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quazart · 2 years ago

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(Movie)Knuckles x (platonic!) Reader

A little fic I made on a whim, after discovering that echidnas had pouches.

The Pouch

You stared at the echidna. He stares back, confused by your expression.

"How long?"You ask, not even needing to finish your sentence for him to know what you meant.

"Uh, my entire life? Oh wait, no, apologies. When I was just growing out of my puggle years."

"So, at least, since we've known each other, you've had this?"

He nods.

Let's rewind.

You were asked by the Wachowski couple to watch over their sons for a day. Babysit basically. Of course you agreed. Honestly though, you'd really only need to look after Sonic. Knuckles, the elder of the three brothers, your best friend, was fairly mature for his age. Though, on rare occasions, he can be roped into mischief, almost always by Sonic.

The youngest of the three, Tails, would be going to work with Maddie. Leaving you three alone.

Tom was the first to leave, with Maddie right behind him. The sheriff hugged each of his sons and ruffling the hair on your head before waving goodbye, as he walked out the door.

The veterinarian was giving you a quick run down on what the boys could and couldn't do. What they could and couldn't eat, etc.

Her final departing words being-

"By the way. Sonic is grounded again. Knuckles already hid his phone to keep him from finding and getting it again. If you see he's got it, just shoot me a text and I'll handle it through a call or when I get home."

" Yes, ma'am."

You hear Sonic scoff somewhere behind you and Knuckles.

Maddie turns away and checks her purse for everything she'll need. "Alright, well I think that's it. Good luck."

You smile and wave bye as she shuts and locks the door behind her and Tails after the kit quickly hugged you and his siblings. Yelling out a goodbye before taking off toward the car in excitement. Ecstatic about joining his mother and visiting all the animals she cares for.

All three of you watching her as she pulls out of the driveway, and drives past the trees, out of sight.

You and Knuckles turn around but pause as you're suddenly face to face with a certain smug looking hedgehog.

He rocked back and forth on his feet in front of Knuckles. The echidna already knowing what he's planning, gives him an unamused expression.

"So Big Red? Mind giving me a hint?"

The echidna frowns with a , "No.", and walks away, with you right beside him.

Sonic grabs his arm, trying to stop him, but Knux just keeps on walking, not caring at all. The hedgehog letting himself be dragged by his brother.

"Oh come on, be a pal!"

Knuckles waves him off and lays back on the couch beside you. His own phone in hand.

"No. I do not want to be your pal. I am already your brother."

"Ugh!"

He suddenly pauses and turns to you. Big puppy dog eyes at their strongest.

You take the remote in hand and begin flipping through channels on the t.v.

"Yeah, I don't think so blue."

"But why? Look, how about five minutes?! Just five, I swear."

You and Knux look at each other, with bored expressions on your faces, then back to your electronics.

Both of you answering, "Nah.", at the same time.

Sonic growls in frustration, but then pulls out the big guns. He takes a deep breath and opens his big mouth.

Ten minutes later of on and on chatter, you and Knux were losing your patience with the blue blur.

Knux is the one to finally give in.

"ALRIGHT!!!" He bursts, partially sitting himself up on his elbows.

You sigh and watch the hedgehog smile, thinking he'd won.

You sigh at the nuisance," Oh my gosh! You can be so annoying!"

He smirks,"Hah, well this annoying hedgehog is about to get his phone back-"

Knuckles sits up all the way, interrupting his brother.

"Not so fast. You can have your device back IF, you can find it within the next two minutes. You may have it back and we will not say a word to mother. You would just need to give it back before anyone arrives home."

Sonic salutes and gets into running position." When you're ready captain!"

Knuckles lays back down and looks at his phone's clock, "I am not a captain. Go."

One minute and thirty seconds later and he's turned the house upside down, with no sign of his phone.

'Where is it?!.. Wait!!'

He runs to you and snags your phone, quickly dialing his number and calling it.

You quickly lean towards, "Hey!" But he holds up a finger, signaling you to wait.

You huff and cross your arms.

Knuckles smiles as he watches the clock. Ten seconds left, then he'll have peace and quiet.

"You will not hear it. Mother turned off its volume for this exact reason." He warns, but what he didn't know, was that Maddie had left it on vibrate.

A faint buzzing noise sounds off and Sonic scrambles around for the device, with no sign of it.

You're confused. It sounds like it's right beside you, but where?

You look at Knux to see him clench his jaw, and lean forward a bit. Only noticable to you, since you were paying attention and sitting right next to him.

He bites his lip and stares towards Sonic's hand. The one holding your phone and suddenly crosses his arms tightly against himself.

'What is up with him?'

Sonic finally notices with five seconds left. The buzzing was coming from, 'his brother?!'

"What the heck Knux! You ate my phone?!"

Your eyebrows raise, and you look at your friend.

Who's trying to keep a straight face like someone just told him the funniest joke or something. Arms tightened against his stomach.

"Don't be ridiculous." He manages to say through his giggling.

You don't know why he's fighting a laugh, but the sounds he's making make you smile and start to laugh too. He rarely ever laughed, let alone giggle. So his sudden giggles really hit your funny bone.

"Why are you laughing?" He asks.

"Huh? Well, why are you laughing?"

The phone stops calling, going to voicemail and Knuckles sigh in relief.

He looks toward his brother and grins. "Looks like you lose, hedgehog."

Sonic groans, frustrated by his defeat. He gently tosses the phone beside you on the couch.

"Well how's that fair! How am I supposed to get it from inside your gut!"

Knux scoffs, " It is not inside me. Of all the foolish-."

This time you call Sonic's phone. The vibrating starts again, making Knuckles sit up with a grunt, and catches himself before a chuckle could escape him.

You and Sonic look at each other, then back to your friend.

That's when Knuckles finally shows you guys.

He removes his arms from his stomach and raises a hand over it, before reaching into-?! He had a hidden pocket on his stomach?!

Bringing his hand back out, he'd retrieved Sonic's phone, holding it infront of him with a smirk.

Both you and Sonic stared at the phone, then to Knuckles' stomach, where the pouch hid very well because of his fur.

Knuckles face contorted into one of confusion.

"What?"

And now were back to the present.

"You've had this and you didn't think to tell me!" You grabbed his shoulders and shook him a bit.

"Why would I?! I do not see how having a pouch would be so important as to inform you about it." He said between shakes.

"Dude, this is awsome, you have a body pocket! How is that not important information! What else can you do, or have!"

His mouth is agape still confused by your sudden interest in him because of something as simple as a pouch. A blush covers his muzzle.

"Uh..."

With this distraction, Sonic swipes his phone from the echidna's grip and takes off with a maniacal laugh.

"Haha, sucker! Catch me if you can!"

Knuckles instantly breaks out of his stupor and takes off after him.

"Sonic!!!"

Leaving you thinking of all the awsome and helpful uses he could use his pouch for. He was like a little kangaroo!

You hear something get knocked over and you suddenly remember why you're here.

To watch the brothers so nobody gets hurt and nothing gets damaged. But now that you think about it, even if you tried, you doubt you'd be able to catch up to them. Or have the strength to pull them apart if you could!

Then you have an idea.

"Ha, what was that knucklehead?"

"Why you foul-!"

(*beeeeeeeep* *beeeeeeeep*-)

They both freeze where they are, the sound of somebody calling on their phone with the speaker on. And, as soon as the voice on the other side answers, the boys are suddenly back on the couch. Knuckles holding Sonic's phone and shoving it back in his pouch.

A few seconds before.

"Hey, (y/n) , how's everything. The boys giving you trouble?"

Before you could answer, stumbling and grunts echo in the house, getting louder til your two friends are on either side of you, silent. Gazing ahead at the t.v. with blank expressions. You catch Knuckles shoving Sonic's phone back into his pouch.

"No. No, everything's fine. Just checking up with you, is all. "

"Oh, well thanks hun...And boys?" Her voice grew scary as she addressed the brothers. They both stiffen, knowing she knew they'd done something they shouldn't have.

"Behave."

"Yes, mom!"

"Yes, mother!"

You say bye to Maddie and hang up.

Your friends glance at you, but quickly are back to the screen when you notice.

"That wasn't fair. " Sonic pouts.

You shrug." Life's not fair. And besides, how fair do your powers make it for me to babysit you two?"

He grumbles and crosses his arms.

You look back at your best friend, who was currently laying back on the couch again. Having relaxed since your call to his mom. You pick up where you left off.

Leaning back and holding your head in one hand.

"So?"

He blinks and looks at you, "So...what?"

"What other secrets have you been hiding from me?"

He sits up on his elbows and squints at you, "Why do you insist, so much, in learning about me?"

You shrug, " It's just interesting, and cool. What's the harm in wanting to learn more about my best friend?"

He hums," Nothing, I suppose. And we are friends afterall.. Alright."

"Yes!"

He lays back down and rests his head in his folded arms, behind him.

"First of all, it is called a pouch, not a pocket, as you mentioned before. Its original purpose is to hold and incubate a puggle before and after hatching. For however long their parents can hold their weight, until their spines had almost fully grown in or until they can walk on their own-"

"Wait, wait, wait. Hatching? You came from an egg?" Sonic had interrupted his brother, honestly surprised by this fact.

"Of course I hatched, what other way is there?"

The hedgehog turns red, and looks to you for help.

You awkwardly cough into your hand and pat Knux on his arm. "I'll ask Maddie to tell you later. Please, continue. "

"Hmm. Anyways, as far as I can remember, I don't recall a pouch ever being used for anything else, as it feels strange carrying things in it. I had never used it before, until recently. When mother asked of me to hide his phone." He points at Sonic.

"But he kept finding it, no matter where I hid it. So I gave in and just put in there."

You both look over at the hedgehog again. Who was trying to look innocent.

"For a time, it worked. I've done this several times before and mother had seen me, and did not react. Which is why I was so confused by your surprise to it. "

"Well, you are very animal like, at least compared to humans. And she is a veterinarian, so."

He nods," Perhaps. In any case, just like those previous times, I figured hiding it in the same place would work. What I did not account for was the phone moving about while there."

He held his hand ontop of his pouch. Remembering the strange sensations the phone gave when it moved. It was.. strange, to say the least.

"Oh yeah, what happened with that? Your face looked pretty funny while Sonic was calling his phone."

He removed the phone from his pouch, but this time holding in a slightly tighter grip than earlier, incase Sonic got any ideas, and turned it over in his hand.

"I..do not know. I'd never felt anything like it. I'm not sure what it was."

"Hmm, well, try to explain what it felt like? And I'll see what I can do to figure it out."

He looks at you, then past you, where you knew Sonic was sitting a minute ago. The hedgehog had grown bored and left to the kitchen to make a snack.

"It felt like the buzzing of the device. But.. different. And it made me want to smile..and laugh. Strange isn't it? Like magic."

Your peaceful smile slowly grows into one with playfully malicious intent.

Knuckles frowns." What is with that expression?"

"Oh, nothing. I just think I know what it is."

He raises a brow."You do?"

"Yup, but I'll need to test my theory. Do you mind?"

He is hesitant, but shrugs and watches you reach over and poke around his sides. He twitched a bit and huffed at the feeling, but no smile or laugh.

"Does that feel like earlier?"

"A bit, but not as strong. It's actually rather annoying this wa-AaY!!"

You launched an attack on the poor echidna. Your fingers skittering across his sides and belly, making him grunt at first, but eventually succumbing, forcing high guffaws that evolved into laughter and giggles. You'd grown so used to Knuckles deep voice, but hearing the higher pitched he'd somehow reached, made you smile wide and laugh along with him.

Sonic had been surprised by his brother's outburst, recognizing his voice making all that noise. What he was not expecting, was the reason for it.

A smug grin widens across his face. " He's ticklish!!"

You continue your assault, giggling all the while.

"I guess so!"

Knuckles did not respond. Too preoccupied with trying to catch his breath, his face feeling hot. He should feel humiliated for his actions, but seeing your face and that of his brother, with playful smiles and laughing along with him, pushed those thoughts away.

Besides, he didn't know if he could say anything if he tried. His own laughter taking up whatever breath he could draw in.

Why did something as simple as touch reduce him to a giggly puggle.

"Ok, I think that's enough for now." You said in between your laughing.

His hands covered his stomach as soon as your fingers left. He was trying to catch his breath again, a stupidly silly smile on his face. Leftover laughter fading to giggles as he calms down.

" That is called tickling, and you my friend are very ticklish, apparently."

"Haha, eh, good, aheh, good to kno-how."

Sonic rubbed his hands together,"Oho ho! Now this is interesting. I could definitely use this next time you hide my phone."

You could hear the gears in his brain already forming plots against his brother.

You look back to Knuckles, with a smirk.

" Sonic is ticklish too."

"Ah! Why would you tell him that!" He cried.

"Eh, just keeping things fair."

A couple hours pass, with you three hanging around the t.v. You were just putting on another movie when you heard the sound of a car rolling up the driveway.

You press pause and get up, along with your friends, to greet whoever was home.

The door unlocks and it's Maddie and Tails.

Tails greets his brothers then you, giving you all another round of hugs, while Maddie walks past, smiling and giving you all a pat or kiss on the head.

"Hey, guys. So how was it? Anything crazy happen or broken things I should know about?"

She's facing away from you guys, not able to see the pointed and worried looks your friends were giving you. A certain blue hedgehog in particular.

"Nope. Everything went well. I even learned something very interesting from today."

Now it was Knuckles turn to look nervous, and he didn't even know why.

"Knuckles is part kangaroo." You grin his way, to see your offended friend scrunch his nose and scoff, indignantly.

"I am not. I am one hundred percent echidna. Only echidna blood runs through these veins."

As if purposely ignoring him, Maddie smile at you.

"Why? Did he show you his cute little pouch?"

Knux crosses his arms and looks away from you both, with a huffy," Mother, please."

"Yup. And that's not all." You whisper that last part, walking up behind Knuckles. He barely has a second to turn and see you there before you tackle him down into a cackling mess.

"Wait, no!!-"

"Too late!"

Maddie leans against the wall, watching and laughing along with you two. Tails, hearing the commotion, peeps around the corner, with Sonic right behind him, and sees you ontop of the toppled Knuckles.

The poor echidna is suddenly saved by the bell. Or in this case, a knock on the door.

You pause, giving the echidna a chance to breath again, while Sonic goes and opens the door. The sheriff has arrived, and is immediately baffled by the scene before him.

A wheezing Knuckles with a funny smile and glare directed towards you. Meanwhile, you're sitting beside him. An oblivious look on your face as you stare off to the side.

Tom blinks for second, then asks, "Uh, what's goin on here?"

Maddie smiles, "(Y/n) was just teaching me something new she learned about our little echidna here."

