand back. “I really like you, and I can see this relationship going somewhere. I just needed to make sure you understood that sex isn’t really… a thing we’ll be doing.”

“That’s fine- that’s completely fine. We can just… cuddle and watch movies. Do I still get to kiss you?”

You laugh. “Yes, Ry. You still get to kiss me.”

“Alright, that’s good.”

There’s a pause where you maintain comfortable eye contact before he breaks it.

“I have ice cream for dessert. Wanna eat that on the couch and watch The Hobbit?”

“Absolutely,” you grin. “We should binge the whole LOTR series.”

His face lights up at that.

“Really? You’d do that? I have the extended editions on DVD, it will take us a while to get through them but we can definitely do it!”

“I’ve never watched the extended editions,” you admit. “How much longer are they?”

“They add about two hours to the runtime, but it’s so worth it! They add so many amazing scenes that you don’t get in the normal movies- oh, wow, sorry. I’m being a bit intense.” He smiles sheepishly.

“No, keep going. I want to hear more,” you lean forward, genuinely interested.

“Okay, so…”

Frank Langdon

Frank pretty early in your relationship starts flirting with you and makes sexual moves

When you come out to him you have to sit him down and explain it to him in like three different ways

He gets really confused and worried half way through because he thinks you're trying to tell him you aren't attracted to him at all

Eventually he agrees to give it a try

He hasn't been in a sexless relationship since high school, but he really likes you, and he's confident you can figure it out

If you're comfortable having sex sometimes, or sexting/watching him jerk off he will absolutely ask for that

He's very careful to not ask for more than you're comfortable, but anything that you are willing to give him sexually, he will gobble up

He learns to value nights in where you are just cuddling and watching movies rather than having sex

A year into your relationship, he couldn't imagine dating anyone other than you

Jack Abbot

This is new territory for Jack

He's very cautious of your boundaries, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, or push you too far sexually

You have to pull him into bed in order to cuddle with him for the first time

Once you guys have been dating for a while, he gets really really touchy

He loves pressing casual kisses into your forehead while you're cooking, or reading in bed, or enveloping you into a hug whenever you are co existing

His coworkers love to comment on how much softer he is now that he's a taken man

You two make so many innuendos and dirty jokes that no one could ever guess that you're actually asexual

Samira Mohan

When you tell Samira you're Asexual, she's instantly understanding

She's never been particularly sexual, always too absorbed in work and schooling, to the point that you're on of her first serious relationships

As you two get closer she gets more and more used to casual intimacy

Her coworkers keep asking if she's gotten laid (McKay), and she just blushes

She's the little spoon, doesn't matter how tall you are, what body type you have, she'll find a way to be little spoon

Any and all sex jokes make her flush to hell and back

She'll curl up next to you giggling at your sex jokes despite the fact that she's only seen you naked in the shower, and during the summer

The Pitt Taglist: (Comment or DM to be added)

You roll your eyes and took another sip, phone buzzing on the table, but you didn’t bother checking, your eyes drifting over to the glass window overlooking the busy street. Celena raised a brow, eyes darting between the phone and your face for a couple of seconds. When the screen turned blank, she clears her throat.

“What?” You ask, feeling her gaze, lowering the cup to get a full view of her judgmental look.

“Not gonna check that?”

“It’s probably Ry,” you shrug, and she seems even more confused.

“Well… wouldn’t you want to respond to your boyfriend?”

A silence stretched, your face becoming visibly more uncomfortable. She sighed, leg steadily slipping closer and nudging your foot.

“What happened?” She asked, tilting her head so that her ponytail swayed to the side. She was your best friend because she knew everything about you. Especially your very hard, unmanageable love life. But she has heard nothing but good things about this one.

Ryland was your first real partner. You had met at a coffee shop closer to Grover Cleaveland Middle, when you were sitting at one of the booths working on some of your work, while Celena ran to the bathroom after spilling her iced coffee over herself. She had come back just in time to see him offering his number to you.

