#piers x gn reader

[byte-your-tongue]

Various Pokemon Character x Overstimulated Reader

(Platonic, GN Reader)

AN: this is a repost from my old blog so yeah so if you've seen this before that's why. This was written with an autistic reader in mind because that's what i am but if you get overstimulated for any reason i hope this can still apply to you! Platonic intentions but could be read as romantic if you want.

Ingo + Emmet:

You know one of them would pick up on it instantly. They are always looking out for you when you go to work with them if this is a common problem. The station is busy and crowded and noisy and even they can get overstimulated by it on a bad day.

So the second one of them sees you show signs of being uncomfortable they signal to the other and the two of them drop everything to be by your side.

They would lead you to their office and check in with you on what you need. If you can verbalize what you need, they will provide it in a heartbeat.

Don't feel like talking or can't talk at the moment? Usually they will still be able to figure out what you need and provide it for you.

Ingo is careful to do his best to keep his usually booming voice down to a whisper if noise is bothering you, and the two try to stay relatively quiet and still as not to cause any more problems for you.

But if even that isn't quiet enough they keep noise cancelling headphones for you in an emergency bag in their office!

In that same bag they have other various things you may need while with them including any meds you need, painkillers, a couple fidget toys to keep you distracted, a stuffed animal, and anything else you would need. And the stash isn't just for you tbh. Sometimes they also need access to these things so they keep them on hand.

While they can't always leave work to stay with you at home, usually one of them can spare an hour or so to take you home and help set you up with anything you would need. And if it's a slow day either one or both of them will just straight up stay home with you for the rest of the day. Even if you feel better they will continue to attend to your every need for the rest of the day.

These two always try to be prepared for anything and are constantly on the lookout for ways to help you better, so if you just tell them what you need once you've calmed down they will be ready and prepared next time this happens.

Basically they understand and sympathize with your struggle and are always ready and willing to help you out!

Volo:

Volo is constantly paying attention to you when you two are together. You are the most interesting person he's ever met. And he's met a lot of people in his travels. So when you suddenly seem distressed he's quick to ask what's wrong.

The first time it happens you have to explain it to him and how to help. Which isn't always the easiest to do when you feel horrible. But he makes sure to follow your instructions clearly. He rushes you to the nearest quiet place he can find and places his hat on your head before saying "i'll be back." If you protest him leaving he looks you very deeply in the eyes and promises in the most genuine tone he can muster that he will be back.

He returns shortly after with a cup of tea. He explains it helps with relaxation and asks if there is anything else he can do for you.

He really would do anything for you. Just say the word. You've got him wrapped around your finger. Want his jacket to wear? It's yours. Want some of his wears to snack on? Say no more. Want him to snuggle you? He'll hold you gently like you are the most precious treasure in the world. And if you want to just be left alone? He's far enough away not to bother you but still in earshot if you need anything else.

Over time he gets better and better with dealing with it. He's so observant he can sometimes even tell when you are starting to get overstimulated before you do.

His Togekiss is also always willing to help out if you want contact but don't want to be around a person.

Over all Volo is pretty helpful. While he won't always know what to do without you telling him, once he knows what you need he would go from one end of the earth to the other to get it for you.

Cogita:

Her house is so isolated. There are no people around for miles. So if you ever want to just hide away somewhere for a day she is always happy to have you over as a guest. You can always stay as long as you want. You could stay with her and hide away from the world for months and she would be happy to have you there.

So when you come stumbling to her front door, tears beading in your eyes, she is already starting to boil water for tea. You tell her you've just been so stressed recently and ask if you could stay with her for a couple days.

She accepts happily and leads you to lay down on her bed. She blocks the light coming from the windows and suddenly you feel slightly better. The dark space and quiet sounds of nature around you are already starting to help you relax. And you are always surprised by how heavenly soft her bed is.

She hands you a cup of tea and the soothing warmth of the cup helps lull you farther into a sense of security. If you are okay with physical touch she is running her hand up and down your back in soothing motions and murmuring soft praises to you. If not she is content to just sit nearby or even outside if you need her to for a bit. She lets you know that you aren't any worse of a person, that you don't have any less worth just because you get overstimulated easily. She assures you that you are a perfect specimen of a person and that she cherishes every bit of time you spend with her. And she tells you that you can stay with her as long as you need until you are ready to go back to society.

Over all Cogita is a very wonderful person to be with when you feel stressed or overstimulated. She has a calming aura and is very pleasant to be around. She has experience dealing with people like this in the past and she always seems to know just what to say to comfort you in the moment.

Piers:

Piers can be kind of clueless sometimes when it comes to you being overstimulated. It doesn't come from a place of uncaring, he just doesn't always notice. He tends to unintentionally tune out a lot of things in his constantly underslept state of existence.

But for whatever reason, his pokemon always notice. And they are quick to alert Piers of your predicament. He is then always by your side.

He can be a little bit prone to panicking over you if you look especially bad, but is quick to try and hide it as he doesn't want to make you feel any worse.

He can't always leave where he is if he's in between battles or he's out in public for some other important event, but he will let you know that you can leave if you want. He won't be upset. And if you want to stay with him he will do whatever he can to help you out.

One of his most common solutions is to let you borrow his earbuds and phone to watch something or listen to music and distract yourself. He will also keep a hand on you at all times if you don't mind the contact just so he can remind you he's right there and to try and help ground you.

He's also one to talk to you and keep you focused on him and not anything else around you. He will just say anything to keep you listening to him.

Even if he can't always leave and go home with you he will sometimes seek out an area that isn't as highly populated. whether that be a bathroom or anything else he will get you there so it isn't as loud and overstimulating.

His pokemon will nuzzle up to you and try to distract you. The dark types may look intimidating, but for you they are absolute softies.

And if you two are just out and about and not for something Piers has to be apart of, then he is getting you home as quick as possible the second you don't feel ok. He's calling a flying taxi and you two are out of there!

Up in the air in the taxi it's a lot quieter and you start to feel somewhat better.

When you two get home Piers spends the rest of the day doing whatever you want. And for once there are no joking complaints coming out of his mouth when you suggest something that he doesn't usually care about. He is alert and attentive as he tries his best to take care of you.

Over all Piers is very useful. He can't always completely remove you from the situation but he will work to distract you and keep you grounded so you don't work yourself up into an even worse state.

[alespov]

Dating piers nivans hc’s 18+

Tw : nsfw content, mentions of piers’s childhood + plus his mindset. Gn!reader

A/N : hii everyone, I have so many drafts for piers. I just never posted them lol. Anyway feedback is appreciated <3 {not proofread}

-Piers is an affectionate lover, his love language is physical touch. He’s big into pda, he doesn’t shy away from being affectionate in public.

- The both of you definitely met in college, he definitely played football in college. When he realized college wasn’t for him, he joined the bssa. You supported him every step of the way. You promised him to be there for him every step of the way.

- he’s big into gaming, you love to watch him play games. You love to sit on his lap while he plays, on the computer. When you play his games, he’ll place his hands on yours to guide you. Sometimes you both play together on separate consoles but most of time you love to watch him.