Tom smirks," And that would be?"

You grin madly and look back to your victim.

"Allow me to demonstrate."

You wiggle your fingers, hovering your hands just above him, making him already unwillingly snicker, knowing what was to come.

"No, please, mercy!"

"There is no mercy in this house!"

"No-hOhoHOoO!!!"

Boisterous laughs and chortles fill the air as you show the echidna's father what you'd learned. His family joining in on the laughter at the sight of their more stoic of their family members being reduced to a giggling puddle under you.

"You- eheh, are cruel." His only understandable response amongst his leftover chortles.

Knux doesn't even retaliate or defend himself. Not daring to move, for fear of lashing out and hurting you. His fists glued to the ground, by sheer will power. A power slowly waning as your assault grows stronger.

You finally let him go when it looks like he's having a hard time holding back and catching a breath. Even afterwards, a string of giggles continues to leave him. The sensation of your tickling still affecting him, even after you'd stopped.

You give him a sweet little innocent smile."I try."

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles wachowski #sonic the hedgehog #sonic wachowski #maddie wachowski #knuckles x (platonic!) reader #warning: contents of this fic are very fluffy. Maybe even cheesy. Tickling may or may not be involved. Read at your own discretion💕💕

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yanderegrizzsworld · 2 years ago

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Yandere Platonic Team Chaotix, Yandere Platonic Shadow the hedgehog and Yandere Platonic Knuckles with an obsession that stopped spending time with them because of dating or having problems in their personal life.

Imagine: Platonic Yandere Team Chaotix, Shadow the Hedgehog & Knuckles the Echidna where the reader stops spending time with them

TW: Implied stalking/murder

Team Chaotix:

Their work relies heavily on their client & when no call is made or Amy in need for the resistance, they're given a vast amount of free time.

Espio would be the first to make note of how your time with them lessens, but it's only when Charmy laments on your distance with the team that Espio speaks on his regards. Vector attempts to mostly calm the bee with the excuse of you being busy while Espio takes the opportunity & locates you & observe you without you detecting.

No matter the reason of your shift, Vector reasons that they shouldn't meddle with your life outside of them, resulting with a pouty Charmy who complies nonetheless. Only for the little bee to find you & strive to lift your spirit, not answering when you question how he knew of your absence of quality time with the team.

Shadow the Hedgehog:

Though living with a tight schedule & nobody really knowing where he is half the time, he seemingly always makes time for you even if it's short. The hedgehog finds serenity with you & finds himself missing it the moment he isn't with you anymore.

Shadow doesn't ask questions when you wish to be alone, simply assuming you wish for solitude. He's quick to catch on how little time he has spent with you, which leads to him off to locate you, asking if anyone has seen you if he's somehow unable to find you by himself.

While the ultimate life form understands that being confrontational can frighten many, he reasons with himself that it is necessary in this "predicament" your both in. Shadow doesn't delight in putting himself in others business, yet he asks what he can do to ease your issue or, better yet, to eliminate all together.

Knuckles the Echidna:

Knuckles is not garrulous, both by nature & under the circumstance of guarding the Master Emerald alone for most of his life. While not the most efficient in social events or casual conversation, he always makes it an effort to strive for the conversation to be at most adequate.

The echidna doesn't pick up on your absence until he asks himself when was the last time he saw you. While he prefers to search for you alone, he requests that Sonic, Tails &/or Amy aid him on your whereabouts, asking of where they've seen you last & when.

The echidna is all about honor & when hearing your reasoning of why you haven't spent time with him, he chastises himself & immediately offers a hand. Whether he accept or not is a choice he respects, though be prepared for him to continuously ask afterwards while also following you around.

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gojonanami · 1 year ago

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❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,”

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness.

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks.

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there.

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall.

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large.

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture.

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt.

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you’d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out.

You got a B.

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88.

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds.

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare.

Academia was truly hell.

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,”

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly.

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—”

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?”

“I am, I wanted to—”

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—”

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?”

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze, “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,”

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—”

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,”

“I wasn’t—”

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,”

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—”

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.”

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease.

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist.

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin.

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?).

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do.

“See you soon.”

Oh, he would.

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours.

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to.

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it.

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?”

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip.

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal.

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside.

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—”

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,”

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,”

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—”

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,”

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle.

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall.

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,”

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,”

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,”

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs.

“You learn fast.”

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism.

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again.

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it.

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top.

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck—

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good.

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought.

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss—

And you clearly needed sleep.

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it).

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’”

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action.

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you.

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you.

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—”

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?”

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—”

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch.

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—”

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?”

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck.

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—”

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,”

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.”

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm.

What the fuck was that?

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up.

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working.

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you—

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you?

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade.

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory—

And then you heard him say your name—

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?”

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together.

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him.

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall.

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream.

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—”

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today — and a deep royal purple one no less, “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here.

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head.

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed.

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,”

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,”

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together.

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment.

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,”

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom.

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves—

What the fuck were you doing?

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor.

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—).

You needed to stop doing that.

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right?

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment.

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he.

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back—

But why did his smile look so strained?

There must be something wrong with him.

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you.

Why had he stopped you?

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands.

But this, this felt different.

You were different.

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism.

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile.

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm — but not the one he was looking for.

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you—

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?”

And it was you.

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips.

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?”

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,”

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease, “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?”

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

“I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,”

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?”

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?”

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,”

“No, but—”

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it.

And he didn’t want to pull away.

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—”

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?”

“But—”

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,”

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire.

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?”

And there’s only one answer — you.

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours—

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there.

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together.

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager?

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you.

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM.

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you.

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him.

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind.

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better.

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face.

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you.

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,”

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip.

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard.

Fuck.

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office.

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms.

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped.

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings.

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to?

It was that time again.

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart.

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board — his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name.

God. Fuck.

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes.

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear?

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes.

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?”

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,”

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips.

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—”

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,”

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high.

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up.

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture.

Double fuck.

Why was this so difficult?

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore.

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting.

But you didn’t know how to go in.

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him.

Or wouldn’t.

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it.

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?”

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?”

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?”

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?”

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword.

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross.

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there.

“But?” You wait for it.

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,”

You pause a moment, “Really?”

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,”

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his?

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,”

Your breath catches, “Really?”

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,”

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take.

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,”

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises.

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—”

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,”

He stares, “What do you—”

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,”

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?”

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—”

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,”

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,”

“I would say it depends,”

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk.

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?”

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—”

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,”

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips.

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more.

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?”

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again.