That was months ago, and everything was perfect with him. Well. Except for the small detail that. He hasn’t tried to have sex with you. Well, you don’t mind, you prefer this, that he doesn’t make a move. But he keeps delaying it, and it has never come up in a conversation, which only makes this harder to deal with. It’ll only hurt more when he eventually finds out you never want it. And that he’ll prefer someone who will.

“Nothing, we’re good,” you reply, with a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but Celena doesn’t push, even if she wanted to know, only nodding and continuing to talk about her own love life, or lack thereof.

But your head wasn't in it, your phone buzzed again, a message from ‘Ryry <3’ popped up, an image. You didn’t reach out, waiting for the screen to go black again, reflecting the lights on the ceiling. The room was spinning, and Celena was too hyper.

“I need to go,” you got up abruptly, and she stared at you, not saying a word as she watched you walk away.

The walk to your apartment was long, but needed. You opted out of grabbing the bus, deciding you needed the fresh air. The cold breeze was a much needed contrast from the warm cafe, but it got you out of that weird headspace, so you’re thankful. You felt another vibration as you walked into the building, but at this point, you’d rather just check it when you were in the comfort of your room.

You unlock the front door of your apartment, well. You were going to unlock it. But as soon as you grabbed the handle to put in the key, it opened. A chill ran down your spine. You locked the door this morning; you made sure you did. Maybe-

“Sweetie?” A voice called out from inside your apartment, and it made you stiff at the door.

You hadn’t answered his messages, they were from an hour ago at least, the newest one just 5 minutes ago when you were downstairs. Maybe you could say your phone died? No, that wouldn’t work. Wait. Why was he here?

You had given him a key at some point for emergencies. One time, you were deathly sick, and he was in and out for the whole week, it only made sense for him to have your spare. But he kept it, not because you didn’t ask for it back, but because you told him to keep it, and it slipped your mind until this very moment.

You heard footsteps approach the door, and it caused panic to overcome your entire body, slamming it shut. It was only cracked open an inch, but it was loud when it closed, shaking the sign that your neighbor had up on their own door. It’s like you could feel his presence on the other side, waiting. The ticking seconds from your watch became agonizing as they passed.

He called out your name from the other side, it sounds careful, muffled by the thick wooden door. From your side, you saw the doorknob rattle for a few seconds as he tried to grab it, and then the door creeks open slowly.

He stood there, looking at you with curious eyes. You’ve been acting weird for the last couple of weeks. Dates he planned would be canceled, messages were cut short, and phone calls were nonexistent at this point. It was a stark contrast to how it was when you first started going out, there was a nonexistent wall between your lives.

Ryland looks tired. He wasn’t wearing his tie, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his glasses were hanging around his jaw like always. You could smell the faint aroma of pasta coming from inside your apartment. He didn’t like to cook, in fact, he's one of the worst cooks you know. Why was he cooking? Was he letting you down easy? Did he figure it out?

“Ryland,” it was breathless, your smile wasnt there, it didn't reach your eyes like the one he's come to love. You stared at him, waiting, unsure if you should hug him, kiss him, or run away and hide at Celena’s apartment. Sure, it’s a 30 minute walk, but you could make it in ten if you ran fast enough.

He whispers your name, stepping to the side to let you in. You hesitate. Because as soon as that door closes, he’s going to fight, surely. They’re all the same.

This is why you don’t date anymore. It’s too complicated because you’re complicated. Because you decide to be selfish about what you want in your life. And they always hate it.

The door shut behind you, lock echoing in the small hall. You’re looking at the ground, taking off your shoes, but his eyes wouldn’t leave your figure. You were waiting for him to raise his voice, to hear the questions being thrown at you. But nothing came, and somehow that was worse. If you act normal, maybe, just maybe, you could avoid the inevitable.

You can’t lose him today. Or tomorrow. You simply can’t lose him.

“How was your day?” You ask, trying to act casual, like it doesn’t twist your heart to know he won’t love you anymore when you can’t give him what he wants.

You wanted to get this over with.

You need him to stay with you.