- he’s not into cooking, he more than okay with frozen dinners. He does try his best to cook, he’s way more willing to do dishes than cook. He’s also a bit of a handy man, he can fix everything. Need a shelf hung, piers can do it no problem.

- He’s loves dogs, once you got engaged. You surprised him with 2 German shepherds, knowing that was his favorite breed. He loves to take them on walks, you knew the ring was expensive. So you thought he deserved a gift as well.

- he loves to hike with you, loves the alone time. Loves to race you to the top. The mountains is his safe place.

- Piers is naturally a fit guy, so getting and staying in shape is a priority for him. It’s the mindset his grandpa installed into his mind. You were the only person who convinced him that he was perfect the way he was.

Piers made sure you knew how to defend yourself. He was often away for a long time, so he sleeps better knowing that you can defend yourself.

- remember how I said Piers wasn’t shy, he won’t hesitate to fuck you in public. If you tease him enough. Or if you decide to brat enough.

- He’s a switch, he’ll mostly be dominant. After the long missions, he comes back so needy. Just begging you to make him cum.

- he’s definitely into pet play, whether he’s being a puppy or you are he doesn’t care.

- will not outright do anything disrespectful, he will not deface or hit you. He’s just not into it. You really have to beg him to be rough.

- he’s a pleasure dom

- he’s loves to make you wear collars

- he’s doesn’t give much lovebites, you give them more to him.

[untilnildies]

Red Thong, Party's On

Piers Nivans x GN!Reader

WC: 1.5k

Warnings: GN!Reader, no y/n, no gendered terms, penetrative sex, oral sex, unprotected, fucking in a nasty alley!! boot worship

a/n: this was a gift for my friend!! im working on a krauser fic, soon to be out <3

It had been a long night for both of you. Between the flashing lights, the skimpily dressed waitresses carting around glowing trays with drinks, and people screaming in your ear to talk to you, you were exhausted by the time closing time was rolling around. It was 2 AM on a Saturday, and your boyfriend Piers had decided to treat you to a night out at his favorite nightclub, Euphoria Nights.

As you stepped out of the nightclub, your breath condensed into a fog cloud at the frigid temperature. While the day had been warm, the nights were still bitterly cold, biting at your fingertips despite the gloves you were wearing.

“Thanks for paying for my drinks.” You spoke after a few long moments of walking in silence. “I’ll have to repay you somehow.” You hummed thoughtfully, not noticing the look he gave you.

“I have an idea,” Piers replied, his hazel eyes glinting mischievously as he scanned over your body.

Before you could open your mouth to ask how, Piers guided you into an alley, shying away from public view. Piers glanced around in the alley before leading you to hide between two dumpsters, providing adequate cover for whatever he had planned. You glanced at him with a confused expression on your face, wondering why he had pulled you into this alley.

“What are you planning, Nivans?” You inquired, looking up at the shit-eating grin he was wearing.

“You said you wanted to repay me,” he started, his hazel eyes clouded with something needy. “I’m giving you that opportunity. How about you start with licking my boots and then sucking me off?” He suggests.

“Here, I thought you were going to let me pay you back normally, lieutenant. Some sick kicks you have.” You mumbled, sinking to your knees.

You stared up at him as you ran your tongue across the leather of his boots, your tongue, cleaning and polishing them perfectly. The taste wasn’t as bad as you had thought it would be, but it was more earthy than you thought it would be. Piers nudge your face with his other boot, a gentle reminder to focus on him. You returned to cleaning his boots, focusing your attention on the other boot, thoroughly cleaning the leather with your tongue and sitting back on your knees after, gazing up at him expectantly. Piers glanced down at your work, seemingly pleased with it.

“I knew that filthy mouth was good for something,” Piers taunted, gazing down at you for a snarky reply to fly from your lips. To his surprise, none came. “S’pose you impressed me. Here's your reward.”

Piers unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his fly agonizingly slow, that stupid grin on his face. He just loved torturing you, making you wait as long as possible to have him in your mouth. You noticed he had gone commando, and all he had to do was pull his cock out over the rise of his pants. You gently took his cock in your hands, hearing him hiss under his breath at the contact, his cock throbbing in your fist. His hazel eyes bore into your own as you started stroking him to full mast, your mouth opening and your tongue flopping out, letting his tip rest on the warm muscle, a promise of what was to come.

“Tease,” Piers grunted, his hips involuntarily bucking into your mouth. “Start sucking already, dumb toy.” He demanded, grabbing your hair and pulling you onto his cock, almost spearing your throat.

You sputtered and glared up at him, smacking his hands away as you took the pace into your hands. You tentatively dragged your tongue over his slit and the head of his cock before taking the length into your throat and bobbing your head. Piers let out a relieved moan, leaning against the brick wall lazily as you bobbed your head along the length of his cock, focusing on making his knees buckle under the pleasure. You made sure to use the back of your tongue on the tip of his cock just the way he liked, listening to how his breathing got heavy, how his hips stuttered, and how his hands grasped for anything to keep himself from collapsing on you. You pull off his cock with a wet pop and look up at him.

“You plan on fucking me or getting all the attention to yourself?” You snarked at him. He seemed a little taken aback.

“Well, I don’t have a condom on me; I was planning to wait until we got home,” he replied, his voice shaky.

“That went great, huh, Nivans?” You barked out a laugh. “Besides, you can just pull out.” You shrugged

“Well, you’ve convinced me.” He chuckles breathlessly, pulling you to your feet. “Face me,” he demands.

You did as he asked without a second thought, just running off your horniness alone. His hands traced down your body, unbuttoning your pants and tugging them to your ankles. He got down onto his knees and began to drag off your underwear with his teeth, his canines gently scraping across your sensitive skin, causing a shudder to pass through your body. You weren’t sure what he was doing until his tongue ran over you, slicking you up with his tongue, the warmth a striking difference to the frigid air, causing you to jolt. While you could benefit from the extra lubrication, his spit had to do, seeing as neither of you had thought of having sex in an alleyway. His tongue was warm, leaving trails of spit behind as he prepared you for him to the best of his ability. You breathed out soft moans, your hand flying up to muffle the pathetic noises spilling past your list, but his hand reached up and yanked your arm away.

“That should be enough,” he mumbles thoughtfully, stroking himself to smear pre over his cock. “I’m just going to have to take it slow.”

“Fine with me; I prefer not to be torn in two,” you joked.

Piers seemed amused judging by the snort he let out. You felt the tip of his cock prod against you, testing how loose you were. While it had been a while, he seemed to ease you into it. His tip popped past the initial resistance, both of you letting out a low moan. Piers gently held your leg up, his gun calloused hands smoothing over your skin, gently sinking into you at a slow but even pace, watching your face contort with every inch that sunk into you. You were glad that you had some type of lubricant, even if it was just spit and pre. Eventually he bottoms out, staying still to admire how well you had taken him and the way your body just seemed to accept him, as if you were molded around his cock.

“Are you going to ogle at me or actually fuck me?” You snark.

“It looks like I’ll have to fuck that attitude out of you,” Piers bellowed,”That’s no way to speak to your superior.”