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.”

~~~~

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore.

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks?

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations.

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head.

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you.

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.”

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples.

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave.

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good.

Maybe it was for the best.

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with.

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all?

Oh, great, you were becoming existential.

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best.

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike.

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile.

“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn.

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?”

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?”

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’”

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,”

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,”

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?”

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page:

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this.

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction.

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?”

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,”

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin.

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow.

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,”

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,”

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again.

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,”

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly.

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,”

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips.

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,”

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?”

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?”

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned.

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—”

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested —

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in.

Fuck, indeed.

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru imagines #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru fanfiction #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #dividers by @/saradika

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oncasette · 1 month ago

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𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗜𝗧 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗡

jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: 1.1k

Your head is spinning. You must be dreaming. There’s no way you’re actually kissing your best friend right now, not quite sure if he’s still your best friend at that moment or not, but not caring enough to pull back and check.

or the one where jj spills his feelings for his best friend.

a/n: i haven't seen s4 and i don't know if i'm going to, but here's this jj fic since i was feeling up for it? question mark? it's all fluff.

masterlist

“Done in there?” JJ calls from where he’s no doubt spread out on your bed. You can’t help the small laugh that trickles out of you as you open the door, still facing the mirror as you finish up your skincare routine. In the corner of the mirror, you catch JJ’s reflection fiddling with a lighter.

“Don’t burn down my bedroom,” you say. He looks up at you, catching your gaze in the mirror. He flips the spark wheel. A small flame erupts, already being bullied down by the high setting on your ceiling fan.

“What? Don’t trust me?” he smirks.

“Not even a bit,” you chirp, setting all of your creams and oils back into your medicine cabinet.

He sets the lighter down on your nightstand.

“Comfy?” you giggle, watching as he snuggles down further under your plush duvet. You’re glad you made him change, not sure you’d ever get the dirt and sweat from his clothes out of your sheets. He nods, humming. You feel his eyes tracking your movements as you shut the bathroom light off and slide under the covers beside him. It’s almost instantaneous that JJ molds to your side, pushing up your arm in order to lay his head against your shoulder, nose in your neck. You do your best to ignore the way your stomach flutters a bit.

JJ had always been touchy with you. You like to think that he does it with everyone, that that was just his nature. You’d seen him sling an arm around Pope at the Boneyard, tug Kiara into a hug, spin her around, even, kiss John B on the cheek in some of his more emphatic moments. But, you couldn’t ignore the way he was with you. The lingering touches, the snuggling, the sleepovers, the kisses against your temple. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been out on the HMS without him putting his hat on you. It’s friendly enough for you to brush off, for the most part. For you to push it all down and justify his actions when the rest of the pogues prod you for information.

It’s moments like this, though–alone, away from prying eyes–that you allow yourself to pretend. Just a little.

You bring up a hand to his hair and run the tips of your nails across his scalp. He purrs, curling closer into you and you feel his eyelashes brush your skin as his eyes close.

“‘S it raining?” he mumbles into you. His hand slides over your stomach as he reaches for the hand not currently in his hair. Slowly, nearly leaving goosebumps beneath his fingers, he intertwines his fingers with yours. There’s no way this is platonic. Right? Your brain screams at you.

“What?” you hum, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

“Rain. From the sky. Outside.”

You look at the window.

“Yeah. Yeah, J, it’s raining.”

He smiles, kissing the skin already beneath his lips. That’s new.

“I like the rain,” he chirps, voice surprisingly drowsy for how energetic he’d been before you’d left for your shower.

“Do you?”

He nods, humming. “Makes everything slow down a bit.”

“I didn’t think you liked slowing down,” you say, your fingers moving down from his hair to ghost over his back.

“I like slowing down when I’m with you,” he shrugs. You feel him shudder slightly when your nails gently scrape across his shoulder blades. “Plus, I look sexy when I’m all drenched like that.”

You snort and smack him on the shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?” he scoffs, head snapping up to glare at you pitifully.

“Smug bastard,” you laugh. He winks as his lips curl into a fittingly smug smirk.

“You love it,” he says. His hand squeezes yours, still held tight in his grasp. You don’t respond in words, instead opting to squeeze his hand back. You feel his heart rate jump against your ribs. His eyes flicker between yours. The smirk slowly drops into something a little less cocky. Something a little softer. Warmer. You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. It’s only when his gaze moves down to your lips that your own breath stutters. That definitely can’t be platonic.

He whispers your name so quietly you almost don’t hear it. You probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been so close.

“I think I love you,” he says. What.

“I love you, too, J,” you say, pasting on your friendliest voice to try and ignore the way his breath is now fanning over your face. He smells like the gum he’d stolen from your car.

“No, I mean…” he clamps his eyes shut. “I do love you, like that, like a friend. Of course I do, you’re my best friend-”

“John B’s your best friend,” you cut him off, because there’s no way this is actually happening.

“Listen, just… I,” he drops his head against your sternum, frustration seeming to roll off of him in waves.

“I’m sorry, I’m listening,” you say softly.

“I don’t want to keep doing this,” he grunts.

“Doing what?”

“Pretending.”

Pretending.

“Pretending?” you ask, placing a hand on his cheek to pull his gaze back up to yours. You smile softly at the way he nuzzles into your palm.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he asks. His eyes are closed, his nose pressed against your thumb. “I thought I was being obvious.”

You need more than these clipped comments. Stupidly, something deeper in the back of your mind can’t settle for even the chance of you misconstruing this. Of being wrong.

“Obvious about what, J?”

“I already told you,” he whispers. He just barely kisses the pad of your thumb.

“Tell me again,” you beg, holding your breath.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Good,” you hiccup.

“Good? That’s all you have to say? I’m pouring my heart out here, baby,” he huffs and your heart nearly stops altogether. A bewildered giggle slips out of you.

“That’s good because I… uh,” you swallow. “I love you, too.”

He doesn’t answer this time. He slides up the last couple of inches to press his lips against yours. His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, bringing your mouth even harder against his. His other hand squeezes yours for dear life.

You’d kissed him before. On New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight. But, that had been a quick, chaste peck between friends and you’d been able to blame the fireworks behind your eyelids on the holiday, and this. This was different. Much, much different. There were sparks tingling down to the tips of your toes. You pull back when you can no longer justify ignoring your need for oxygen and nearly whine when JJ chases your lips.

“I’m in love with you.” His voice is hoarse.

“You said that,” you giggle, brain still a little hazy.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to get me to stop saying it now,” he says. His body weight is almost fully pressed onto you as he ducks his head to place short kisses against your neck. Your fingers find his hair again, combing through the silky strands. You mentally thank him for stealing your shampoo.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic

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dawneternal · 3 months ago

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now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

#relieving someone else's pain is strangely intimate???#idk what this is honestly #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #platonic cassian x reader #Rhysand #Azriel #cassian #madja acotar #Gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #disabled reader #chronic pain #hurt/comfort

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qlossytbh · 7 months ago

Text

𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞? - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 where you find yourself with immense baby fever

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 baby fever, fem!reader, fluff fluff fluff, established relationship, reader and spencer are married, hotch x platonic!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.5k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 so i imagined older spence but younger jack so pretend jack is around 3 or 4 but spence is like around season 7/8 (?)

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“All I’m saying, you could’ve been a little nicer,” You turned to Morgan with a rigid sigh. If he didn’t know you better, it’d probably sound like you were deeply annoyed with him, on the verge of cursing him out. He knew you were only regarding the events of today's case.

“I think you’re mixing ‘being nicer’ with tough love,” You deadpanned at your friend, earning nothing but his signature snicker.

You shook your head, feigning that of disappointment. You rolled your shoulder back, craning your neck slightly to scan the files that rested between your fingers. God, how many files could one see in a day?

It was a few hours past midday when the case came to an end. Hotch had a sudden dilemma that he needed immediate solving, so he told all of you to make it back to headquarters. You and Morgan however, had been stuck together for the day and made it back a lot earlier than the rest of the team, prompting the two of you to get some necessary paperwork done.

You needed a day off— especially from Morgan.

The bullpens doors opened unexpectedly, drawing you and Derek out of your conversation. You turned, seeing the rest of the team waltz through the glass door— only this time, they were accompanied by a pair of small legs.

You couldn’t stop a reflexive smile from growing onto your face. “Is that who I think it is?”

Jack waddled into the bullpen, one of his tiny fists bundled up onto a small section of Hotch’s dress pants. You could’ve screamed, a reaction that was becoming more necessary every time you saw a kid, and most definitely when you saw Jack.

At the sound of your cheery voice, Jack looked up, biting onto his knuckles— something you learned was a sign of his bashfulness.

But when he realized it was you who was standing next to Morgan, his face immediately morphed into one that could only portray pure and innocent child joy, looking as if he couldn’t be happier to see you. Nothing could compare to how ecstatic that made you feel, chest getting fuzzy with endearment. Hotch placed his palm onto the back of his head. “Look who it is!”

You've taken care of Jack too many times you lost count, given since you and Hotch were close— practically family. You adored Jack and found yourself being struck with some newfound motherly instinct when it came to him— or any kid for that matter. He always gave you this very violent need to squeeze his cheeks and hug him so tight he might pop.

“Is that little Jackie?” Your voice was high and welcoming, trying to hide how utterly joyed you were with seeing him and failing miserably. Jack immediately pushed himself off of Hotch’s leg and began running towards you.

Well, he more so waddled his way over to you, small feet pattering roughly against the floor as he ran over to you in an unstable line. You met him halfway, crouching down and opening your arms for him. When he was close enough, he launched himself into said arms, voice loud with giggles and shrieks. “If it isn’t my favorite boy!”

You squeezed him tightly, rising once again to your natural height and hugging the small toddler. Morgan, of course, didn’t miss a beat to taunt. “Careful, Reid’s listening.”

“Oh please,” You rested Jack on your hip, keeping strong secure arms around him while he gripped the ends of your hair curiously. “Spencer knows that Jack comes first no matter what, isn’t that right Jack?”

“Yeah!” He laughed.

Spencer couldn’t keep in a single thought as he watched you interact with Jack so naturally. It twisted his chest in weird, scary ways. If it were anyone else he’d be terrified. But it was you. And he now found his head lingering with the idea of you as a mother— the mother of his children, specifically.

It was a conversation the two of you had once, very briefly a few months after you two got married. Spencer had been meaning to get back at it, but with the chaos of your jobs it had been really hard to think about anything other than serial killer and criminals.

But fuck, if Spencer said that seeing you interact so carefully and sweetly with not only Jack but many other children that had stumbled up on these last few cases— he’d be the biggest liar on the face of this earth.

Just the thought of starting a family with you was something that filled him with anticipation. It made his chest burn. Something he craved so deeply, it sometimes left him breathless.

“You’re getting so big and strong that I’m beginning to have a hard time lifting you up.” You huffed, setting him down onto the ground and crouching beside him. “You’re gonna give me back problems.”

“Derek says it’s because you’re getting weak!” His R’s were disguised as muffles W’s, which only caused your heart to clench further. A choke disguised as a strained laugh left your mouth.

“Is that so?” You turned over to him with a glare. Morgan scratched the back of his head and turned on his heel avoiding you and your piercing gaze.

“But who’s your favorite; big old chiseled Derek, or little weak me?” You squint your eyes at the boy, pursing your lips feeling very confident in his answer.

And to no one’s surprise did Jack point towards you and with a huge, wide smile laughed out. “You!”

You laughed victoriously, holding out a palm for Jack to clap. “Yeah, that’s right!”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan groaned.

After one last hug from the child, you ushered Jack over to Hotch, shooting an endeared smile towards him. God, you loved that kid so much.

JJ, Prentiss and Rossi made their way to the conference room. You look ahead, meeting the gaze of your husband and smiling profusely. It was a subconscious reaction your body had. You found yourself meeting Spencer halfway. “Hey,”

His hand rested on your hip as he leaned down, kissing you chastly. Spencer would’ve loved to actually take his time greeting you with a much proper kiss, but it was a middle ground the two of you found between professionalism and well— being married.

His hand, however, remained on the spot on your hip, thumb drawing circles instinctively. It was subtle, but his touch was still there. Your smile was big and lovestruck, looking up at him with soft eyes. “Hey,”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Jack's laughter ripped through the air as Hotch lifted him up. You and Spencer turned and you swear you could almost cry.

It was as if lately, when you allowed yourself to think even slightly about the concept of children you’d combust into a pool of tears and overbearing endearment. Spencer watched you looking over at Jack and noticed something pooling beneath your eyes.

You looked back at Spencer, lips tied in a pout. “I want one.”

“A baby?” He tuned, laughing slightly at how your body sunk against his, resting your forehead on his chest in exasperation.

“Yes,” You pushed yourself off his chest, throwing your hands around as you spoke. “The small hands, small feet— I swear everytime I see a baby, I get violent.”

You pouted. “Imagine a mini us Spence,”

And Spencer did. He thought about it in such detail that he forgot it wasn’t an actual reality of his. A little girl or boy, that resembled either of you, that held so many fractions and traits of the two of you— it seemed unreal to him.

“A mini us?” He repeated. You looked up at him.

“Well— yeah,” You reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, we haven’t really talked about it but..”

Spencer wanted kids more than he had ever wanted anything before— but he knew that he only wanted it if it was with you. He couldn’t phantom the thought of starting a family with anyone else.

“We should,” He spoke. Your fingers played mindlessly with the bottom of his tie, looking up at him with a teasing smirk.

“We should talk about it or we should try?” A blush crept up his cheeks as his eyes widened just slightly. You always found ways to catch him off guard and you loved getting even the slightest reaction out of him.

“Uh—“ He dragged out his words, before his eyes landed back on you. “Both?”

You laughed and he smiled. He always smiled when you laughed, he couldn’t stop himself from doing so. You reached down, tangling your fingers with his. “I’m serious though,”

He hummed. “So am I.”

“You actually want to start trying for a baby?” This seemed like a conversation that was far too intimate to be having in the middle of the bullpen— where you usually discussed varieties of atrocious things, but here you were I guess.

“Yeah,” He said, almost in disbelief that you had questioned it. You found yourself growing oddly shy, just thinking of a small version of the two of you running around.

Before you could continue on the subject, Morgan, who now held Jack on his shoulders, was calling you and Spencer over to the conference room. You turned to Spencer, smiling softly.

“Can we get back to this once we get home?”

“Please,” He breathed, leaning forward and pressing a longer kiss onto your lips. You grew giddy and smiled into the kiss, pulling away sooner than both of you would like.