He was quiet, observing you as he leaned against the door, giving you space as he waited. You didn’t turn around to face him when you stood up straight.

“It was long, kids were a mess, Lucas spilled water over some papers on my desk, so I had to reprint them before leaving.” He said from where he stood, voice even and warm, like any other time he’d tell you about his day.

Usually, it would occur over dinner you’d cook at his place, or cuddling on the couch watching some show that you put on to pass the time. His fingers would leave delicate paths down your arm, the tingly sensation becoming a comfort you looked forward to when you were with him.

You couldn’t have this conversation. You didn’t want to lose him over this.

“Sorry to hear.” It was genuine, but your voice felt tight.

Maybe this one time… you could pretend. He’s not like the others. Maybe you can tolerate it this time.

Just as he was about to speak again, you started to walk away, excusing yourself to take a shower. He let you, watching your figure retreat to your room, and hearing the shower running as he finished making a simple dinner for both of you, which was honestly just so surprising. He had mentioned it on one of your first dates, nervously rambling because you just looked so perfect beside his messy brain, laughing about how hopeless he was in a kitchen. Yet here he was anyway, making pasta on a Friday night with the help of a tutorial, putting in effort where he easily could’ve taken the simpler route.

Ryland was already sitting at one of the barstools in the kitchen when you walked out, your pj pants dragging on the floor, the worn out baggy tee he had let you borrow one time (and never asked for back) was hiding anything you could be showing off. It was a stark contrast to his jeans and button up shirt, his tie was probably hanging with his blazer near the entrance, and you hadn’t noticed he was here for that long. He didn’t even stop by his place to shower first.

“When did you get here?” You asked as you walk past him, fidgeting with the stool in front of you, not looking at him.

“Round 4. I texted you, but you didn’t answer, so I let myself in.”

Ah, that was the text you ignored.

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t see it.” He simply hummed at your answer.

The silence stretched, the stool whined under your weight as you sat on it. The steam of the pasta wasnt giving up, fogging up the edge of your glasses when you peak over to look at the bowl.

“Thank you for the food, you didn't have to cook.” You broke the silence, still not looking at him. He smiled, followed by a forced laugh.

“Well, I wanted to.” Then it was quiet again.

You weren’t sure how long he would wait.

You grab the fork in your bowl, twirling the pasta around it, and letting a few of the pieces slide off. He was watching intently, figuring out the puzzle in his head from your lack of communication.

He hates confrontation; his last relationship left him with a need for answers after she ended things abruptly one night, and now, you’re pushing him away for no real reason. Was it because he left the toilet seat up the last time he came over? Did he mess up when you guys were making out and he cut it short? Maybe.

He needs answers. Screw being scared, he can't lose you over this, over not knowing. He would rather be hurt with your words than the unnerving silence you’re giving him.

“Why are you hiding from me?”

There it is.

He turned to face you now, resting his weight on the arm that leaned against the countertop. You stilled, hands coming down and neatly folding on your lap, not looking up at him. The pasta was very interesting anyway.

“I’m not," you mumbled, “I'm right here.” You add to lighten the mood, but his brows furrowed.

He usually loves jokes.

“You are. You are hiding,” he repeats, tilting his head just enough to be in your line of vision. “Your texts are short, if you even respond. We haven’t had a date in 3 weeks. Phone calls go to voicemail.”

His voice sounds. Heavy. Tired. Not judging, not trying to sound mad at you, because he wasn’t. Just wanting, trying to understand you. You weren’t something that came with instructions, not something he could research until he found everything he was looking for. But he needs to understand, wants to know what’s wrong.

You went to turn the stool away from him, but he catches the back of it and swivels you to face him, his sock catching the footrest of your stool and bringing you closer. The screech of metal against wood wasn’t harmonic, but he didn’t care.

He cares about you. And you weren’t being yourself for the past month.

“Baby, please.” He’s not forcing you to look at him, but god did he want you to. His hand hovered over your thigh, but he saw the molecular movement of your body as you tensed and calmed down. He decided to place his hand on the edge of the stool instead.