“Superior my ass-” You go to snap back, but before you can even spit the sentence out, hes pulling back and shoving his length right back into you.

An undignified sound leaves your throat as he begins to pound into you, feeling the stretch of his cock and every slam of his hips against you. His free hand moves between your legs, stroking to bring you closer to your edge. Your pitiful mewls and whines sound like music to his ears. You were entirely sure anyone outside the alley could hear him pounding you like an animal in rut, but that was the least of your concerns.

“Piers,” You breathe out pitifully,”Need you deeper,”

“I’m as deep as I can get, love.” He laughs breathlessly, maneuvering your positions so you had your legs wrapped around his waist as he bounced you on his cock, hitting deep into you. “Better?” He growls out

“Better,” you affirm between whines.

You could feel the coil in your stomach build, making you squirm and squeeze around his cock. Piers lets out a moan, his eyes fluttering shut at the tightness enveloping him. Judging by his reaction, he wasn’t going to last much longer either; you just hoped he remembered to pull out. Piers wraps one arm around you, the other coming between your legs again and resuming his previous ministrations. You whimpered pathetically, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand and every drag of his cock inside your sensitive walls. It proved too much as you came, moaning loudly and squirming away as he continued to thrust into you, chasing that tight heat for a moment longer before pulling out and stroking himself, cumming onto the stone below.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He breathes out, stroking himself through his high. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I need a bath,” You mumble.

“Then let’s go home.” He laughs breathlessly.

After helping each other with your clothes, he hands you his jacket. You look at him, confused, for a few long moments before he wraps it around you himself.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how cold your hands were,” he says, as if to answer your thoughts.

“Enough flattery, let’s go home.”

[r0-boat]

Dating headcanons for Kabu, Raihan, and Piers please?

Dating Headcannons for Kabu, Raihan, Piers

Sfw

Gn!reader

Cut for length

Kabu

Extremely traditional, he has the entire date planned out has a whole list of things to do and places to eat, and things to see.( more often than not already has a reservation planned)

No matter if it's your first second third or 600th the date he'll always feel nervous to take you out somewhere.

You never expected Kabu to be so romantic, he just wants to make sure you're having a good time.

Kabu's idea of a date is just as traditional a fancy dinner or somewhere quiet and go home.

The gym leader does admit that it has been sometime since he's taken someone out, and he wouldn't be surprised if dating has changed in recent years, so he would be open to anything if you decide to change it. But his first instincts will always be take you out to dinner.

Now he doesn't mind taking you places to have fun it will just take him a while to let loose a little bit. He'd much rather take it slow.

During the actual date, Kabu won't take his eyes off you; you have his full attention.

Kabu prefers taking it slow he is not interested in flings when he is with someone he is in for the long haul. He wishes for a partner to stay by his side.

Kabu says is not a jealous man but you can't help but notice his eyes seemed to Twitch when someone gets a little buddy with you.

Raihan

Raihan thrives off dates while a dinner is considered for him, it isn't his go-to.

Like the extroverted battery he is he will drag you to any place he thinks is fun and wants to bring you to. Every attraction in Galar are you two have gone to at least twice. And precious thumb drives are filled with pictures and videos of every date. The ones he posts on his social media are not even 1% of the ones he has.

Raihan is less of a list and plan guy and more of a follow your heart.

If going out isn't really your thing or going anywhere where there's a lot of people he'll try to meet in the middle because a date is successful when two people are having fun.

As much as I do see Raihan being the more extroverted going out and doing things kind of boyfriend I do think he is rather flexible with Partners who don't really want to go out.

Raihan is extremely perceptive of other people, and we'll take note of your likes and dislikes, to be completely honest he is the happiest when you're happy.

Raihan is a self-proclaimed Master at dating spots; like I said, he is highly perceptive of the people he is dating. He'll pick a place that he knows you'll like, and he'll pick up on your habits pretty quickly. He'll know when you are or not having fun.

Raihan is a very doting boyfriend anyone would be lucky to be with him.

I also see him as quite the gift-giver as well, he puts a lot of thought into every gift he gives you, ( sometimes he has Dragon brain and gives you a Shiny rock or nick nack he randomly saw and made him think of you)

Piers

Eh, to be completely honest Piers doesn't care one way or the other; if going on dates means a lot to you, then sure, he'll do it to make you happy. But Piers can spend time with you in any way he wants to without any of that fancy stuff.

A guy like him, oblivious and doesn't know what romance even is, would be very in trouble on a first date, lucky for him, his sister has his back whether he wants help or not. What kind of sister would she be if she let her brother crash and burn? And Raihan can supply good spots in Galar that have good reviews and are good dating spots

Piers classifies anything as a date, even if it's just you, too, having a lazy Sunday on the couch.

Peirs ideal date if you were to ask him he, would probably say being at home with his partner eating pizza and watching The Great Galar Bake Off.

But once in a blue moon, Piers will knock you out of the park with something you never expect from him. Taking you outside of the town and watching the Stars or Have you listen to a short song he wrote about you. You have no idea where is this comes from because usually, your Piers has no romantic bone in his body.

If you would like to take him out somewhere, sure, he'll bite. He doesn't mind either way.

Piers has a tendency to be a little protective over people he really likes.

Maybe even a little bit possessive over you specifically.

[decaf-mother]

[Subtle]

-

Piers Nivans x GN!Reader

-

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Semi-Public Sex, Implied Penetrative Sex, Bit of Fluff

-

Summary: A romantic picnic date turns into more (He loves you too damn much).

-

He wasn't subtle when he leaned in, nose brushing the crook of your neck, breathing in the sweet scent that lingers on your skin.

He wasn't subtle when his fingers trailed up your thigh as you two had a relaxing picnic date.

He wasn't subtle when he pressed his lips to your collar bone… And certainly not when he had you laid back on that soft red picnic blanket, tall grass nearby rustling in the breeze, birds chirping a happy tune…

You're just glad that you get to have him like this, safe and sound in your arms…. And he takes every moment he can with you, showing you how much you really mean to him.

“What if someone comes up here?”

“No one will.”

He looks at you like you're the sun, stars and moon all wrapped into one… And as far as he's concerned - you are. You'll always be what he comes back too, always be the arms he falls into.

He strips you of your pants and lets you undo his belt, soon freeing his painfully hard cock… Only you could do that to him in record time, hell sometimes all he has to do is just look at you, watch that bright smile of yours and God he's just done for. He's a romantic at heart and all yours.

Grasping your hips and tugging you forward, he rocks your world right there on that hill, fingers leaving indents wherever he can get hold of, nothing but the sounds of nature surrounding the both of you.

He'll never be subtle when it comes to loving you.

[ya-bug-boy]

Hello, how about Piers with a reader who has blond hair and blue eyes and is also taller at about 195 cm (6'4" ft) maybe a little silly but loves him a lot (gender neutral)

I just love piers

Piers x Blonde Tall Reader!

People love making fun of Piers when they find what his partner looks like. But not because of any negative connotation addressing you, just simply because of how polarizing opposite you are compared to him.