“I love you,” You smiled. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and placed a loving kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.”

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lovelyjuju · 2 months ago

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𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 - &𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦

&team x reader (seperately)

genre: fluff <3

warnings: none

word count: ~ 400-500 per member

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

── .✦ k (453 words)

k walked you up the steps to your door, his warm hand in yours contrasting the cold of the night. the two of you stopped under the soft glow of the porch light. it wasn't until you turned around to face him that you noticed how close he was, the warm spice of his cologne mixing with the cool air.

"thank you for tonight k, i had a really good time," you said a little sheepishly.

he smiled, that shy, almost boyish smile he flashed when he was nervous but didn't want you to know. "i had a good time, too," he replied softly.

the night had been perfect – your conversation flowing easily over dinner, and his fingers brushing yours a little too often to be accidental. and now, as you stood there, neither of you wanting to be the one to say goodbye, you felt the soft flutter of anticipation settling between you.

k’s gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long. his thumb gently sweeped over your knuckles, as he asked,

"can i kiss you good night?"

suddenly your cheeks felt warm, despite the cool night wind. his words were gentle, almost hesitant, and something in you ached at how he asked, like he gave you every chance to say no. instead, you nodded, your breath catching as he let out a soft exhale, relief in his smile.

k’s hand rised to brush against your cheek, his fingers tracing along your skin with a touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. you closed the gap between you, and then his lips met yours, soft and searching, like he was savoring each second. his kiss tasted faintly of peppermint, warm and so comforting that it made you lean in just a bit closer, your hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath your fingertips.

for a moment, it was just the two of you in this tiny world under the porch light. the gentle pressure of his hand against your cheek, the soft warmth of his lips, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

when he finally pulled back, you caught the smallest, softest smile on his lips. you felt a blush creeping onto your cheeks, but you couldn't look away.

“i’ve wanted to do that all night,” he murmured, a little self-conscious but unmistakably sincere.

you mirrored his shy smile, “i’m glad you did now.”

k chuckled, his fingers brushing over yours one last time before he let go. he stepped back, giving you a final smile before heading down the steps.

"good night, y/n."

other members under the cut!

── .✦ fuma (454 words)

"close your eyes," you instructed, not even trying to hide your grin. you were probably more excited about your surprise to your best friend than he was, but he obeyed and closed his eyes.

you took his hand, carefully placing the small box inside before letting go and telling him to open his eyes again.

he followed your instructions, looking at the box with a hint of confusion, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"you're supposed to open it," you said with a playful laugh.

fuma opened the box, and his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw. "tada!" you said with a bright, excited smile.

he examined the pokémon figure more closely, almost as if checking to see if it was real.

"how did you– ?"

"i found a store the other day that sold the mystery boxes they come in," you explained, a bit sheepishly. "i really wanted you to open it, but i couldn’t resist peeking. and i knew this was the one you were missing, so...”

fuma looked at you, his smile growing wider. "did you know this one’s super rare? most people barely pull it," he said, his voice full of admiration. "you’re my lucky charm."

his words sounded platonic, but they felt like so much more – like they carried an unspoken weight. heat rose to your cheeks and you quickly looked down, hoping he hadn’t noticed. but he was too wrapped up in the excitement of his new collection piece to catch it. his face lit up, a smile as wide as a child’s in a candy store.

"thank you so much, really," he said, still beaming. "i was only missing this one, and i kept getting duplicates of the others and– my god, i could kiss you!" he babbled on, too caught up in his excitement to realize the slip of his words.

your head shot up again, though your face only got redder.

"you could what?"

your question pulled fuma's focus back to you. "what?"

his face paled when he realized what he'd said. "i–... i'm sorry, i..." his voice trailed off, not quite sure what to say.

you swallowed your nervousness and, with a steadying breath, asked him, "why don’t you do it?"

this time, it was his turn to look at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushing with color. yet, despite his surprise, he stepped closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he softly traced his thumb over your skin.

"are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

instead of replying, you brought your hands to his shoulders, pulled him down a little and stepped on your tippy toes to connect your lips in a soft kiss.

── .✦ nicholas (437 words)

the loud music threatened to burst your eardrums, making you sigh again. you might have enjoyed the party – hadn't your friend dragged you here and then left you alone as soon as her boyfriend appeared.

she'd be back in five minutes, she'd said. over forty five minutes had passed since then, and she was still nowhere to be seen. you'd be worried if she'd been alone, but you knew she wasn't, so you felt rather annoyed – contemplating if you should just head home.

that's when you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder, a familiar scent flooding your senses. "there you are," nicholas said, scooting a bit closer to you. you had been on two dates with him before, but you weren't aware he'd be here tonight. you would have agreed to the party immediately.

"nicholas?" you asked in confusion, "i didn't know you'd be here."

his lips curved into a playful grin. "well, i’m always up for a surprise. and speaking of which, there’s something i want to show you."

he stood up and reached out his hand. you took it, trying to ignore the butterflies that mingled in your stomach, and followed him outside the living room and up the staircase.

the cool night air brushed against your skin as he opened the door. you followed him outside, your gaze meeting his in confusion.

"it’s my best friend’s place, i know how to get to the rooftop." he explained before you could ask. "you didn’t seem comfortable back there, so i thought you might feel better here." his voice softened with a hint of sheepishness.

the thoughtfulness behind his words warmed your chest, despite the chilly air. still, after standing together for a while, just taking in the view of the starry sky above and the glowing city below, the cold began seeping through your clothes.

"i do feel better here, thanks, nico," you said, doing your best to hide the shiver running through you. "the view is beautiful."

nicholas turned to face you, his expression softening as he took off his jacket. without a word, he draped it around your shoulders, but kept his hands on it. he looked down at you, the warmth of his touch mingling with the crisp night air.

"yeah, it is," he replied softly, leaning down just enough for you to feel his warm breath on your skin.

the butterflies were rioting by now, but you stepped a little closer.

"may i?" nicholas whispered, and you nodded softly, almost shyly.

without a second thought, he pulled you closer by his jacket and brushed his lips over yours.

── .✦ ej (425 words)

the soft crunch of leaves under your feet filled the air as you and euijoo walked through the park. you’d met earlier that day at a nearby café that had just opened, but even after spending hours together in the cozy, warm-lit space, neither of you had wanted to part ways just yet. so when he'd suggested a walk through the park, you’d agreed without hesitation.

there was a slight distance between you as you walked, yet every so often, euijoo’s fingers brushed yours . the tiny, accidental touches sent a rush of goosebumps up your arms (which, naturally, you blamed on the cool autumn breeze).

euijoo turned to you, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. “do you have plans for the weekend?”

you looked up, meeting his eyes and shaking your head, already feeling excited at the thought of spending more time with him.

his lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile, and he hesitated a moment before asking, “would you... maybe like to come over? we could make hot chocolate, try out some fall recipes, maybe watch a few movies?” he hurriedly added, “o-only if you’re comfortable coming to my place, of course!”

your heart fluttered – not just at the thought of spending another cozy evening together, but at the care in his voice, the way he seemed so intent on making sure you felt safe and comfortable.

“i’d love that, euijoo,” you replied, unable to keep the smile from spreading across your face. he smiled back, his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.

you were so caught up in each other that neither of you realized you’d stopped walking until the sharp ring of a bicycle bell jolted you back. before you could react, euijoo’s hands found your arms, and he gently pulled you closer to make space for the cyclist.

the biker whizzed past, but euijoo’s hands stayed on your arms, his touch ever so soft. when you looked up, you found yourself pressed lightly against his chest and you swore you could hear his heartbeat under the thin fabric of his sweater – just a bit faster than healthy.

you opened your mouth to apologize, but he shook his head, his gaze warm and unwavering, fingers lingering as if reluctant to let you go. instead, he pulled you a little closer, his face dipping toward yours, his cheeks painted with a faint, rosy flush.

your heart hammered in your chest, and before you could second-guess it, you rose up on your toes, softly brushing your lips against his.

── .✦ yuma (420 words)

the sound of your laughter caused yuma's head to shoot in your direction. "i told you you'd like the movie," he stated, the sound of his voice slightly teasing.

you rolled your eyes but suppressed a grin, "it's not even that good."

yuma grinned, an unmistakable glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. before you could react, his hands darted to your sides, fingers pressing into your ribs just enough to make you squirm.

“wait– yuma, no!” you squealed, immediately dissolving into laughter as he tickled you mercilessly. your protests turned into helpless laughter, your hands failing as you tried to push him away, but he just laughed, not letting up.

“admit it!” he pressed, his face lighting up with an amused grin as he kept going.

“never!” you gasped between giggles, desperately twisting to escape his grasp. somehow, in the midst of your playful struggle, he managed to get a better hold, pinning you down gently as he continued to tickle you.

“say it!” he insisted, grinning down at you.

"fine! you’re right!” you gasped out, breathless. “you win, you win!”

he stopped, both of you still laughing as you caught your breath. but as the laughter died down, the room seemed to fall silent – the sound of the movie playing only a faint background noise. that’s when yuma noticed the way you looked up at him, breath still coming in short bursts from the tickling. when he noticed how close you were. his face softened, and his hands stilled, staying gently on either side of you as he leaned over, his gaze dropping to your lips.

the playful energy shifted and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, your heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the tickling. his expression turned almost uncertain, a hesitation in his eyes as he seemed to hold his breath.

just as he was about to back way, you grabbed his shirt to pull him back down and tilted your head up, closing the space between you. the movement seemed to surprise him, his breath catching as your lips brushed softly against his. for a heartbeat, he stayed still, then slowly relaxed, leaning in to return the kiss, his hands shifting from your sides to cradle your face with a gentle warmth.

the world outside faded, the movie long forgotten, as you melted into the kiss. when he finally pulled back, his eyes sparkled, a slight blush dusting his cheeks.

“so… does this mean i won twice?”

── .✦ jo (425 words)

the comfortable silence between you and jo was only interrupted by the soft scratching of your pencils. you were sitting across each other on his kitchen table, papers and drawing utensils spread out between you, as you were both absorbed in your own work.

you two had met at the beginning of semester in an art class, and although neither of you talked much, you instantly clicked. you had started hanging out after classes, and tonight he'd invited you over to just do what you loved the most. you both enjoyed working on your own pieces while stll not being alone.

you felt grateful for these quiet moments, the kind where words weren’t necessary. being here, both of you working with that same, silent intensity, filled you with a sense of ease. somehow, being near jo made everything feel right, even the silence.

the two of you were leaning over your drawings, your heads almost touching. every time you looked up at him, a smile tugged at your lips as you noticed the little things you shared – like how he tilted his head the same way you did when concentrating, or pressed his lips together just like you often did. finding jo felt like finding another version of yourself.

you turned your focus back to the paper in front of you, continuing your sketch, when a strand of hair fell out of your bun and onto jo's drawing.

he stopped drawing and looked up from his paper, only to realize how close your faces were when you looked up as well. your eyes immediately met his, and for some reason, you couldn't look away this time. for a moment, the world outside faded; there was only jo, his gaze so gentle that it made your heart skip a bit.

he let go of his pencil and brought his hand up to gently tuck the loose strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes only leaving yours to glance down at your lips for a split second before you got lost in them again.

his hand lingered on your cheek for another second, but let go when he saw the slightest flush of pink on your cheeks.

time seemed to stop when he leaned in just a tiny bit, waiting almost shyly for your reaction. his action made the pull you'd already felt towards him even stronger, so you reciprocated it.

jo met you halfway, closing the bit of distance that was left between you, and gently placed his soft lips on top of yours.

── .✦ harua (420 words)

you picked up the pace, walking a little faster as the sky above you turned darker and darker. big, gray clouds covered the sky, daring to break into heavy rain any second.

"i took so long to straighten my hair," you sulked, drawing a little chuckle from harua.

you were still too far from home and you knew you wouldn't make it before it would start pouring, but you still walked faster.

as the first drop of rain fell onto harua's glasses, he took off his jacket and carefully draped it over your head, making sure to cover as much of your hair as possible.

you felt a comforting warmth, not only from his jacket and the faint scent of his perfume on the piece of clothing, but from the action itself – the fact that he'd made sure to cover your hair only cause you'd complained about the effort you'd put into them.

as the rainfall started to become heavier – and you glanced over to see harua's hair already slightly dampened, the fabric of his sweater daring to soak up – you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a closed store, finding shelter under its small front porch.

you pressed your back against the door to offer him as much space as possible, but although you two already stood unnervingly close, the raindrops continued to fall onto harua's back.

"thank you for the jacket," you broke the silence, your voice barely audible above the plattering of the rain. harua smiled softly and grabbed your wrists as you attempted to take his jacket off your head to give it back to him.

"keep it, it's cold," he replied, his voice as soft as the look in his eyes.

you looked up at him as if asking if he was sure, and without a word, he gave you a reassuring smile. his eyes locked with yours, only interrupted by a glance down to your lips that didn't last longer than three seconds.

your heart started pounding heavier against your chest as you noticed, and you titled your head up just slightly, as if testing the waters.

harua seemed to understand, your action being the only thing he needed to know you were thinking the same, and lowered his head to meet yours – your lips just inches away, but he hesitated.

you brought your shaking hands up to his cheeks, gently pulling him down to close the distance between you, and finally feeling his soft, slightly wet from the raindrops, lips on yours.

── .✦ taki (430 words)

the photobooth’s red curtain slid shut behind you as you and taki squeezed onto the small bench. you’d spent the past hours hopping from one arcade game to another, challenging each other to an nearly endless rivalry of skee-ball, air hockey, and crane games. as the day wound down, taki had grinned, pointing out the photobooth in the corner.

“you know what's the third date tradition, right?” he'd grinned, but you hadn't taken it seriously, as you'd slipped into the booth with barely enough room for two.

the machine counted down, the screen flashing a get ready! message in bold letters. the two of you pulled silly faces for the first couple of pictures, laughing between each flash. but as the screen showed the countdown for the final photo, taki glanced at you, his expression shifting from playful to something softer. his eyes met yours with a question hidden in them.

“can i… kiss you?” he asked, his voice quiet against the noise of the arcade outside.

your heart skipped a beat, a flurry of butterflies taking over as you looked at him, his face just inches from yours in the tiny space. but the machine was already ticking down the last few seconds, the numbers flashing on the screen, ready to snap its final shot.

without thinking, you leaned in, closing the gap between you with a quick, soft kiss just before the camera flashed. you pulled back, catching the flicker of surprise and warmth in his eyes, your heart still racing.

taki blinked, a bit dazed, and then let out a soft laugh. “wow. you barely even gave me a chance to finish asking.”

you shrugged, cheeks warm as you leaned back against the booth wall. “the machine doesn’t wait,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

he grinned back, still seeming a little dazed. “can’t argue with that logic.”

the photos printed with a soft whir, and taki grabbed the strip, studying the last picture with a smile. in it, your lips were just barely touching, your eyes closed, his hand blurry as he'd moved it up to cup your cheek, and you couldn’t help but blush as you looked over his shoulder.

“i guess the photobooth captured our first kiss,” he said, his voice soft, a small, slightly shy smile on his face.

you replied with a nod, your own smile widening as you glanced back up at him.

he grinned, slipping the photo strip into his pocket. “i think we’ll have to come back here and get one for each date.”

── .✦ maki (492 words)

"kiss y/n or wash the dishes."

your eyes widened at taki's words.

"what?" you and maki asked in unison, your voices equally shocked.

your heartbeat quickened. you'd had a crush on maki for a while now, though you'd never admit that, and you couldn't help but feel a hint of excitement bubble up in your stomach.

maki furrowed his brows, looking everywhere but your direction, and slowly shook his head after some moments of hesitation.