When you didn’t answer, it pushed him to talk more.

“You’ve been… different. And I’m sorry if I did something to make you uncomfortable or upset, but I need you to talk to me. I-“ he clears his throat, running his fingers through his already messy hair.

“I want us to be good. Please, just help me fix whatever I did.”

It broke you. How genuine he sounds, how distraught his voice and his appearance are. The fact that he thinks he did something wrong. You finally look up, catching his intense stare. And the edge of his lips turns up when he finally gets to see your beautiful face. He allowed the silence to happen, trying his best to not disturb it. But god was it hard when all he wanted was to hear your voice.

“I...” you stop, trying to think this through.

You’ve never really had a normal conversation about this. Sure, your friends knew, but that was different; you didn’t have to worry about disappointing them with your lack of experience, or lack of wanting to experience it.

Every time this came up with a past relationship, it was minutes before it was about to happen. Either they’d leave, saying they would call, or tell you to leave so they could think.

As if your way of living was a problem to them. A weight on their shoulders they couldn’t carry.

You take a deep breath, and you feel his warm hand engulf yours, which were still hiding in your lap. You hadn’t even noticed they started shaking.

“There’s something. Something I should’ve brought up before.” You look away for a second, eyes wandering around the room before trying to look at him again. “It’s… not something you did, or well. It’s-“ your voice dies, a strangled sound invading the words that you wanted to say.

“Breathe,” he interrupts your lack of words, squeezing your hand three times. You take deep breaths and feel the sting in your eyes. His other hand came to rest around your elbow, the contact was comforting.

This one you don’t want to lose.

Ryland Grace has been one of the best people in your entire life. And these last few months have been everything to you. You can’t throw this all away. His way of loving you was different.

“I'm… I have a low libido. And. A lack of want when it comes to sexual intimacy.” It felt more explanatory than just saying a word that he most likely wouldn’t understand. And you wanted to say more, suggest that you’d still have sex with him, but the words couldn’t escape you. It felt wrong just thinking it.

“It’s this... thing called asexuality. I. I understand if it’s confusing, if you don’t want to be with me anymore. I was selfish to not share when I met you. I was trying to find the right time, but. It just-“ you sigh. He’s gonna end things now.

His hand doesn’t falter in his touch, and he doesn’t flinch. He stayed there, waiting. And it. Surprised you.

“Why would I leave?” He asked, voice soft.

The question made your heart slow for a second. You furrow your brows because this isn’t how it usually goes.

When you finally look again, he's not mad. His hand was still gentle, his voice wasnt raised. It’s just Ryland.

He laughs to himself, sighing a breath of relief as he leans back, still not letting go. “I thought I- I did something that was making you pull away, that maybe the fact I wasn’t doing something right was making you hurt. And hearing that is just a relief.”

He knew what it was? Well, it wouldn’t surprise you, he teaches kids who are probably figuring out their identity during 5th period.

There was no outburst, no disappointment, or I can change you. Just quiet acceptance.

The cogs turned in your head, the nails digging into your palm slowly start to lose strength. “You don’t… mind?”

He thought out his words, his free hand tapping the counter.

“I’d be a hypocrite if I got upset.” He lands on and waits for his words to sink into your brain.

Oh.

Oh.

You shot up, startling both of you. His hand retracts but stays near just in case you manage to slip.

“You’re-“ you cut yourself off, analyzing the implications of his words. He’s also. He is??

“Well, I mean, I've never really settled on a title, but-” he starts, but stops when he sees the pure happiness in your face. And when your arms wrap around his shoulders, he only holds you tighter.

“I didn’t wanna- I was so scared I would lose you.” Your words were muffled by his shirt, but he understood everything. How you felt, why you felt it. Maybe it was different for him, maybe this needed to be a deeper, more throughout conversation. But for now, he kisses your forehead gently, his hands rubbing the soft fabric of your shirt in a comforting motion.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

…

“The pastas burnt by the way.”

“You haven’t even tried it.”