It's very much like the tropes of a peppy cheerleader with the goth individual. Think happy golden retriever that's big and loud with a black cat. You are sunny, outgoing, and filled with the brim with energy! You happen to be a rather gorgeous individual as well, being a tall blonde GN person. Your androgynous appearance caught Piers' attention when he caught you at one of his shows.

Not to be rude, but Piers made the wrong assumption about you. Not based on your gender or sex but rather your clothes. You were dressed very cute, think Sanrio characters, with stickers adorning your face, wearing a gorgeous embroidered beret. You are verrry different compared to how the people in Spikemuth dress up.

He thought you were the kind of influencer that comes into Spikemuth to make fun of the grungy nature of the city but instead? You find yourself immersed in it, having a dark-type pokemon on your team as well.

you were in the front row to his concert and he could see you singing along to his songs, knowing every word and bouncing your head and clapping your head to the rhythm of the beat.

Later after the show, he catches you trying to buy merchandise. They ran out of t-shirts in your size. :(

so he decides to give you his. He just. Takes off his shirt and hands to you. As a joke you offer him yours but he takes it. For some reason he just wears it right away. You burst out laughing at his deadpan expression and ask him for his number.

That's the story of how you two started dating after exchanging shirts, him dressed in an oversized pink skitty sweater and you wearing his shirt. You keep his shirt to this day, wearing it when you go to sleep.

[ephemerasnape]

Pigtails' Revenge (Audio)

Piers Pemberton is not pleased to discover who has been foiling his brilliant revenge plot. GN!Listener, Dubcon, Violence

Piers Pemberton x You/MC

An audio that no one wanted, and certainly nobody asked for! It started off as a joke, and the joke went too far.

Now.. Bend over. You know you want to get punish-fucked by Piers Pemberton.

EXPLICIT AUDIO 18+

GN!Listener / Age Difference / Dubcon / Violence / Revenge / Cruelty / First Time / Dirty Talk / Smut / Name-calling / Mockery / Excessive Talking During Sex / Semi-Public Sex / Punishment

[theepiccharizard9]

The Mourning Never Goes

Posting after 6 months cause my brain refused to work for fics. It only wanted bots and drawing (mostly bots)

Anyways, disclaimer: MCD, No beta (or even a second glance) we die like my self-esteem in the womb, grieving, drug and alcohol use for coping, no pronouns used for the reader except you

Word Count: 621

It had been months since you’d seen Piers, it was always hard not having him around. You did anything to fill the void. Namely illicit substances and getting too drunk to see straight or even think.

This was one of those nights, drinking after taking some pills you hadn’t bothered to read the label on. “You know you shouldn’t do that,” Piers’ voice sounded so close and so far away all at once. You shake your head. “It’s the only way to have you around anymore.” Piers sighs, a frown etched onto his face. He tilts his head as his hazel eyes study you. “Even if it is, you shouldn’t ruin yourself for a glimpse.” He reaches to place his hand on your head, you can’t tell if he even made contact.

“You’re not okay.” At this point he was sounding more like your conscience than your boyfriend. You, albeit wobbly, get up and go to your bedroom to rifle through the drawers. Eventually you find what you were looking for, that same scarf Piers would always wear always wears even when off duty.

You sit on the edge of your bed, clutching the scarf close to your chest. Piers sits next to you and just watches for a moment. “That scarf was always a comfort to me on the field, you know. It became at home too before I had you.” You look at him, his hazel eyes seeming dimmer than before. “You should get water and sleep this off,” Piers urges you, “this isn’t healthy.” “I know,” you solemnly reply. “But I’m desperate. For you, and your fucking presence.” You run a hand through your hair, getting frustrated.

Getting up, Piers’ scarf is discarded on the bed. A glass of water is consumed before laying back in bed. Looking towards the doorway you see that Piers is just standing there. “You coming to bed or are you just gonna stand there watching me like a creep?” you ask in a playful voice. He lays with you but doesn’t get under the covers. A confused expression graces your features, but you let it be and just hold onto his scarf.

“I love you, pumpkin,” Piers says as he lays by your side. “I love you too.” You go to lay against him, but Piers shakes his head. “Don’t. Let’s just enjoy the moments before sleep takes you.” The two of you lay staring into each other’s eyes. You’ve missed this closeness for so long. Piers’ hand ghosts across your cheek. Were his hands always this cold? You didn’t have time to think about it before quickly drifting off to sleep.

The next morning is filled with a splitting headache from a hangover, but the bed is empty, save for you. “Piers...?” you call out. Sitting up you call for him louder but there’s still no response. You go to get up but feel the scarf fall onto your lap. Feeling it hit your lap tears start falling down your cheeks.

You stare at a grave, finally having a clear head from last night. It reads “Here lies Piers Nivans. Loyal to the bitter end.” His captain, Chris Redfield, had told you about his last moment, how Piers sacrificed himself to protect people. He'd also given you Piers’ scarf upon his request.

Collapsing next to the grave, flowers are clutched in your hands and his scarf is around your neck. Despite the mood being melancholy, the sun shines bright. You lay the flowers on his grave. Petunias representing your anger and resentment at his death, lilies of the valley representing pain and loss, and red roses to show the love you still feel for the man that always gave his all.

[sanguineterrain]

im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

[mermaidfanficlibrary]

Weird Water Fun || Yandere Merman x Gn Kayaker Reader

Characters: Ranee

Summary: Kayaking is so fun! Even in the ocean! You have a little follower though.

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness, violence, stalking

A/n: Just a merman baby that's so confused

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Yan Merman who is very curious about the human world. All mers are and he is no exception. However, his curiosity blurs with concern so he constantly gets lost within the harbor where multiple boats, big and small, go through.

Yan Merman who struggles to find a way out, following the boats but ends up more and more lost. He's on the verge of tears before a small little kayak floats above him.

Yan Merman he swims up, carefully poking his head out of the water as he sees the cutest human he's ever laid eyes on. The definition of perfection. And the grace they had in the water, they must be like him!

Yan Merman who follows you as you kayak along the harbor, behind expensive beach houses and through bridges. He's so grateful when you lead him out to the open ocean.

Yan Merman who is convinced that you want to be like him. How else could you manage the water with such skill? And your arm strength! He couldn't help but drool a bit at your upper arm muscles.

Yan Merman who sees you as a potential protector. You look strong! No, you are strong to glide on the water with such speed and power! He made the decision to tip your kayak over so you could join him.

Yan Merman who is utterly confused when you freak out that you capsized. When he tries to drag you done to go home with him, you manage to escape and flip your kayak back over. You did lose your paddle though.

Yan Merman who watches as you barely make it to a dock nearby to compose yourself. This wasn't how it was supposed to go! You were supposed to follow him home and be his mate! Why did you go back?

Yan Merman who sees you looking for something. Now you're jumping into the water and swimming underneath its surface. Did you really not want him? That is until he notices the paddle that's poking his tail. Oh! You were just looking for your artificial fins! That's okay, he'll give them back to you.

Yan Merman who watches you leave with your kayak. Wait! You need your fins right? Why are you just leaving? Oh, but how you mesmerize him with how you pick up your kayak and carry it all on your own.