everyone started cheering, happy to have skipped washing the dishes for another day, but you just blinked in confusion. the excitement made way to another feeling that felt suspiciously much like disappointment.

you stayed silent until the round finished and slipped away to the bathroom as the game wrapped up. maki’s gaze followed you until you disappeared behind the door, and he sighed softly.

while the others headed to the living room, maki stayed behind in the kitchen, starting to rinse the plates and bowls.

when you returned, you glanced around and asked, voice a bit unsteady, "where did everyone else go?" sure he wouldn’t hear you, you were surprised when maki looked up, meeting your eyes for the first time since backing out of his dare. he turned off the water to reply, “they’re in the living room.”

you nodded and started to turn toward the door, but maki quickly dried his hands and stepped over, reaching to catch your arm. “wait, y/n… are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"yes. i just didn't think i'm so unkissable that you prefer washing the dishes of ten people," you said with a chuckle that sounded more forced than intended.

"no!" he protested. then, with surprising seriousness, he added, “i just… didn’t want our first kiss to happen over a silly dare.”

"don't explain, maki, i totally get it, i–", you began, but stopped short as his words sank in. "wait. what do you mean 'our first kiss'?"

maki sighed. he wished he could somehow back out from this but there was no logical excuse for what he'd said, so he decided to go with the truth.

his cheeks flushed a little, and he looked down briefly before confessing, “i… like you. i have for a while now. nico said he was sure you felt the same way. and… well, a game just didn’t seem like the right time for a first kiss.”

you felt your heartbeat pick up, and a smile tugged at your lips as you took a small step closer. "would now be a better time?” you asked softly.

maki’s eyes widened a bit, a flicker of hope crossing his face. “what… do you mean?”

you chuckled, genuinely this time. “that i like you too, idiot.”

a smile spread across his face as his eyes softened. “in that case… i’d say now is perfect,” he murmured, lifting his hands to gently cup your cheeks and leaning in until his lips met yours. <3

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multi-fandomsfreak · 1 year ago

Note

Hi I was wonder if I request tom wachowski with a goth sister and she comes and visits and the trouble trio absolutely LOVE HER because she’s so sweet 🥺

Tom Wachowski with a goth sister

Hey there thanks for the ask!

Honestly I’ve been feeling like shit for the past couple of days so seeing this ask actually put me in a better mood. Hope you enjoy it ~Blaze/Dawn

Pronouns: Not mention but reader is referenced to be female

Warning: ⚠️Slight mentions of Tails and Knuckles backgrounds in the second movie⚠️

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Tom + Maddie + Sonic + Tails + Knuckles

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Poster belongs to Sega and the people who created the Sonic movie + Banner by adorbbs (Edited By Me) on Pinterest

———————————

- Let’s start this off with Tom absolutely loves you, your his sister of course he does. He doesn’t care what you look like or what you do, he's going to support you all the way just like you did for him growing up and defend you from anyone who bullies you about your style. Of course he’s not going to get physical because he’s not really that type of person but he’ll definitely give them a talking to.

- You two often like to hang out when you both have the time with him being a cop and all. Since you often like to come visit him this means that you get to see Maddie a lot as well and she absolutely loves you as well. She’s definitely impressed with your style and absolutely loves it. I feel like she’ll definitely hype you up about what you wear. She also really appreciates your kindness and how you are willing to help her with some stuff.

- Now onto the trio:

- For Sonic I have a feeling you’ve met him some point near the end of the first movie. At first you two were surprised with each other. You were surprised because there was this random creature who claimed to be a hedgehog standing in front of you and was talking to you. If it wasn’t for Tom and Maddie managing to calm you down you honestly thought you were hallucinating. As for Sonic he was mostly surprised yet interested in you. Like sure he’s seen some interesting people when he was totally not stalking the town of green hills but you're different. He honestly admires you in a way. And to think that your ‘Donut lords’ sister just makes it even cooler.

- He definitely opens up to you quickly, this is mostly because of how you are around him. You treat him so nicely despite him clearly being different from you. If you’ve seen the second movie he considers Tom like a father to him and I like to think that maybe he considers you as an aunt. He also may or may not called you aunt one time when you visited him and yes he may have gotten teased by Tom about it but honestly you didn’t even mind. You're just glad that he feels that comfortable around you that he called you that.

- He definitely asked you if he could try on some clothes and of course you let him. Although they clearly didn’t fit him due to the size difference between you two but honestly he didn’t care, he’s having fun with it and may even give you a little fashion show while he’s at it.

- For Tails and Knuckles they’re kind of similar. Both of them met you at some point after the second movie. They mostly likely met you when you decided to catch up with the other three unaware of tails and knuckles. As soon as they heard the door open and to Sonic happily going over to you excited to see you with Tom and Maddie following behind him of course they got curious and when they saw you they were immediately surprised.

- For Tails I feel like he’d be a little caught off guard when he first saw you. He wasn’t scared of you of course but just like Sonic he hasn’t really seen anyone like you. But despite the initial surprise from him he actually kind of admires you. He really likes how you're open about your style and not really caring about what people think about it. He really appreciates that.

- Again just like Sonic he opens up to you quickly as well. Maybe even quicker than sonic. Since he didn’t really have anyone back on his planet seeing how kind you were to not only him but other people makes him kind of want to be around you 24/7. He really likes it when you visit.

- When you do visit over he really likes to show you his gadgets that he created and hearing you saying how cool it looks and how smart he is he couldn’t help but feel really happy that you enjoy them. If you're willing to listen he’ll explain in a lot of detail about them, even if you don’t really understand certain terms he’s saying. Seeing that you're listening to him explain it is enough for him. Maybe if he has the time he might make something for you. As a way of saying thank you.

- For Knuckles as mentioned in some of my previous posts, it takes him a while to open up to people even if they’re the kindest person in the world he’ll have trouble opening up to them. If you consider his backstory in the second movie it’s honestly understandable why. But despite this he’s actually really interested in you. Unlike Tails who may be caught off guard or for Sonic who was initially surprised when first meeting you, Knuckles surprisingly took an interest in you. But despite this he’s still a bit cautious of you so he kind of admires you from a distance. Eventually Tom notices this and somehow manages to convince Knuckles in one way or another to talk with you. This then eventually leads to him being more open around you.

- He’s kind of the same like Tails when it comes to being around you. He’s definitely very attached to you although not as open compared to Tails but still it’s kind of obvious that he is even if he doesn’t directly say it to you. Due to this he can be protective over you. If someone even dares look at you the wrong way or comments on your looks he’ll tear one into them before you eventually have to take him somewhere else.

- I feel like after hanging out with you just like Sonic he kind of sees you like an aunt due to you being related to Tom and how kind you are to him. Maybe accidentally called you aunt as well and Sonic may have teased him for it but quickly gets shut down but Tom when he said he did the exact same thing.

- Overall, although they show it differently all of them really appreciate you.

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k0yaz · 4 months ago

Note

(I don't do requests often, so I read your rules like three times out of nervousness 😭)

Could you write an Il Capitano x fem!reader where the reader is forced to walk home by her family after a ball. While walking back, Capitano picks her up and offers to take the reader to where she lives. Maybe toss in some soft/kind Capitano?

Thank you so much, I hope this is an ok request!

pitch black.

Pairings: capitano x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, assy family members, written before natlan, so capitano might be slightly ooc, can be read as platonic or romantic, yum frostbite yay, ngl id cry myself to sleep if I was in snezhnaya bc I can’t handle cold weather, probably an iron deficiency, lazy writing at the end again AUUUUGHHHH, freakytano my glorious king, not proofread.

A/N: HIHIHIHI ALSO IM SORRY IF I MISREAD THE FAMILY THING BUTTTT I ACTUALLY WROTE ON A WEEKDAY YAY also guys should I do like a special for 1k cause my followers are eating rn ok but seriously thank u so much for all the support love yall!! 🕯️

Cold swishes of air circled the pitch black sky faintly illuminated by a star or two, ruffling the silky fluff of a heavy coat adorning your figure. You firmly tightened your grasp around the lapels of the large coat, fabric wrinkling and dragged between the clutches of your paling knuckles tinted a soft pink from Snezhnaya’s biting cold.

Hollow crunches of your footsteps simply rang aloud in your years as your father’s words piled up in your mind. They were merely harmless, yet the intent behind your family’s dismissal stung like a sharpened blade spearing into your chest. But of course, it wasn’t anything new. A gust of wind howled into the canal of your ear sharply, ringing the ill memory of your family spitting the venom laced words of ordering you to trudge home in the nation’s burrowing winter. They didn’t even bother to provide a coat or furnish your body in any way, simply shooing you off as if they were desperate to make you keep your distance from them.

You had been awkwardly situated next to them, the chatter making you shift uncomfortably in an off putting stance, similar to that of an upright statue. Their exasperating laughs bellowed throughout the ballroom obnoxiously, catching an occasional glance of a person or two eyeing them. If hunching your shoulders in embarrassment wasn’t enough, their attitude was more than enough for you to have a strong urge to pray for the Tsaritsa’s wrath to be bestowed upon them.

People had noticed your huddled stance, tracing the rim of your glass in circular motions in hopes to distract yourself from the growing oddity of your placement in the ball. And without hesitation, they would of course begin to approach you. Possibly out of pity? Perhaps even the goodness of their heart wanting to accompany the girl who wasn’t very engaged in the celebration. Each person would approach you, friendly smiles stretching their face as they’d attempt to greet you—only for it to be cut short by your parents’ attention snapping to the guest stood before you, slicing the conversation short as they’d beckon the person to come speak with them instead.

Tremors of disdain pooled inside of you upon seeing your family members so obviously attempt to shove out any possible chance of a trail of hopeful socialization paved on your direction. Your isolation only grew more and more frustrating as indistinct chatter bounced off the walls of the ball, your eyes following the sound of the echo trailing from the marble structure to the intricate chandelier and candles flickering. At this moment, you purely felt alone. Isolated from everything as you mentally stood still in a pitch black void, with drowned out voices clouding the lonesome darkness.

“(Name). I think it’s about time you headed home.” Your father rasped out, not even making eye contact with you as his gaze was locked onto the champagne bottle and glass snug between his hands. “The ball is over anyway. We’re only staying for extra drinks. Your mother and I will be out meeting some other relatives at the nearby restaurant.”

“Father, it’s too cold for me to walk back home. You know how-“

“Oh, (Name). You’ll be fine. I raised you to be an independent woman. You’ll find the way home just fine.”

Pushing past your father, your mother pokes her shoulder out as well, casting you a glance as she chimes in to the conversation.

“He’s right, dear. Go ahead and head home for the night. I trust you’ll fare just fine without us accompanying you home.”

“Mother, that’s not what I-“

“(Name). That’s enough. You should head home. End of discussion.”

You knew you couldn’t properly explain to them. They’d always toss you aside and swat off your remarks as such. You bit back your protest, swallowing as you scanned the ballroom for a spare coat anywhere. There were a few harbingers around, so a raggedy stray coat shouldn’t be too uncommon.

“Sorry. I’ll be heading home now.” You submitted under your breath, masking your mixed irritation dissolved into your tone. You only further grimaced slightly as your mother smiled and leaned over to place a faux affectionate kiss to your forehead. With one dismissive wave once more, her and your father turned their back to you to exit the ball, shouldering through the heavy spruce doors packed with people crowding them.

You blinked, fervent shivers making you tremble against each flake of snow that brushed along the exposed parts of your skin as you realized you had just stepped midway through. The searing cold made your head spin as you began to lose yourself, frostbite clouding your senses and enveloping the tips of your fingers slowly. No matter. You could make it home if you simply stopped spacing out and thinking about your shitty parents. Just then, a loud crunch resounded with the howling wind, heavy clanks of metal being heard in addition to the crunches.

The heavy thuds only seemed to become clearer as they grew closer and closer, a light drag of chains shuffling behind you as well. Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest in anticipation, a sense of apprehension overtaking you as you clutched the coat draped over you tighter in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself using the thick fabrics. The thuds came to a halt as your eyes slowly roamed over the man who halted before you. His figure loomed over you, as his towering frame was quite intimidating to the least.

The metal lining of his mask enshrouded his face in a sightless black, cloaking his face completely as it seemed like an empty void bore into the gap of his helmet. Streams of jet black hair along with that adorned along the cheekbone of his mask and down his shoulders, a few stray strands of his long hair edged along the sharp steel edges of his mask. On top of that. A thick white coat with black fluff was draped along his shoulders, the small fabric emblem in the corner pertaining to that of the Fatui. If he was wearing this coat, your best bet was he was definitely a Fatui harbinger. Likely a strong one at that.

Backing up slightly, your eyes wandered over the man’s figure as you stood neatly frozen in place, the wind swaying his streaming hair while the harbinger looked down upon you.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?”

His low voice cast the illusion of protruding through the thickened frozen air, a faint muffle present in his speech considering he had spoken through the hollow opening of his seemingly endless mask.

“I was just walking home..”

“You seemed to be troubled, though.”

You simply wanted to scoff, yet you only tilted your head away from the harbinger in shame. Had your family humiliated you this much to the point where a figure of such high status took pity on you?

Sucking in a breath, you slowly turned your head back towards him, his body frozen in place, and looking down at you like a great statue. His gaze remained locked on you—yet you couldn’t tell due to the hollow blackness pitched into the carving of his mask. “Your name?” He hummed lowly, his body still enveloped by his large coat, and arms hidden under the sides of the thick pale silk.

“(Name).” You replied bluntly, clearing your throat and lowering your voice almost immediately after as to not give a rude impression. “Yours?”

“Il Capitano.”

Capitano seemed to follow your lingering gaze as he spoke, tracing each spot your eyes transfixed on periodically. However, there was one particular spot you couldn’t take your eyes off, and he didn’t take long to notice you focused on the Fatui emblem at the corner of his harbinger coat. “First of the Fatui harbingers.” He added, sensing that you had been wondering his relation to the infamous organization serving under the Cryo Archon dispersed across Teyvat.

Sensing your evident shifts and subtle kicks of your feet, he didn’t take long to pick up on your troubled state fidgeting before him, as if you were afraid of a train of emotional danger clouding your judgement to even think properly—much less walk in such bitter conditions.

“Where are you off to so late, miss (Name)?”

“I’m just walking home…it’s important family business.”

You immediately added that last part as an audible afterthought, not wanting to involve a harbinger in your personal affairs. Capitano wasn’t stupid, however. The clouds of tension and fear were palpable amidst the indifferent expression of yours, flaked white from the occasional crystals of snow fluttering onto your face. Heavy clanks followed your words as he stepped forward carefully, not wanting to startle you as he made his way directly beside you.

The black fur lining the neckline of his coat brushed against your collarbone as he stood closely shoulder to shoulder with you, head kept high. He continued to stare off into the distance ahead of him, as if the burrowing fog wasn’t enshrouding the entire vicinity before the two of you and dimming your line of sight.

“Do you mind if I accompany you home?”

You blinked out of pure surprise. A harbinger? Walking you home? At first it was too much, you couldn’t possibly accept this, much less waste his time like this! However the chilling thought of walking alone at night so late sent a shiver down your spine, and it was definitely not just from the cold.

“Not at all, Sir Capitano.”

He shook his head, stepping forward as he beckoned you to catch up to him.

“No need for formalities. Just Capitano is fine.”

Nodding, you briskly walked beside him to match his pace. The two of you were purely silent as he walked into the swirls of fog patterned along the vicinity clouding the array of homes lined up on either side of the street. Shuffles of chains and howls of wind were the only noticeable sound echoing along the empty night roads, inducing a rush of calmness that replaced your previous anxious state. Halfway through, you proceeded to extend your arm out, pointer finger fixing ahead of you at a slight angle.

“My home should be around there.”

Capitano simply nodded, shifting his path in the direction of your finger’s aim as he slowly headed toward the squeezed space of homes cluttered along the sides. Once reaching your doorstep, he halted at the hardened spruce topped with a silver knocker situated above the center, as if he was awaiting your next words. You delivered him a sincere and thoughtful smile, folding your arms as you didn’t know what exactly to do with them. The freezing steel of the knocker uncomfortably brushed along the exposed skin of your shoulder, which was not effectively covered by the ragged coat, making you hunch over upon contact embarrassingly.

“Thank you, Capitano. I don’t think I could have reached home quick enough before passing out on the streets..”

He let out an affirmative hum once more, looking down at you through his helmet framed by his long hair which was now a bit unkempt from the winds mixed with the fog. But it was only a strand or two off anyway.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Name).” He paused briefly, before adding once more. “If you’re in any trouble that requires my assistance, don’t feel afraid to call me.” His words were sweet, yet they made you laugh faintly, making you biting your tongue at his low tone questioning what was so humorous about his statement.

“Ah. It’s nothing, Capitano. It’s just…we met under a few hours ago..”

“It’s not the time we knew each other that’s the matter. Rather, it’s the fact that it’s obvious you’re clearly going through something, (Name). I don’t mean to pry, I just want to do what is just for you. And I can tell you’re a good person.”

His words only brought that faint elated smile back onto your face, an unexplainable disappointment drooping within you when he steps away from the door to head back. You wave to him, and he gives a quick nod, turning his back to you and heading back to god knows where. That smile remained on your lips for quite a bit, even when you rocked open the door slowly into the comfort and warmth of your home.

What a respectable and kind man.

A/N: it’s 1 am and I have a quiz tomorrow morning LOLLL

Anyway I’m so happy I got this done yay

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quazart · 1 year ago

Text

The Emerald Comes First

(Modern/ X)Knuckles x (platonic!) Reader

He'd finally gotten the last piece of the emerald back. But, it being in the city had taken a while. Finding all the lost pieces had taken a while. Here he is, almost two weeks later, and barely finished.

Pathetic.

It was already a shame he'd let himself be cornered by that idiot doctor, giving him no choice but to shatter the very purpose of his being. But taking this long to find all the pieces? That made the guilt eat away at him even worse.

A growling interrupted his thoughts. He looked down at himself, disgruntled.

Or maybe it was just his stomach eating itself.

Frowning, he carries on. It didn't matter right now. Once he was back on his island, then he could relax and eat something.

He finds a tall enough jump point and leaps into the air. His dreads catching a gust and allowing him to ride the wind home. Picking a new current every once in a while to take him to his desired destination.

His eyes are dry and red from lack of sleep and it takes effort to keep them open. He's so very tired, having slept little to none during his quest.

But the emerald came first. He could recover later.

Unfortunately for him, his body disagreed. His eyes droop and shut for, what felt like, only a moment. This little mistake sending him diving into another current and traveling in the wrong direction. His eyes snap open at the shift and he attempts to right himself before he could fall straight out of the sky.

He growls and searches for another current to get him back on course. He had to be quick. His glide making him fall miles and miles the wrong way, with each passing minute.

'There's one!'

He feels for it and turns. The strong gust sending him back where he was originally headed.

A couple minutes pass before he finally sees his island come into view.

He sighs, so close.

His excitement and relief cause his muscles to relax, for the first time in a while. He is very close to passing out from exhaustion.

He'd been fighting and searching with no breaks for a little over a week and a half, and his body was more than ready for rest.

His eyes were beginning to fall again. Only one thought floating around in his mind kept him awake.

The emerald.

He's just a couple yards away now. Almost there. He begins to zone out.

Until he suddenly finds his vision taken over by a face full of, '(y/n)?!'

You both yell in surprise, not having seen the other until a second before Knuckles crashed right into you.

"Puah!!"

"Oof!!"

Both of you fall over, the echidna landing ontop of you and sending you back a couple feet before stopping. The emerald pieces scatter around you both. Having fallen out of Knuckles grasp, upon impact.

You stay on the ground, unmoving, for a moment. Temporarily, K.O.'d by the sudden echidna's arrival.

Knuckles was left dazed, but not from the impact. Yes, he was surprised to see you here, but his body is finally getting what it's needed, and he's not sure he can fight its urge to rest much longer.

He was home, his friend was here, the emerald was here.

Everything was fine.

'Wait, the emerald!'

With eyes half-lidded, but still alert, he lifts his head enough to count the pieces of the gem, ensuring they were all still there. They were. He releases a breath he was holding, in relief, and puts his head back on your shoulder. You wouldn't mind if he took two minutes to rest his eyes would you?

You were greatly surprised by your friends entrance. How had you not seen him? How did he not see you? A bright red echidna, or a human, on Angel Island? You don't see many humans here. Or any for that matter. Even mobians! How did he manage to run into you?

You take a good look at him. There are bags under his eyes. When did he last sleep? His frame seemed slightly slimmer compared to the last time you saw him. And his tail, which naturally stood raised high, laid limp behind him. He looked exhausted.

"Knuckles?... Knux?"

He groans as you boop his snoot. A violet eye peeks at you. Letting you know he's listening, more or less.

"Knux, when was the last time you slept?"

He weakly shrugs. Closing his eye. His fatigued brain and body wanting nothing more than some lovely sleep. A fuzzy, blissful feeling just from closing his eyes, taking over his senses. Making him not even bother to fight anymore.

You glare, what does he mean by a shrug? He doesn't know, or it doesn't matter? Either one isn't good.

But apparently not bad enough.

His stomach rumbles, strong enough to practically shake his little frame. He curls in on himself with a grunt. The grumbling lessening, but not going away.

'The idiot hasn't been eating either?!'

Now very worried for him, you quickly sit up. While upsetting your friend, you didn't care.

He remains in a dazed sitting position, watching as you quickly pick up all the emerald pieces and gesture for him to follow you. He gives you a blank face, but gets up. Or, tries to at least. His shaky limbs not wanting to cooperate with their neglectful owner. No sleep. No food. And on the move for almost two weeks, it was surprising he hadn't full on collapsed yet.

You sigh and frown, this is gonna take forever, unless you do something.

You walk over to where he's standing, his legs shaking under his weight, and gently pick him up and holding him like a sack of potatoes over your shoulder. Your arm looping over his side and back, and his limbs hanging on either side. His head facing behind you as you began your trek to the shrine.

Knowing where you were headed, and having nothing else to do, Knuckles relaxed and dozed off in your hold. Too tired to argue or fight against the ridiculous way you held him.

Although, he wouldn't admit it for the life of him, he secretly loved any and all physical contact. Especially when it came from you. You being the only one, of all his friends, that he trusted the most. Besides Sonic and Tails.

He fell asleep to the sound of your steps and sway of your walk.

The poor idiot.

You tell him, time and time again, 'Take care of yourself or there won't be a guardian to watch over the M.E.', but does he listen? No! Of course not! You're just a human who knows nothing about mobians, let alone an ancient tribe and their ways of protecting a big green rock. It's not like you're his best friend or anything, who he's repeatedly told the history and importance of the emerald and the island to. Or how echidnas, and any mobians in general, have the same basic needs as humans, such as the need for rest and food! No, no. You were an ignorant little human. You didn't know what you were taking about.

You take a deep breath and sigh, looking at your friend. Sound asleep. No. You couldn't blame him too much.

For neglecting himself, definitely yes.

His poor stomach still complaining, even after he'd fallen asleep.

You sigh.

You're upset, but you do understand where his stubborn efforts were coming from.

His job, since he could remember, had been compromised. His self-claimed ,'soul purpose' ,being taken away from him. Of course he'd do everything in his power to get it back, a.s.a.p.

You just wish he'd also dedicate some time to take better care of himself, along the way.

You make it up the shrine. Kneeling down to put the emerald shards in the pile he'd started and covering it with a net like device you'd brought, that Tails had made. With the push of a button it would act as a cage that would camouflage whatever was underneath it. Along with a defense system that would electrocute anybody that doesn't have a programmed chaos energy reading or DNA signature within a ten yard vicinity on the x, y and z axis, so nobody could get anywhere near it.

You didn't know how to put the M.E. back together and probably couldn't if you did. It was his thing. An echidna thing. So you leave it as it is, and walk down the steps.

You make your way to a small house Knuckles had recently fixed up, after you'd scolded and cared for him after getting sick from staying out when it was snowing, a couple months back. You walk in, bend down a bit to get through the door, and take him to his bed. Well, it was a hammock, but he used it as a bed so, same thing.

You look for his blankets and pillow to set him up with. He always folded and put them away after using them. You guessed to either keep the house tidy, or to keep them as nicely kept as the day you brought them for him. Once that's that, you turn away from him. Wondering when he'd wake up. And what to do in the meantime.

A groan from behind you brings your attention back to your friend.

The sleeping echidna turns in his hammock with a grimace, curling into himself and holding his middle, but doesn't wake up.

You sigh.

That's what you'll do, while you wait, then.

It's not for another three hours before he wakes up.

At first, he's confused.

How did he get here?

'Where's the emerald!'

He quickly sits up. Vision spinning from the sudden move. He holds his head for a second, giving it a little shake.

He looks around and finds you in the kitchen, washing a dish, he guessed you'd probably just used.

His senses finally awaken along with the rest of him. His stomach cramps at the smell of food. A pained noise escaping him.

You hear his short cry and see him sitting up with an arm gripping his abdomen.

"Well good morning sleeping beauty."

He frowns. You'd told him about human stories before. Human Princess stories, to be exact. So he understood your tease with little to no amusement.

You laughed at his expression.

"Put that face away you grump and come and eat."

His eyes gave away his interest for the food, but he didn't move.

"Where's the emerald." He asks pointedly.

"Up on the shrine, and don't worry. It's protected."

Now he tries to stand up, but his legs shake under him and give way. He falls to all fours with a gasp, and you hurry over to him. Now slightly rested and fully conscious, his pride was touchy, so you just help him to his feet rather than pick him up again. He grumbles under his breath about being fine, or something along those lines, but accepts your help nonetheless.

"It's alright Knux, just sit down. I'll bring it to you."

He shakes his head," No. I need to get to the emerald."

Now it your turn to frown. "Um, no, I don't think so. You're staying here. "

"Oh? And who's gonna stop me? You?" He taunts, but not in an entirely joking manner.

You glare at him and suddenly release him, for only a second.

"Woah!!"

Surprising him as he fell straight to the ground... almost.

You scruff him at the last second and stand him back up.

"You were saying?"

He turns away, crossing his arms. Glaring and mumbling again about who knows what.

You do pick him up this time, but just to get him back to bed.

"I don't need your help. I don't need anymore rest. I need to get to the emerald."

You look him over for a second."Not a chance."

His eyes widen, looking incredulous.

"Look kid, you can barely stand. Let alone walk over to and go up the stairs to the shrine. And then to use even more energy to put it back together? I don't think so."

He looks away from you. Angered by your argument and his predicament. His fatigued and starved body not helping his crabby attitude.

"Well, then why can't you take me there? So I can see for myself it's safe, at least?!"

You walk away toward the kitchen again, getting a bowl and spoon.

" Is my word not good enough for you? The emerald is fine. And, no."

His jaw nearly drops, and he glares."So, that's it then! You're just gonna leave me here?! I thought we were friends! Isn't that what they're supposed to do? Help each other when one is in need!?"

You fill up his bowl and grab a glass with water. Bringing it over to him.

"Well, yes, friends help their friends. Especially when they're in need."

"Well this is a need. A big need. I Need your help to get me to the emerald. Right about now would be preferable."

You sit beside him on a stool and place the water next to him on a little nightstand beside you two. The bowl of soup still in your hands, as you stir to cool it off.

"I thought I already said no?"

"Wha-! What is your deal?! Why not!"

"Why, so you can ignore my wishes and think,'Hey, I'm already here. Might as well put the emerald back together and get this island off the ground!' And then I'd have to pick up your comatose tail back to your hammock and fend off harder thieves like Rouge or Eggman by myself, on a floating island. Oh, yes, have the flightless, glide-less, not as durable as a mobian-human fight the tougher bad guys AND take care of you while you're unconscious."

He growls and crossed his arms again. Then you act like you'd just had an idea.

"Ah, you know what? I have a better idea."

He's about to snark and argue with you again, but you hold the bowl you had right infront of his muzzle. The strong smell of the broth and herbs getting to him, and sending another cramp through his torso.

You look him in the eyes. A serious frown on your face.

"Eat. Rest. Get better. Then, you'll be able to take yourself, whenever you want. I won't stop you."

He growls in frustration turning away from the bowl, but his stomach decides for him. A painful groan encouraging him to take the soup. Albeit, with a begrudged look on his face, but at least he's eating.

You walk away to give him space.

"And don't worry so much about the emerald. With the island already down, and you huddled up here, nobody would think to come here. Tails' invention will keep the emerald, along with it's energy signature, hidden. Without the emerald, the island doesn't float. No floating island or guardian, no precious emerald....I'll be at the shrine."

He watches as you leave the house. His earlier attitude fading away. You were right. What better time to recover than when the island looked emerald-less.

He looks down at himself. Cozied up with the blankets and pillows you'd gotten him. And a hot meal he never asked you to make.

His insides turn.

You'd been treating him like a friend since he'd gotten back. Maybe better than a friend. And he'd done nothing but argue and claim otherwise since he'd woken up. After you'd probably been watching over his island the entire time he was gone. Without him asking that of you either.

Thinking ahead, keeping the shards he'd already brought, safe. Keeping his home safe and secure.

And after all that. He just had to push and question your loyalty as a friend. All because he didn't get what he wanted. Even though you'd given him what he sorely needed.

He sighs. Setting his spoon back in the bowl. He was starving. Those couple of spoon fulls doing nothing but taunt his stomach. But after you'd departed, so did his appetite.

He set aside the bowl on the nightstand, beside his water, and tries to get up again. He knew if he didn't apologize now, he'd lose the courage to later.

He slowly stands on shaky legs.

He takes a breath and steadies himself. His feet holding firm enough, he begins a slow trek to the shrine.

Sure enough, there you are.

He'd just come to the clearing where the altar sat and he could see you at the top of the stairs. Keeping lookout, especially now that all the emeralds pieces were together, you knew they'd need watching out for, now more than ever.

He looks ahead and makes his way to you.

He doesn't make it very far before you disappear. Only to reappear behind him. Your sudden appearance startling him aback, he almost trips over himself.

He always hated when you did that.

You saw him coming even before reaching the clearing. Even among the lush forest greenery, a bright red echidna can catch your eye instantly. You looked away and fumed for a bit and quickly decided to mess with him. Not only for not resting like you'd told him, but to get a little even for how he acted earlier.

And it worked.

Knuckles hadn't seen you leave the altar and so missed you coming up behind him.

" What are you doing here?"

You asked, making him nearly jump out of his sneakers. You knew he was a little out of it, but you didn't think it was this bad.

He turns to see you, his mouth opening like he had something to say, but closing again. He repeated this again, but still said nothing.

While amusing, you were still very much upset.

"While I do find your fish impression pretty impressive, once again, I ask, why are you here?"

He looked down towards his feet. A couple bugs scurried about, distracting him for a moment. He knew what he wanted to say. So why couldn't he say it?!

'She's your best friend. You aren't a coward, are you?' He repeats in his mind.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you.

"Look, I just wanted to say.. I'm sorry. I know you were trying to help me, but..I didn't see that. I thought you didn't care about what needed to be done. That you didn't respect me or my job. But you did.. you do. You didn't give me what I wanted, but you did give me what I desperately needed. Even if i couldn't see it and fought you over it, you fought back for my own wellbeing. And..I'm sorry for taking you for granted like that, and for questioning you and acting like a jerk. If anybody wasn't acting like a good friend, it was me."

You stare at him for what felt like an hour to him, then reply with a frown.

"Knux, I'll always be there for you, whether you like it or not. And as much as I appreciate and accept your apology, you really shouldn't be here. You're still doing exactly the opposite of what you should be doing."

He doesn't understand. Shouldn't his apology have made things better?

"Look at me Knux, forget the emerald for now, it's safe. Forget about me for now, I'm safe, and I'm not mad at you, or going anywhere. You,-" you poke his forehead. He gives an almost cross eyed frown.

"You've done your job for now. You should be resting back in bed. Did you even finish the bowl I gave you?"

He frowns and dry swallows, giving you your answer. You roll your eyes.

"How many times-."

You pick him up over your shoulder, the same way you'd done earlier, with one arm. And surprisingly, he doesn't seem to mind. His head turns towards you as you spoke.

"You come first Knux. Before the emerald. Before the island. Without you, the emerald has no guardian." He tries to argue, but you quickly shut him down.

"But I-"

"shush*"

He blinks,"Ah? Did you just shush me-"

"Shhh."

He gave you an annoyed look, but doesn't comment anymore. Just glad you were still friends and you weren't mad at him.

You both get back to the house quicker than if you'd let him walk on his own.

You let him down to get to bed, while you get him a fresh bowl of soup.

He doesn't even bother to put the covers over himself. He just drops himself into his hammock. The hanging bed, swinging him back and forth. His fatigue weighing on him even more, now that he was accepting it.

You come over and hand him the food. With his appetite suddenly returned, he quickly sits up and eats.

After polishing off a couple bowls, he thanks you and hands you his dish after you'd come to take it. Laying down, he just stares at his ceiling. Listening to you moving about in the kitchen and then saying you'll be back, as you go to keep watch again.