Yan Merman who keeps your paddle close to him until he sees you again. These are your special fins, oh he feels so dirty for touching them, but it's like your holding his hand. He so much wishes you had just let him drag you down.

Yan Merman who sees you on a pier he frequents. This is finally his chance to give you back what you lost! With a kiss on each paddle, he hoists it up over his head, and you see your paddle sticking up in the water.

Yan Merman who both hates and loves the fact that he got to give it back to you. For a long while this was his connection to you, but seeing you smile like that when you saw the paddle made his heart, well one of them, leap into his throat.

Yan Merman who is back to following you in the bay and harbor while you kayak around. Gives your paddle a tug when you talk to other people as they pass you by on their big yachts. Why are you noticing them and not him?

Yan Merman who finally shows himself to you when you're out in the middle of the ocean. He tried so hard to speak to you. He's been learning your language from the menus that the local restaurants would throw away! He doesn't know what a crab cake is, but it must mean 'I love you' right?

Yan Merman who's shocked that your first reaction is to reach over to give him a head pat. He gurgles but stops when he notices your kayak tipping. Is quick to the rescue to balance you, can't have you in the water again!

Yan Merman who visits you more on the docks and pokes at your feet. They interest him okay? Shouldn't your fins be there? Why do you have them on a stick? He has so many questions but can only ask in his food code.

Yan Merman who adores when you teach him things. He finally grasps your greeting and how to ask how you are! And he gets rewarded in human treats! Though they're too sweet for him, he likes the wrappers! He's the main reason for pollution.

Yan Merman who will bite your hand out of nowhere. You get used to it and your friends will ask about the rigid teeth marks on your hand. Can't really explain who gave it to you. He's giggling to himself at the fact that you were so oblivious to the mark's meaning.

Yan Merman who sees you interacting with another human, a man. You're supposed to be his mate though, not this very overdressed idiot? He doesn't even understand how graceful you are in the water.

Yan Merman who doesn't understand who this human is. Why are you docking here? And why does he smell like a sweeter version of the ocean? It's just giving the poor merman a headache. Come back to him. Please?

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[fanaticsnail]

Oh snail, i know you already have a long list of WIPs (i can't wait to read them) and your Inbox is probably already full with requests, so i understand if its not in the cards right now.

I was just wondering what the kid-pirates would do, or how they would react if ther precious doc-reader is the one that was injured badly or was very sick. Especialy how Killer would react after that romantic tention between them (i need more of that 😩). I don't have a particular song in mind, because the seires already has a vibe to it, hope thats okay.

I wish you a wonderful day/night/evening! 💕Sooo looking forward to your next work, whatever it may be 🐢

I love you for this prompt, @daydreamer-in-training. Thank you!

Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?

Hey Doc Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,000+

Synopsis: You've taken care of your crew and nursed them back to health from their flus... but now it's your turn. The Kid-Pirates do their best to take care of the worlds worst patient, their doctor: you.

Themes: platonic!kid-pirates, eustass kid x gn!reader, swearing, illness, comforting, taking medication, kid is a bit of a dom, doc is a bit of a bra, you're the kid-pirate doctor: the crew calls you 'doc'.

Notes: I am currently struggling with the flu myself, and this was simply too cute to not write about. Thank you for your ask, it's been fun to write about!

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

“Hey, Doc? Did we need any more petroleum jelly from the-...?” the fire breather called beside you, hating when you turned to face him, “...-Shit, Doc. You look like absolute balls today.” 

Rolling your swollen, glassy and red eyes at him, you draw another tissue from your counter and sneeze into it. The silky tissue felt like sandpaper over your leaky nose, the skin splitting surrounding your nostrils and leaving small stains of red on the pale paper.

“Always so full of compliments and kindness, Heat,” you huff out, your voice sounding hoarse and cracking along with every word. Heat cringed, recoiling away from you with eyes narrowed in sympathy. You attempt to breathe through your blocked nose, no air passing through the dual nostrils.

Treating the crew for the past two weeks, and nursing them to health in recovering from the flu, had finally caught up with you. You felt both cold and hot at the same time, your skin both dry and sticky with sweat. Mind swelling and cracking behind the tense throbbing throughout your brain caused a dull ache ringing in your ears and fogging your mind.

“I-... I’m just saying, Doc,” he reiterated in defense of himself, “You don’t look too good. Maybe you ought to sit out from the in-land trip to restock. Stay home on the Victoria Punk?” Heat suggested with a soft smile and a subtle shrug.

“What?” you grunted out a cough, “And leave you lot to restock my clinic for me? Not fucking like-...” coughing into another tissue, your glassy eyes pricked at the corners and began to spill out and down your cheeks, “...-likely.” 

Heat’s smile fled from his face, his lip downturning in sympathy. He shook his head and extended his hand out to you, gesturing you to follow him out through the door towards the deck. You attempt to sniff back another intake of air to reopen your nose to no avail. Following on, you trudge somberly towards the top deck where the crew were all waiting to step foot onto the pier. 

Without drawing attention to yourself, your eyes squinted lazily to compensate for the pain the sun caused your mind. With each achy step, you attempted to bite back the ache your body was going through. Barely aware of your surroundings, you gesture in the medicinal remedy booths at town square for herbs, ointments and aromatic fragrances. 

As you reached into your pocket to pull out your small folder of Berry, a large right forearm reached over your shoulder and paid the vendor before you could. Rolling your eyes, you turn to look at the scowling grimace of your captain, Eustass Kid, baring his rage down at you. Attempting to roll your eyes at him again, you clenched them tightly shut instead as the world became far too bright to process.

“Captain,” you acknowledge him with a clumsy nod, fighting the urge to not to fall over with the vertigo overcoming you. He growled at you immediately, gesturing to Wire beside him to gather the supplies and walk back to the ship. 

“You’re a real fuckin’ idiot, aren’t ya, Doc?” he spat, scolding you with his heavy growl. You laughed at him, shaking your swirling head and beginning to walk beside him. Your overexertion and sleep deprivation caught up with you as you tripped over an uneven divot in the rocky path.

“I'm not into degradation, Cap,” you respond in a half-joking hum, your eyes feeling heavy and weighted, “Not my kink. Might be yours, though, considering the amount of times I yell at you to hold you accountable.” That comment earnt you another low growl from your captain, his face turning a few shades darker than his hair. 

He turned to face you at his side, his lips curling as if to speak. As he opened his lips, he was lost for words as you fell into him, bracing yourself against him to steady your walk. He caught you in his right arm, bringing his face down towards you and brows knitting with concern. Turning towards Wire, he cocked his chin to the side to usher him on towards the ship. 

With no further warning, Kid dipped at the knees and hoisted you up into his chest beneath your thighs. He curled his bicep and hooked your head beneath his chin and cradled you firmly into him. Under usual circumstances, you would’ve fought this tooth and nail.

You do not enjoy being manhandled by the crew, especially by your captain. While you enjoy the embrace once in a while with your more sensitive crewmates, particularly Bubblegum, the Captain has only ever been this close to you when he’s sparring with you.

“C’mon Doc, I'll get you seen to,” he grunted down at your position curled into his chest, “I’ve-... And the-...” his words trailed off, the fever raising your temperature higher and prompting you to seek out sleep against his pectoral. 

Voices and words fade in and out of your ears, a slow drawl and murmurs of several of your crewmates swelling around your assumed resting spot for the day. The room wasn’t physically moving, even though your vertigo suggested it was. 

“When was the last time Doc’s had a day off?” you recognised the feminine voice of Quincy in the room beside you. Several grunts and incessant babbling reverberated around the room, prompting you to flutter your eyelashes open and push through the pain. 

“Doc!” you cringed as a body almost flew into your bed, sitting on the plush sheets beside you, “You’re awake! I’m so happy to see you’re up!” You wince, slowly waving Bubblegum away, swatting at his zig-zagged head.

“Off, off,” you shooed him, wincing as you shrugged your duvet off your thighs and swung your legs over the side of the bed. As you began to wobble to your feet, the booming voice of your captain called over the chatter of the room,

“Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?” he growled, striding over in intentional steps and giving you a shove from his right hand in the middle of your chest, “The medics here said you need a week in bed to rest. Sit down.” You growled at him, doing your best to gather the strength to growl at him. 

“If I’ve been prescribed ‘rest’,” you began, gesturing to the crewmates surrounding your current room, “Why the fuck are you all here?” Several sheepish mutters surround the room, a few members pinching the scruffs of their necks, a few more wringing their hands in front of their waists. 

Your captain clapped his hand on your shoulder, pushing you to lay back down and wrangling you into your bedsheets. Refusing to go down without a fight this time, you wriggled in his grip and fought both the fever and the strong arm of your captain. 

“For fucks sake, Doc!” Kid yelled at you, pushing and shoving you down into the very comfortable and unfamiliar bed in front of the crew. “Just lay down and rest, damn it! Go back to sleep.” You wriggled harder. 

“No!” you yelled defiantly, kicking off the duvet and fighting each and every time your captain attempted to shove you into your bed. Kid looked around to the crew, angled his chin sharply to wordlessly order them to leave the room. As they left, Kid turned back towards you and crawled up onto the bed. 

“You are more of a pain in the ass than that fucking bullet to the buttcheek,” he growled, climbing over you and baring down his weight onto your smaller frame. Straddling your thighs, he placed his knees on your open palms and successfully pinned you beneath him. He pressed his forearm over your chest and gave you a firm shove to force you to lay down. You had no choice but to thump your head back into the plush pillow behind your head. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you clench your jaw and growl behind your lips. The rumble in your throat hurt the raw swell in your jugular, but you pushed past it to air your frustrations at him regardless. The chuckle from your captain above you only served to propel your anger to rise higher. 

“Yeah, yeah. Growl and groan all you want,” he scoffed at you, pinning your chest with his bicep while reaching his hand between you and gathering the blankets in his fist. Slowly raising it up, he continued his place straddling your thighs until he thought you would no longer fight him. 

“Why are you doing this, Captain?” you snarl at him, finally opening your eyes to gaze up into his eyes. He smirked at you in response, pressing his palm to your forehead and clicking his tongue at the temperature. 

“Because,” he leaned over to the bedside, taking two small spherical tablets into his hand, “We love you, Doc.” He leaned back over you, gesturing with his chin for you to part your lips. You take a moment to snarl at him before complying, parting your lips and allowing him to place the bitter tablets on your tongue. 

He leaned back over to the bedside, finding a glass of water and bringing it down to your lips. Tilting the glass slowly as it brushed with your bottom lip, he carefully fed you a sip of water to take the pills with. Placing the glass back over on the table, he drew his attention to the small amount of water seeping from the corner of your lip.

“Now, be a good Doctor and get loved on, idiot,” he softly huffed, his voice low and husky as he leaned forward. He used the pad of his thumb to gently collect the spill of water from the corner of your lips. Your eyes never ceased its glare up at him. He grinned tauntingly down at you, arching his brow and ensuring you swallowed the tablets. 

“Get off, Captain,” you growled at him, bucking your hips up in an attempt to remove him from your body. He cackled his rumbled laugh down at you in response, shaking his head. 

“You gonna get up again if I do?” he asked, leaning down and caressing your cheek in a gentle stroke. His eyes held nothing but mischievous mockery, but his hand felt like it was gently coaxing you to comply with what he asked. 

“No, I’ll behave,” you snarled at him. His laugh was genuine this time, low and gentle. Slowly backing off you, he slid off your body before adjusting the sheets and smoothing them over. 

“Good,” he nodded, beginning to leave the room by the door off to the side of the room. Halting at the door, he fought with himself for a moment before looking at you over his shoulder and uttering, “I’ll-… I’ll get Kil to check on you in a few hours. Get some rest, okay?”

What he said next was something you weren’t expecting to come from his lips. In all the time you served with him, he only ever called you ‘Doc’, or ‘Doctor.’ You were your title, and you appreciated that about the crew. You were Doc, only ever Doc. But what he said changed all that.

After he uttered the word “okay,” it was immediately followed by your name. Waiting a few moments, you responded in a cadence just above a whisper. 

“I’ll be right where you left me, Kid,” you replied with a soft smile back at him. He closed his eyes, offering you a reflection of your smile in return before it grew back into its usual mischievous face. 

“Good,” he again offered you, scrunching his nose up at you and looking up through his red eyelashes at you, “Otherwise I would’ve gotten your doting daddy to come coddle his whiny baby.” Your eyes went wide, your jaw clenching and your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. 

Eustass Kid just laughed in response, exiting the room and giving you both the time and space you needed to recover. Your recovery was not only the flu, but of the second hand embarrassment that Killer must’ve relayed to Kid what he’d said to you in the consultation room. Either that, or you left the shell of your Den-Den accidentally activated from when you spoke with your captain earlier in the day.

Either way, you pouted as you did as you were told and huffed back into your bed and went to sleep: the paracetamol activating and stilling your swelling head and masking the undertones of pain in your body.

[revasserium]

hello there !! I love reading your l&ds posts and I would like to request from prompt 1, stolen kisses + xavier please? thank you <3

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

49. stolen kisses

xavier; 1,009 words; fluff, gn!reader, no "y/n", xavier being cheeky

summary: a few stolen kisses

a/n: exactly what it says on the label; the lightest of spoilers for his veiled whispers card, but the literal lightest.

001

In the forest, on the edge of the battlefield, with the remnants of smoke still filling the air; he tastes of sweat and sweetness, reassurance and regret — you press your palm to his chest and push slightly, gasping for breath as he pulls away.

“X-Xavier?”

He hums, licking his lips, his eyes wide and warm as he grins, reaching up to touch his mouth experimentally, as if uncertain of what he’d just done.

“Sorry — I just… suddenly wanted to…”

You blush, leaning in for another soft peck, shaking your head.

“It’s okay… I don’t mind.”

You squeak as he tugs you towards him, an arm now tight around your waist.

“Good… because I actually think I quite like it.”