He nods, and at the same time, thinking about you. His friend, who would keep a lookout for his island and the emerald. Looking out for him. The nice thoughts helping him to drift off into a peaceful slumber.

Just as your out the door, you hear his snoring and smile.

Finally!

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles x (platonic!) reader #this kid needs to learn he is just as important as the gem and island he so diligently looks after💗#X Knuckles #or #modern knuckles #reader is tired of this little echidna's self sacrificing attitude #echidna in need of a vacation #or at least a good nap #thank u @heckinconfusedparade for giving me the push I needed to publish my stories🥰💕

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sunvmars · 1 year ago

Text

only you || s.r.

pairing: steve rogers x reader (brief platonic!nat, sam, and bucky.)

*navigation/directory | request box | taglist | masterlist

word count: 7.1k summary: only a few weeks after a breakup, you go out for the night with the team. steve doesn’t show up, and he’s been purposefully not showing up to anything non-work related after the breakup. however, tonight you drink a little too much, and insist that steve pick you up. warnings: angst (breakup, talk of bullying, body image issues), swearing, drinking, *smutty implications.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't know who else to call," Sam explains, his voice raised to speak louder than the blaring music.

"She keeps asking for you, and she won't go with anyone but you," Bucky adds as he and Sam lead Steve through the crowded dancefloor.

The blond sighs and shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. "It's alright, really, but just how drunk is she, exactly?"

Before Sam can respond, they come to a stop right in front of the team's reserved booth. Bruce had only come for all of an hour of the night, but Clint and Tony had left about thirty minutes prior to Steve's arrival, leaving your well-being in Natasha, Bucky, and Sam's hands.

Steve looks over you and Nat; you're laid down on the long, cushioned seat with your head resting on her lap. Her jacket is slung over your lower half to cover your exposed legs from your dress rising up on your thighs. You're looking up at her adoringly, reaching up to twirl strands of her hair between your fingers as you mumble about how pretty her hair is.

"That answer your question?" Sam whispers, chuckling slightly.

Another sigh falls from Steve's lips, and although his heart aches, he has to stop himself from cracking a smile. "That it does."

He steps closer to the booth, taking in the sight of you with softened eyes. Typically, you never let yourself get this drunk, not in the public eye at least. Even though it's clear you've had more than a bit too much to drink, the sight is endearing.

Nat directs her attention from you and up at the three men approaching the table instead. Her expression is one of amusement with a slight hint of relief as she looks down at you again. "Hey, look who's here, honey," she says softly to you.

You turn your head in her lap and let your hands fall back down, finally releasing her hair from your gentle grip. Your eyes land on Steve and you blink up at him before a wide, drunken smile spreads on your face.

"Steeeeve!" you exclaim in a slur, reaching your hand out for him. "You came!"

He crouches down next to the booth, hesitantly taking your hand into his. "Hey, doll. 'Course I came, I always will. Looks like you've had fun tonight, huh?"

You nod excitedly and your smile spreads into a grin. "Nat's hair is sooo pretty, did ya know that? 'S soft too, like a pillow," you ramble, your words somehow not coming out scrambled.

"I bet," Steve says, watching Nat brush your hair out of your face. "Let's get you home, yeah?"

"Your home?" you ask in a softer voice.

Right. His home.

"I don't..." Steve starts before falling into silent contemplation.

He looks up at Nat who's already looking back at him, her expression apologetic and soft. Then his eyes shift back down to you, and his heart clenches in his chest. Your eyelashes flutter as you blink at him, your eyes light up and twinkle in a way that they only do for him, and your lips part a little as you take slower breaths.

How could he say no to that?

"Sure, yeah, we'll go back to mine," he concedes gently, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

You smile again and scramble to sit upright. Nat lays a hand on your back to help keep you balanced, Steve taking your other hand in his free one to pull you up gently. When you're sat up straight, he takes Nat's jacket off your legs and helps you tug your dress back down.

He slides your phone off the table and into his pocket before throwing your arms around his neck. You take the hint to hold on as he slides one of his arms under your legs and the other behind your back.

Effortlessly, he lifts you into his arms. You clasp your hands together behind his neck and a giggle slips out of your lips- a sound that was once music to his ears which had now become one he longed to hear again.

"G'night, Nat," you say sweetly, turning your head to look at her.

Steve's body follows the direction of your head, turning towards the table so you don't strain your neck. Her eyes meet yours and she smiles at you once more.

"Goodnight, babe. Text me tomorrow, alright?" she requests before looking up at Steve and saying, "Make sure to get some water in her, we had to trick her into drinking some by watering down her tequila."

"Will do-"

Your gasp cuts Steve off effectively, her words only just now sinking in. "That wasn't tequila?!" you exclaim, your voice coming out quieter than you realize.

The three at the table laugh a little- even Steve lets out a low chuckle of his own.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Nat starts, her voice dropping to a whisper before continuing, "It was definitely tequila, but you know these guys are no fun, so we can't tell them that."

"Ohhh, right, right. I can keep a secret- you're the world's bestest adult sitter," you reply softly.

"The best, huh?" she questions with a half smirk.

When you nod, she takes a sip of her drink, placing the glass down before saying, "I'll be expecting my plaque soon then."

"You wanna say bye to Sam and Bucky?" he asks, looking over slightly to meet your eyes.

You hum in response and he walks you over a few steps to Bucky and Sam who are sitting at the other end of the table. The pair smile at you, though it's more of an amused grin on Bucky's end, and you return the gesture.

"Bye, Bucky," you say, sleep and intoxication ridden in your voice.

Bucky chuckles and rises to his feet to ruffle your hair playfully. "Bye, doll. You get some good sleep, alright?"

Your nose scrunches at the feeling of his hand in your hair. "Always good sleep when with Stevie."

Bucky sits back down, and Sam starts to speak, "Punch it in," he instructs, raising his fist up to your level.

You oblige happily, curling your hand into a fist to the best of your ability and bumping it against his. "G'bye," you slur, nuzzling your face into the crook of Steve's neck.

"Call us if you need us," Bucky says to Steve.

"Yeah, thank you for watching over her," Steve responds appreciatively, "Goodnight, be safe getting home."

"'Night," the three say collectively, smiling at him in a way that's bordering apologetic.

Steve forces a smile before turning to walk away. He makes his way through the crowd, holding you tight and protectively against his chest.

"You can go to sleep if you want, I can tell you're sleepy," he murmurs low enough for just you to hear him.

A small whimper emits from you, making a warmth spread through his body. He looks down at you adoringly before looking back up, shifting his focus back to the rather slow journey to the exit. Although some people part to make way for who they know to be Captain America himself, most of them are too drunk to care. So, Steve focuses heavily on navigating through the maze of bodies.

When he steals a glance down at you again, you're sleeping peacefully and your head has fallen back away from his neck. You must've felt him move though, because you immediately nestle your face back into his neck, and the warmth of your breath against his skin makes him shiver. The scent of the alcohol you'd been drinking lingers, but it's mixed with the familiar fragrance of your vanilla perfume, and it creates a blend that only you could pull off.

When you reach the exit, the cold, autumn night air hits both of your faces. Steve adjusts his grip on you to make sure you're comfortable and then walks to the car he ordered that dropped him off. The driver steps out, and opens the passenger side door for the two of you, allowing Steve to slide you comfortably onto the seat.

He thanks the driver as you whine at the loss of contact. You melt sleepily into his touch when he reaches in to brush your hair behind your ear to let you know he's not leaving. The bright city lights reflect in his blue eyes, and a soft, but achy, smile plays on his lips at the sight of you. Careful not to wake you or pinch your fingers, he fastens your seatbelt, making sure you're secure before closing the car door.

He walks to the other side of the car and gets in, choosing to sit by the window instead of next to you in the middle seat. As the car starts up, he can't help but look at you and admire you. The admiration quickly turns into longing, though. He takes in every part of your face, his mind plaguing itself with the memory of just over two months ago.

"I don't think I'm right for you."

The words flow easily from your mouth like water between open fingers. Steve looks at you, utterly confused and hurt. His jaw tightens, his eyebrows furrowing as he opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again when he can't find the words.

He gets off the couch, rising to his feet and looking at you from across the room. "You want to leave, to forget everything from the last year and a half, just because you don't think you're right for me?"

The weight of your decision and his words sit heavily on your shoulders as you slouch over, putting your face in your hands for a moment. "I... I'm no good for you, Steve, and you deserve better than me... I can't be what, or who, you need."

"What are you talking about, y/n? You're perfect to me, I wouldn't trade you for anything," he explains, trying to keep his voice soft and reassuring despite the fear and irritation building up in him. "Please, tell me what I can do to make you feel better and I'll do it, I'll do anything-"

"You can't do anything!" you finally snap, your emotions being misdirected towards him. You let the warm tears that were welling up fall freely from your eyes as you continue, "There's nothing you can do, Steven, I'm not the person you need, and I never will be. Drop it, just leave it at that, and move on."

"'Leave it at that?'" Steve repeats back in bewilderment. "We have been together for almost two years and you expect me to drop all of it just like that?"

All you can muster up in response is a quiet, "I'm sorry."

He watches you stand up and sling your purse over your shoulder. Desperately, he scrambles for the right words to say to make you stay. "Baby, please, tell me what's really going on here- this cannot be it for us, I won't let it be."

Steve takes long strides towards you only for you to back away from him. For some strange reason, that small action hurt worse than any of the words that came, or could possibly come, out of your mouth. He stops dead in his tracks, trying to search your face for any sign of changing your mind. When he doesn't find it, he bites down on his tongue to save himself more heartache from the useless begging he wants to let out.

"I'm sorry, Steve. You deserve better, and you always have," you mumble, wiping the tears off your cheeks and walking quickly to the front door.

"I love you," he says, only to receive no response other than the front door slamming shut as you walk out of it.

“You alright back there?” the driver’s voice snaps Steve out of his thoughts. “You need heat or air? Seat warmers? Anything?”

Steve shakes his head slightly, snapping himself out of it. His hand reaches over to you, and he rests the back of his hand on your forehead. “A little heat, thanks,” he says with a smile after nothing the tinge of cold your skin has.

“Of course,” the driver says with a returned smile as he turns the heat on.

As he avigates the familiar route to Steve’s apartment, with the sleepiness Steve feels, he's thankful for the fact that there's only a minute or two remaining of the drive. And on the other hand, he’s sulking about the short time left because that’s two minutes closer to you being gone by the time he wakes up.

He turns his gaze back to you, still peacefully asleep with your head resting against the window. The soft hum of the engine provides an almost calming backdrop that yet does nothing to soothe the ache that persists. Focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest always seems to soothe him though, and it still does so now.

The car comes to a stop in front of the apartment, and Steve reaches into his wallet to pull out some cash. He pulls out his keys too, to make it easier when he gets to the door. Then he hands the cash to the driver with a grateful nod before getting out of the car and making his way to your side. Gently, he opens the door, reaching up quickly to lean your head back on the headrest.

You grumble a little, and he's quick to ease you as he unbuckles your seatbelt. "Sorry, sweetheart, but we're home now."

"Home?" you murmur, still half asleep.

He carefully lifts you into his arms once more, and you instantly cling to his jacket. "Yeah... home."

The building's lobby is quiet as he enters through the automatic doors, the night shift doorman giving him a knowing smile. Steve offers nothing but a small and short nod in return, his focus solely on your drunken state. Luckily the elevator ride is short, but every second feels like an eternity to him.

The weight of your body curled up in his arms provides a comforting familiarity. It's a familiarity he soaks up though, having not seen you outside of work during the few missions you had together. In fact, you hadn't spoken to him outside of work since you left either.

Even during missions, you were short with your comments. And when you picked up your things from his apartment, of which you were actively moving into, you did it on a day when he was gone. You'd left your key under the mat and shot him a brief text letting him know. He replied, only asking how you were doing, but he got no response back.

The elevator dings, snapping him out of his thoughts again as he steps out, taking long strides until he reaches his door. He turns to the side, bending down ever so slightly to unlock the door with his keys in the hand hooked under your legs. He twists the doorknob and pushes the door open, carrying you inside with practiced ease.

The soft glow of outside city lights filters through the open windows. Paired with the dim tv, the lights cast a cool ambiance over the living room. With a deep breath, he heads straight to his room and slowly lays you down on the bed.

The bedroom is dark except for the blue and green aurora projected on the ceiling from the starlight projector you insisted he get since his room was too 'plain.' At first, the light kept him up at night because he found it too distracting, but since you'd left, he couldn't sleep without it on. After all, it was the only piece of you that you left with him other than the few shirts and undergarments.

Steve sighs deeply, taking your heels off your feet and placing them next to the bed. He covers you with your favorite blanket from the foot of his bed, and with a heart heavier than typical, he makes his way to the kitchen to fill up a cup with water. He then carries the glass back to the bedroom and sits it on the bedside table.

He takes a moment to simply watch you as he sits on the edge of the bed next to you. The soft features of your face relaxed in sleep makes him contemplate waking you up- you were always a peaceful sleeper, and he hated disturbing those few moments of peace.

Before he can attempt to wake you, you begin to stir, your eyelashes fluttering as your eyes slowly open. You blink slowly a few times, allowing your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and then a sleepy smile forms on your face when you see Steve.

"Hey," he greets you softly, reaching over to offer you the glass of water from the nightstand.

"Thank you," you say.

It's obvious that you're still not sober as you take the glass and sit up too quickly, the sudden movement resulting in your head throbbing as you groan. "Ouch," you mumble, pressing the palm of your free hand against your forehead.

"You okay?"

"Think so," you reply, sitting up much slower than before.

The cool water soothes you a little as you take small sips of it. A contented sigh falls from your lips, your body appreciating the non-alcoholic beverage. You place the glass back onto its spot on the nightstand and then focus your attention back on Steve.

Your eyes reflect the projector's lights as your eyes rake over him for a few seconds. Slower than you realize, you raise your hand and brush it gently over his cheek in admiration. "You're like... like an angel, but a reaaally handsome one," you croon.

Steve chuckles, a mixture of amusement and genuine joy spreading across his features. "I'm flattered, but you're the angel here, honey," he says with a smile.

He captures your hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. You giggle in response, the alcohol still evident in your system, and then your happy expression fades away. You look down, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

"I'm sorry for, uhm, causing a fuss t'night. I never meant to ruin your night..."

The look on his face becomes one closer to sympathetic as he drops your hand, now reaching over to cup your cheek. Carefully, he forces you to look at him as he speaks. "Hey, you didn't ruin anything, alright? I'll always come when you need me, and I'm just glad you're okay."

Missing the feeling of his skin on yours all too much, you lean into his touch, letting his warmth soothe you. "Thanks for...everything."

"Anytime, truly," he replies.

There's a comfortable silence that falls between you, the weight of the obvious unspoken words lingering in the air. You look up at him, trying to keep yourself awake. Steve drops his hand and tries to memorize every detail of your face. He knows that tomorrow things will go back to how they were, and he's not sure he can stomach that.

It only takes a few more beats of silence before he breaks the said silence, his voice low and gentle. "Can we talk?" he asks, his blue eyes searching yours.

You hum for a moment, taking a slow breath before saying, "Jus' for a minute, very sleepy."

"I just... I have one question, that okay?"

"Hm?"

Steve musters up the courage to speak, only breaking apart from your gaze for a second. "Could you maybe tell me why you left? Like why you really left?"

When your eyes flicker with hesitation and sadness, he starts to regret asking. The air feels heavier than it ever has, holding the weight of everything spoken and not yet said, but he breathes it all in. Right as he's about to tell you to not worry about it, you take a deep breath and smother your vulnerability with the knowledge that he deserves the truth. Slowly as to not give yourself another headache, you nod.

"S'like I told you, that was the truth, 'm not good enough. You look at me with so much love and admiration, and I know...I know I could never live up to what you think of me," you explain, drawing out each word a little more than you would if you were sober. "'M holding you back, always have been, and you deserve better."

His eyebrows furrow as he takes in your words, his gaze intense and sharp. "I look at you like that because of who you are, not because of who I think you should be," he says in an attempt to reassure you. He reaches out to take your hand in his as he continues, "You're always been more than enough, honey. I mean, hell, you're more than I deserve, and-"

"No, no, you don't get it!" you exclaim lowly, cutting him off and taking your hand out of his grip. "Y-you're perfect, you're America's golden boy, and 'm jus' me. I hate my body, my mind, an-and everything about me. Could never be good enough for you, Steve. As if I don't already hate myself enough, everyone says and sees how much more you deserve, except for you."