002

On your couch the night after it rains, and you’re not drunk anymore but there’s something so steady and solid in the way he presses his lips to yours that somehow, when he pulls away, you wonder if the world is still spinning. Or maybe it’s just the way he makes you feel, how he twists your stomach and tangles in your laughter — how he leans in to press his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“Feeling better?”

You nod, heat kissing up your spine as one of his hands drops to your waist to pull you closer.

“When I said you were being a little distant…” your words trail off as he lifts your chin with a finger, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to explain… I get it. And… I’ll do better,” he grins, leaning in again, pausing before his lips meet yours.

“Starting right now…” he says, and you can taste the promise, honey-sweet, right on the tip of his tongue.

003

On the pier, beneath the sparkling lights of the Linkon Tower, his lips warm against your cheek as he pulls you in. And by the time you turn to look at him with wide eyes, he’s turning back to the tower, pointing at the top.

“Isn’t it pretty?” he asks.

You smile, blushing as you lean up onto your tip toes and kiss his cheek as well.

“The prettiest,” you say, landing back on your feet.

He turns to face you again, something warm and unreadable in his eyes — they’re so blue, and up close, you start to realize that they’re a celestial phenomenon. They are the hearts and dreams of ancient stars, cast through the lens of a telescope pointed toward the deepest, darkest corners of space. They are endless in a way that only eyes can be. In them, you find galaxies; in them, you find yourself.

“Yeah… I think you are,” he says, unabashed as he bends down for a proper kiss, one that is less breath and more wanting, less search and more belonging. When he pulls back, you purse your lips and glance back at the tower.

“We missed the whole light show.”

Xavier shakes his head, “We got something better instead, didn’t we?”

004

When he finally comes home, bruises littering his torso like footprints in the snow. Your back pressed against the bedroom door, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips.

“X-Xavier?”

“I was —” his eyes are dark, his chest heaving as he swallows and tears his eyes away. His voice is harsh when he finally catches his breath, “There was a moment when… I thought —” he lets his head fall forward onto your shoulder, his grip on you slackening.

You reach up to wrap your arms around you, murmuring in his ear.

“I’m here… it’s alright…”

His arms snake around you, wrapping you in a tight embrace as he takes a deep breath, and then another. Faintly, you marvel to yourself that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, so much faster than its usual steady, almost terrifyingly slow rhythm. But now…

“I’m sorry… was I too harsh?” Xavier pulls back, his gaze softening as he looks you over.

You laugh, shaking your head, “No — and you’re the one who just got back from a difficult mission — c’mon, let me look at these injuries.”

You push him back onto the bed till he’s sitting, tugging open his shirt even as heat creeps up your cheeks. You try to focus on tending to his injuries, the smattering of cuts that lace his right arm, the dark bruise blossoming along his ribs. He holds still and quiet for most of it, but when you finish, he catches your hand as you try to reach for the first aid kit, spread open on the bed next to him.

Slowly, he tugs you up to press a kiss to the tender skin just inside of your wrist. Shivers skitter through you, setting your body ablaze with want as he looks down at you, kneeling before him. A hand comes up to cup your cheek, and then he’s pulling you forward again, falling back till you’re straddling his hips, his hair spread out beneath him like a halo of pure starlight.

“I’m fine,” he says, pressing your palm to his chest. And there, you can feel his heartbeat slowly steadying out to its usual rhythm. Ba-dump… ba-dump… ba-dump…

“I know,” you say, leaning forward to cage him in with your arms, one on either side of his face. He blinks up at you, his palms settling on your thighs as he traces abstract patterns into your skin.

“Good… then you don’t have to be so careful with me.”

“Was I?” you feel a thrill of desire tingle up your spine as he lets his hands wander up your legs to the hem of your nightshirt, “I didn’t notice.”

Xavier’s smile is sweet and indulgent as he pulls you down for another kiss, and then another —

“I notice everything you do… because I’ll always notice. Because… it’s you.”

[yeyinde]

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 

Stupid. 

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 

Because maybe you are, too. 

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him. 

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 

And where does that leave you? 

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 

Moving on. Moving forward. 

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 

You send him your pin. 

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 

You met Kyle Garrick at university. 

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed. 

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 

And that was that. 

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks. 

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 

Except—

It isn’t. 

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 

He’d know, he said. 

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet. 

He seems to understand. 

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area." 

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 

Because you do. 

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam. 

And oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it. 

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 

Confessing goes like this: 

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 

"...and that's basically it." 

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 

You want it. Want him. 

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 

But he isn't. 

He's here with you. Still. Still. 

"I just—," you say, or try to. 

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home. 

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

[milkyst4rs]

BF headcannons

Diluc, Kaeya, Scaramouche, Xiao, Zhongli x GN reader

Fluffy floof☁️

Diluc

Though some might think otherwise, dating Diluc is SO FUN.

I feel like Diluc would like to tease his s/o a little? He wants to see you all smitten and flustered ya know?

Will get you tiny trinkets that reminds him of you. Bro doesn't care about the price ofc, he loves your reactions to his tiny gifts.

Diluc prefers to be the big spoon but won't mind if you wanna hug him too.

When y'all are in bed, he is the type to sling his large leg over yours so you can't go anywhere while y'all sleep.

Gets SOOOO happy when you come visit him at the tavern (he doesn't show his excitement tho cause he though like that💯🔥)

Is the biggest softie for you behind closed doors. He's just a little shy outside, don't worry.

Kaeya

SUCH a tease oml. He always does his "oh?~😏" whenever you speak.

He doesn't care if you both are in public or not, he will always try to make you flustered somehow.

Loves kissing you. Your soft lips on his just makes his heart go KDNDHDKWKHDISOW

Like Diluc, he also prefers to hold you while you both are sleeping. But he won't argue if you want to be the big spoon.

I feel like Kaeya is a light sleeper, so if he has trouble falling asleep he'll just admire your pretty face till he does close his eyes.

He loves tracing your features leaving small pecks afterward.

He knows he can trust you so he seeks you out for comfort when he is feeling down :(

Immediately feels 100% better after being in your embrace tho.

Scaramouche

Mega-tsundere 1000. Boss level.

Absolutely loves holding your hand. (Secretly though ofc)

Scaramouche is a big mean guy so he doesn't have time for romance!😡 (Except, he is extremely touch-starved so please PLEASE hug him)

Both of you are honestly shocked that you are still in the relationship and are loyal to him.

He slowly realises that you genuinely love him and are not trying to betray him or hurt him in anyway, so he warms up to you.

Likes kissing your forehead. Whenever he sees you, you are going to have a peck on the forehead 100%.

He finally can feel some form of happiness with you.

Xiao

Mega-tsundere 1000 boss level #2.

MY MAN IS SOOOO SHY

He probably has never gotten intimate with anyone ever before so he is a nervous wreck. Which leads to him panicking and resorting to throwing insults at you.

Obviously he doesn't mean it, he just doesn't know what to say when you kiss his cheek! You know he means well, so the "you have no respect for the adepti" insult goes in one ear and out the other.

Eventually warms up to you and tries to be romantic by bringing you flowers and such,(with the help of hu tao and friends^^).

Likes to watch the sunset with you on the roof of Wangshu Inn. His hand always finds its way to intertwine with yours.

He probably doesn't sleep so he keeps watch and makes sure you are safe irl and in dreamland.

Zhongli

Zhongli...what a gentleman.

Boyfriend material ON PAPER‼️

Helps carry your bags, showers with you, reads with you. He just loves being by your side.

He can sense that you truly love him so he lets himself go and his walls crumble for you.

Most people would be bored of Zhonglis constant talking, but not you no sir. He appreciates that you genuinely listen and add in your own sentences in his story telling.

Loves to pamper you!!!!! Making you delicious tea, date nights, skin care routines, you name it.

Both of you are probably named 'Liyue's #1 power couple' by locals who often see the two of you hand in hand walking by the pier.

His kisses are always soft and gentle, each one reminding you of how much he adores you and loves you <3

[fishsticksloser]

I have another idea for requesttttt >:D

Okay, so the request is for rottmnt boys (obv) with S/O that loves beach (swimming is the ehh part) mostly just spending hours looking for seashells, sea glass, stones, etc. SO, whenever S/O gives the boys gifts even small once, they always find one or few seashells with the present like a small charms >^<

Thanks ahead🫧

-Ed

Collecting Shells

RotTMNT x gn!reader

Warnings: fluff

A/N: thank you @mapleleavesart for your help with this! I've been struggling a lot and I'm so happy to have your support.

Donnie

He's always making you gadgets and stuff

You didn’t really need them

Only half of them didn’t blow up

Donnie had to figure out a better way to make you happy with his gifts

Since he thought you didn’t like them cause you weren’t using them much (he feels guilty when they blow up)

So he starts watching you carefully

What made you smile the most, what got you excited

When y’all went to the pier and you immediately started picking at the sand

And handing him glass and rocks that were similar in color to his skin/eyes/etc

He realized that you loved collecting this kinda stuff

About a week later he makes you a little music box

Which is pretty nice all on its own

You thought it was just a plain jewelry box at first

He urges you to open it, there’s shells and seaglass inside

Along with an oyster necklace

And your favorite song playing inside

Donnie is very proud of this one and is eager for your inevitable praise

He'll occasionally make you more jewelry and such out of the sea glass, especially the ones you said reminded you of him

Leo

My guy goes above and beyond with this one honestly

You like to collect sea shells, sea glass, cool rocks, etc?

He is going with you to collect stuff

He’ll go out on his own on nights you two can’t talk and go to the beach and looks for stuff you like

This boy is so desperate for attention and approval

He’ll give you a handful of stuff the next time you see each other

His tail wags when he sees you get excited about it

Every time he thinks of you he’ll portal another one (shell, sea glass, etc) from his secret stash

He starts leaving some in odd, innocuous places

You find them for months to come

In your kitchen, your bathroom, on countertops or desks right where you can see them

Others are hidden in drawers or cabinets

You found one in a pot as you were making dinner once

But once he portaled it on your desk while you were working

You smile when you realize that he’s thinking of you as often or more often as you think about him

Mikey

Mikey also loves cool rocks

He stacks them

You’ve made a few towers with him once

He’ll hand you any pretty rock that reminds him of you

One beach trip he ran up to you and said “look! It matches your eyes”

He put it in your hand, smiled, and dashed off again

He decided to paint you the beach But it didn’t look complete

He went to the beach and took some sand and a few shells and pieces of sea glass

He laid out glue on the canvas

Sprinkled the sand over the beach part of the painting

And placed the shells and sea glass purposefully

It gave the piece some nice texture and some visual interest

Then he gifted it to you and insisted you hung it up in your room

So that, even when you were home, you have a part of the beach watching over you

He was so happy to show it to you, and to have his artwork hanging in your room

Raph

Raph knitted you a sweater

Put it in a bag with your favorite colored tissue paper

When you opened it and saw the sweater you thought that was it, because he had been promising to knit you something for ages

However, upon his urging you looked at the bottom of the bag

There was a small wooden box

Like the ones at craft stores that were meant to be painte

You open it

There’s a small collection of sea glass and rocks that you'd given him

You love it regardless

Raph grins and hugs you, picking you up as you both laugh

[i-still-got-love-for-you]

Sparks Fly

Jason Grace x gn!reader

545 words

cw: this is literlly just fluff, im 95% sure its completely gender neutral, potential verb tense errors but those might just bother me, dont know if this is a blurb or a drabble

a/n: hello! breaking the posting schedule to bring you the first written fic i've made for any fandom other than tvd. i would love to hear some feedback! dw, i WILL post on thursday, just wanted to kick off october with some fluff!

“There you are!”

The sound of his voice startled you, making you whip your head around to see him. Jason’s shirt was off, his bare chest glistening with sweat. He was slightly out of breath and hunched over his knees with effort.

“Here I am,” you replied, a small smile overtaking your mouth. You scooted to the right, making room for him on the pier. You’d been there since lunch. You had always preferred the view of the ocean to your cabin's activities.

Sitting down, Jason took his glasses out of a pocket in his shorts and put them back on. “Percy was actually hard to fight today. I almost thought it’d end in a draw.”

His sarcasm made you giggle, and he smiled, and you wished you could take a picture. His dimples were the most adorable things in the world, and his smile was so genuine. The fact that he had glasses on did not help your crush on the boy.

“How terrible that would have been. You would have disgraced your cabin,” you teased. Jason laughed at that, and your heart almost stopped. Your cheeks were surely pink now, and you hoped he assumed you were sunburned.

“What have you been doing?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Nothing of note. Just sitting here and looking at the water.” It brought you peace to close your eyes and listen to the ambiance.

“Sounds nice.” A comfortable silence fell over you two, and you inched your hand closer to his with every passing second.

When skin met skin, a thousand volts of electricity swept through your entire body. Your head turned to him, and found he was already looking at you.

Your gaze moved from his eyes to his lips, subconsciously moving closer to him. Then, your lips touched, and you were on cloud nine.

You closed your eyes as you leaned into the kiss, blood pounding in your veins as Jason kissed you back. It was all consuming, the only thing your brain could focus on was Jason’s lips on yours.

Reluctantly, Jason broke away from the kiss, breathing heavy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you’d want to kiss me back-” You quickly shut him up by grabbing face and pulling towards yours.

Your hands ventured around his body, moving from his face, to his shoulders. They finally rested on his chest, relishing in the skin to skin contact. His wrapped his around the small of your back and pushed you closer to him, as if there was any room left.

The kiss broke once again, this time initiated by you to get some air. When you leaned back, you could see sparks igniting around Jason's head. He noticed them immediately, blushing and bowing his head. "I do that when I get excited, sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be sorry," you giggled, "It's kinda cute. Makes me think of a Taylor Swift song."

"What? Electric Touch? Call It What You Want?" he guessed. "Wait, maybe I'm your Superman?"

You giggled again, "No, not any of those. Sparks Fly. How do you know those other ones?"

"It might sound creepy, but I always listen to what you say." And with that, you bring him in for another kiss.