Steve's mind races and his heart tightens as he takes in your words. The obvious pain in your voice cuts through him like a scalding knife, the tears welling up in your eyes cutting him even deeper. He's now sure that nothing could measure up to the pain of hearing you talk about yourself in the complete opposite way of how he thinks of you.

Silence passes as he dwells on your words. Then it clicks.

"Who's been saying that?" he questions sternly.

You avoid his gaze like the plague, immediately breaking the eye contact you were holding. Physically, you can feel yourself shrink. Whether it's the guilt from your outburst, the shame from everything you've heard and thought about yourself, or the intensity of his gaze- you're not sure.

His jaw tightens in anger, but not directed at you. "Who, y/n?"

A deep and heavy sigh falls from your lips as your eyes dart around the room. "Phone," you say quietly, holding out your hand to him.

Steve looks at your outstretched hand, confusion covering the concern etched on his face briefly. He pauses for a moment before reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out your phone. Placing it in your hand, he watches closely as you unlock it with shaky fingers. Your eyes scan over the screen, but it doesn't take long for you to find what you were looking for, and your expression tells it all.

You hesitate to hand the phone to him, but you do so anyway, lying down on the bed and curling up into yourself as soon as the phone touches his hands. And, not that you see it, but his eyes narrow as he reads over everything rapidly. You'd had it all saved in a little folder; every message, every media report, every post made about you.

He's not sure what's worse of the situation, to be honest. To know that you'd felt this way about yourself for God knows how long and not have said anything about it was painful, sure. However, the words written about you were downright cruel, analytical, and simply not true at all.

But the amount of things that were written and you had saved for you to read at your whim, only reaffirming whatever untrue things you thought about yourself? That was a different level of hurt that he could imagine hurt you hundreds of times worse than it does him.

Unable to stomach anymore, he places your phone face down on the nightstand. Silently, he scoots up on the bed to be closer, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You flinch at the contact at first, but his touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the words you've been subjected to.

"I'm so, so sorry, my sweet girl," he says softly, trying to force down tears of his own.

You take a shaky breath in and out, your voice barely above a low murmur. "Didn't want you to leave me, so I left first."

Steve's heart sinks at your admission, his thumb gently stroking your cheek to wipe away the stray tear that escaped your eye. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture that's meant to offer some kind of comfort and reassurance.

"I would've never left you, and I still won't, okay? I know you care about what they say, but I don't. Nothing could ever skew my image of you, angel, you're my definition of perfect- you don't have any image to live up to in my mind," he promises with a soft-spoken tone.

You can't find it in you to respond even though you want to, all too scared of your voice failing you. Sheer pain radiates from you to the point where it's almost suffocating. While he's more than aware that no words can take back anything you've read or heard, the simple fact that he can't undo what has already been done riddles him with guilt still.

If he could, he would take all of that ache and bear it all for you.

"When did all this start?" he inquires, waiting patiently for your answer.

"I don't know..."

"I know you do, honey, you can tell me."

"Only... Only a week after we got together, got worse after I started moving in here."

"Scoot," he instructs gently, careful to control his tone with you although he feels a deep rage.

You oblige and scoot over slowly. Almost instantly, he lays down behind you, curling up so that his body molds with yours. He brushes a few pieces of your hair back before wrapping his arm around your midsection to hold you protectively against him.

"Can I ask you one more thing?" he asks, adding on, "And you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

After thinking about it for a second, you nod. He tries to find the best way to ask what he wants to ask. Deep down he wants, but somehow already knows, the answer, yet he doesn't want to make things worse. Nor does he want it to seem like the subject is the only thing he was thinking about.

"Is…is all of this, meaning what people have said and what you think about yourself- is this why we've never, you know, done anything together?" he inquires with furrowed brows from the overwhelming amount of emotions. "I'm just asking because I never thought this would be why, I thought I was doing something wrong or you just weren't ready."

Your body tenses at his question, and you have to steady your voice before answering, "Part of it. Never felt good enough, and I didn't want you to see me like that and be disappointed."

Steve frowns, sighing lowly as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. The gesture is simple, but it effectively conveys the depth of what he feels.

"I don't care how long it takes me to convince you, but I'll spend forever trying to get you to see yourself even a fraction of the way I do if I have to," he says as his thumb traces circles on your side. "You're absolutely breathtaking, angel. Fuck anyone who says you're anything other than beautiful."

A quiet giggle slips from between your lips, unable to hold contain your momentary amusement. For the first time in a while, he smiles a real, genuine smile. "You don't know how long I've missed the sound of that pretty laugh."

"You said 'fuck,'" you tease, trying to soak in the temporary joy.

He chuckles and the sounds rumbles through his chest. "Sometimes I can be a little hypocritical, especially when it comes to protecting you."

The smile you hold fades again, and you're left with nothing but the sadness and warmth of Steve's body behind yours. "Thank you," you whisper.

Steve tightens his hold around you and presses another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. "You don't need to thank me for telling you the truth, it's what I'm here for, and I meant every word."

The two of you lay there in silence for a while. The room stays filled only with the sounds of your delicate breathing and the occasional passing of a distant car. This time, the silence isn't agonizing though. Steve's presence makes it feel comforting, and his words make your brain go mute even if just for tonight, making the weight of the world lift just a little.

"Stevie?" you murmur, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" he responds.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist. "Don't wanna be alone t'night," you admit.

"Then you won't be," he promises softly. "Do you want me to help you out of that dress? No pressure, of course, I was just thinking it might be more comfortable for you to sleep if you changed. I think you've still got a shirt here or you could wear one of mine, and like I said I could leave if-"

"Steve?"

"...Yes?"

"Don't think I could get out of this dress by myself right now if I wanted to, and I'd love one of your shirts."

Steve smiles at your response, relief washing over him at your comfort with him. He unwraps his arm from around you, sitting up slowly before helping you sit up. When he slides off the bed, walking over to his dresser to find a shirt, you scoot yourself slowly to the edge of the bed. Your legs dangle off the edge and your shoulders slouch as you try to keep yourself awake.

With a worn-out gray t-shirt in his hand, he walks back over to you. "Alright, sweetheart. Let me take care of you," he says.

He places the shirt on the bed and reaches behind you to unzip your dress. You allow your head to fall against his chest, trying to soak in his warmth. His movements are slow and delicate, precise too, ensuring that he doesn't cause you any discomfort.

Once the zipper is down, he leaves his hands resting on your back to help you slide off the bed. Then he slips the thin straps down your arms, allowing the dress to fall to the floor, leaving you in just your underwear.

Crystalline, icy blue eyes rake over your body for a moment as he bends down to pick up the discarded fabric. It's not a sexual ogling, and you know that; he's simply admiring you the way he has always wanted to.

Suddenly feeling bashful, you avoid his gaze. You look at anything but him or your body, opting to focus on the street lights outside the big window. He catches your slight shyness immediately and quickly tries to soothe you.

"Hey," he coos with concern written on his face, one hand resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek, "You're perfect, angel. Are you feeling uncomfortable, do I need to step out for a minute?"

"N-no," you answer promptly and force yourself to meet his eyes. "'M jus' not used to being looked at like this."

Steve's gaze softens, clearly showing he understands the vulnerability you feel. He leans in to press a lingering kiss on your forehead. "If you let me, I'll help you get used to it- and I'll make sure you never feel unsafe or uncomfortable with me. How's that sound?"

The corners of your lips manage to quirk up into an appreciative smile. "Sounds nice, Stevie," you reply, your voice low but still audible.

Returning the same appreciative look, he picks up the t-shirt and says, "Thank you for letting me see you, and touch you, but let's get into something more comfortable for right now. You need some sleep."

You nod and raise your arms up in the air so he can slide the t-shirt onto you. It's then that you notice he'd given you the same shirt you wore the first night you ever spent the night at his place, and almost every time since then, threatening to make you cry.

The fabric is as soft against your skin as it always has been, and the scent of Steve's cologne envelops you, providing a sense of security. A warm feeling spreads through your chest at how he cares for you.

Steve takes a small step back to admire you in the shirt, and just to get another look at you. A fond smile plays on his lips as he looks you over once more. "Always has looked better on you than it does on me. Good to know it still does," he says, honesty obvious in his voice.

Again, your eyes lock with his. You search him for any sign of anything negative, coming up with nothing almost instantly. He searches you for any look or hint of discomfort, but he finds nothing other than sleepiness and adoration in your gaze.

Silence passes over the two of you like it had just mere minutes ago. The quiet environment feels even more natural and comforting than it did before, though.

He clears his throat, trying to prevent the eye contact from becoming awkward for you. "Uhm, let's get you into bed, alright?"

You step to the side so he can pull the comforter back, your hands playing with the bottom hem of the shirt. He turns to face you, and you take a wobbly step towards him, balancing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. His hand flies to your lower back to offer you more support, and you look up at him through the eyelashes of your sleepy eyes.

Slowly, tracing your way up and down his chest once, your eyes stare into him with something he'd never seen in you before. In fact, the look is so intense that it could make any man weak, he's sure of it. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly at your sudden touchiness.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, somehow oblivious to exactly what look it is that you're giving him.

"Mhmm," you hum, drawing out the 'hm,' with a voice laced with a soft and sleepy seduction from still being tipsy. "Y'know, 'm not thaaat tired."

"Oh? The way that you're hardly able to hold yourself up says otherwise, angel. We have all of tomorrow to talk, let me just help take care of you tonight."

A giggle slips from between your parted lips in response to his cluelessness. "S'cute when you're so sweet," you croon.

"Do you, uhm, do you need something before bed? Like an Advil maybe?"

Instead of a verbal response, you grab onto his jacket and give it a slight tug. You take a step forward, pushing him back gently to force him to sit on the bed. He looks up at you in confusion, but you don't let go of him as you slowly straddle him. With your weight being supported by your knees on the bed and his legs under you, you lean in, nuzzling your face into his neck.

"Angel, what're you-"

Your lips brush lightly under his jawline, leaving a trail of tender kisses as you gradually make your way down to under his chin.

Steve's breath hitches, and his free hand comes to rest on your waist with a delicate, but firm, grip. "O-oh," he murmurs in a sigh.

You nibble gently on his jaw. "Jus' need you," you mumble before pressing your lips to his.

He lets you kiss him, unable to resist the feeling because, well fuck, how could he?

The taste of your lips is all too familiar, and as his lips work against yours, his hands find your hips. His hold on you is secure, and it does nothing to ease the arousal building up in your stomach. You whine from the contact, and he tugs you closer, still careful to keep you steady on his lap.

His resolve weakens, and he becomes hyperaware of your vulnerable state again. So, he breaks the kiss, looking down and into your eyes.

"Y/n, I'm not sure if-" he starts, only to be interrupted by you dipping down to bite on his neck. You suck harshly on his neck as you reach down and palm him through his jeans.

A low groan emits from his chest, his voice husky when he speaks. "God, baby.”

Thoroughly enjoying the reaction he gives, you whimper against his neck. He can feel the corners of your lips turn up into a slight smile. His other hand is on the other side of your waist, gripping it firmly, as soon as you start grinding down onto his thigh. He loses himself in the moment for just a second before reminding himself of your inebriated state.

“F-Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Wait, wait- stop.”

You bite down once more, whining slightly before pulling away. The sensitive spot on his neck pulses, rushing with blood from the sucking and vibration. He tenses up with a mixture of both surprise and arousal at your forwardness. Then he lets both of his hands find your hips and settle on them, his hold tightening on you.

"D-did I do somethin' wrong? Did that not feel good?" you ask with a deep frown.

"No, no. That's not it, I promise; everything you've done feels amazing," Steve reassures you, quickly shutting down your negative thoughts.

Once again, he clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "Angel, you're just… not in the best state right now. I won't take advantage of you, and I don't want you doing anything you might regret," he explains as he looks down to meet your gaze.

You're staring up at him with those big puppy dog eyes that you always use as an effective method to sway him. Tonight, though, is vastly different.

"C'mon, doll. Don't look at me like that. If you still want me in a few hours, when you're sober, that is, then I am all yours," he promises, trying to bargain with you.

You stick your lower lip out a little unintentionally, giving him the cutest pout he's ever seen. "Sober..." you repeat, looking away almost in shame as you add, "Promise you'll still want me then?"

Steve tilts your chin up with his finger and forces you to lock eyes with him. "I can promise you. I've never wanted anything more in my life than I want you. And that's never going to change."

Tantalizingly, he runs his thumb across your lower lip, a small smile playing on his lips. "But, I need you to be sure that this is what you want. I want you to remember every moment, not just bits and pieces of it, and know that everything we do is your choice," he says softly.

After taking a moment to process his words, you nod in understanding- noting the sincerity in his eyes. The room fills itself with an assortment of emotions, ranging everywhere from desire, uncertainty, and just a touch of venerable fragility.

Steve brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his expression one of soft neutrality. "Alright. Let's get you tucked in," he whispers, his voice a low murmur.

You let go of his jacket after he scoots back on the bed, bringing your knee from the other side of his leg and lying down. You curl yourself into a ball, and Steve's eyes never leave you as you do so. He takes a moment to appreciate the mere sight of you back in his bed, and a wave of warmth rushes through his chest. His earlier desires are still very much present, but so is the respect for the boundaries he set for your well-being.

He gets up briefly to pull the blankets over you before sitting down in the comfy chair in the corner of the room to take his shoes off. The chair you'd begged him to get as well to fill up the empty space in the room.

After sliding the boots under the chair, he makes his way to the dresser to change into some loose-fitting sweatpants. When he's about to put a shirt on, you grumble a 'no,' that catches his attention and makes him turn to face you.

"No?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow up questioningly.

"Nuh-uh," you respond with a shake of your head.

He chuckles lightly. "Why not?"

"Warmer without it, not a bad sight either," you say softly, following it up with a yawn.

Steve smirks in appreciation of your usual playfulness. "If you insist," he concedes, deciding to forgo the shirt. He slips the shirt back into the drawer and walks back over to the bed.

He settles himself in beside you and lifts his arm up, allowing you to scoot into his side and rest your head on his chest. Happily, you hum, soaking up his warmth and focusing on his steady heartbeat. He then reaches down with his free hand to pull the blanket over himself.

"Uncomfortable?" you murmur, sleep laced in your voice.

"No, I'll be alright as long as you're comfortable."

A second passes by before you speak again. "Thank you."

"For what, angel?"

"For being so...you."

You feel Steve's chest rise and fall with a deep, contented sigh. His fingers trace slow circles on your back through your shirt. "Always," he whispers, his soft voice lulling you even closer to sleep.

The room stays wrapped in a soothing silence, the only sounds heard being the quiet breaths from both of you. As you lay there trying to sleep, you can't help but marvel at the man beside you. Everything about him is truly perfect, from his basic concern for your well-being to the way he has always taken care of you.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy, slowly shutting fully as you find yourself on the brink of slumber. Just before you succumb to sleep, you muster up the energy to mumble, "Steve?"

"Hmm?" he responds, his chest rumbling under your cheek.

"'M glad it's you."

"Wouldn't trade you for anything, sweetheart," he murmurs, placing a kiss on the top of your head. "And, for the record, I'm glad it's you too."

Steve continues to run his fingers over your back as you fall asleep. His fingers create a rhythmic pattern that mirrors the peaceful in and out of your breathing, only making your rest more soothing. He looks down at you and smiles to himself, reveling in the sheer joy of having you back, even if it's only for tonight.

Often the weight of his responsibilities feels too heavy to bear, but with you, there's a sense of solace that transcends the chaos of the outside world. Everything about you and your presence is a sanctuary. It's all a nice reminder that, after everything he does for everyone else, he's worthy of a little tranquility at the end of the day too.

Steve presses another gentle kiss into your hair before closing his eyes, savoring the sweet moment. "Goodnight, angel."

He hears your tired, softly grumbled response before he falls asleep. Though he tries not to let himself get too wrapped up in the moment, too used to your presence again, he does anyway. If there is anything he wants for the rest of his life, it's you next to him.

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