♦ Noe ♦ 25+ ♦ afab; she/her (trying to keep most fics and hcs gn) ♦
· · 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ────── · ·
Character info:
♦ awkward and embarrassing
♦ slow writer
♦ yapping about current brainrots
♦ don't have the balls yet but will try out nsfw content too
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
NOTE: THANK U ARI FOR REQUESTING CLAUDE <3 i was so happy to write for him after so long . . it felt like coming home.
PLEASE READ MY BYF BEFORE INTERACTING. don't use my work to train AI, recommend it outside of tumblr, or repost it (even with credit).
When you'd hidden away in one of Garreg Mach's many innocuous and nameless rooms, you'd had very few expectations. Quiet (or at least relative quiet—with all of the joyous commotion, it was unlikely even this secluded area would shield you from the festivities) and darkness and distinctly no warm body mere inches from you upon closing the door.
"It seems we had the same idea."
Claude's voice, as usual, gleams with warmth. His eyelids are low over his green eyes, and an easy smile sits on his lips at the sight of you.
"It seems so," you agree. "Would you prefer I found another closet to hide in?"
His eyes glint under lamplight. "And risk you being discovered in pursuit?" He jokes. "Not a chance!"
The room—which you've rather accurately assessed as a closet, rather—appears to be one of many stashing places for overflow supplies and, in particular, excess linens, bedclothes, and fabric scraps. They line shelves, the edges of each sheet aligning perfectly with those above and below. Some of them are adorned with delicate embroidery, carefully stitched into lions and wreaths and twinkles of starlight or flame.
You shuffle a bit closer to the shelves, shoulder brushing Claude's broad chest as you do. The touch is so brief that you think nothing of it, but behind you, there is the faintest sound of a shudder.
"So…not joining the party either?" you ask, taking a bit of silk between your fingers. "Hmm…"
"I'll have you know that I spent plenty of time celebrating before secluding myself, thank you very much."
You chuckle at that. "Have you seen these?"
His hand comes to the fabric beside yours. Those strong fingers, which you've watched arch his bowstring and guide the harness of his wyvern, move so fluidly now, with such airy precision. Entranced, you barely notice that your fingers have drifted toward his until it's too late and he's recoiling with what you're sure he thinks is a subtle draw of breath, a clearing of his throat.
"Ah, no," he says. "I haven't."
"Did that hurt?"
There is a twinge of something in your chest, just near the base of your throat: cool and thin as some wintry breeze. You consider apologizing, but the words fade as he moves to the far side of the shelf, putting what meager space he can between you.
"Hurt—No. No, of course not. I just—"
"That's a relief."
The silks are fine and smooth between your fingers. You imagine that Cyril will roll his eyes at the fabrics' shift in posture. Certainly, though, he's seen much worse than these mere few wrinkles.
"Claude?"
"Yes?"
"Look at this."
He does. Shuffling closer to you—as close as he can get without touching, without disrupting the buzzing air that sheilds your shoulder from his warmth—his gaze fixes on the set of cloth napkins you've found. They're not scraps, no. They're finished pieces, donated by some willing contributor to the cause. Or maybe they'd been snatched from the inside of some drawer somewhere, already missed by someone.
"You know," he says, "this looks an awful lot like Almyran embroidery. There's gold in these pine trees. See?" Though still smooth and tactful, his voice takes on a bittersweet weight: it's dense and bodied as a drop of honey, and it aches at its edges with some twinge of nostalgia.
You lower your head slightly and let your attention follow the trail of his fingertips: over the edge of the pine tree, each strand alight with a hint of something glittering among the green, and to the needlepoint swirls of yellow, fresh as sunlight.
"It might be," you say.
When you raise your head, you find him close again, as if the space he'd put between you only moments before had never existed. As if you'd been just a breath away the whole time, nose brushing his. Slowly, you touch his shoulder, and he stills, as though caught between the safety of retreat and the delicate trap of your palm. The cool of your fingers on his skin makes Claude shiver, though there is a distinct heat to his face now.
Outside the door, someone calls your name, and you both freeze. A bundle of shuffling feet and hushed voices scurries past the door; their shadows flicker briefly. Moments later, you chuckle.
"That felt like being caught out of class," you say. Then, looking up at him again, you continue: "Have you changed your mind about kicking me out of here?"
The question is meant to be teasing, and it's evident he knows (if the laughing exhale, though contrasted with his drawn brows, is anything to go by, that is), but the way he presses into your hand makes you falter.
"Is this—"
"Fine," he breathes. He laughs a little. "I rarely find myself in positions like this these days… And you're well…"
"I'm…?"
"You're very gentle with me."
Humming, you imagine sliding your hand up into his hair. Taking the strands between your fingers. Drawing over his scalp. But you refrain, instead giving his bicep a measured squeeze.
For a long time, the two of you stay that way: him in your hold, you noting the subtle tremble of his lower lip. You don't ask him what he means or what's happened before. Nor do you tease him when he grips your elbow or when he tilts his head, inviting. Or when, as you cup his cheek, his lashes flutter against your thumb.
You don't push him away when he ducks in, barely, and grazes your lips with his.
Synopsis: Rafayel noticed the influence he had over you with the sudden increase of ocean themed items.
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅
It took him a while, idiotically long even as he had to admit with a hint of embarrassment, but when he noticed? Oh, you could see Rafayel puff out in pride like a peacock in his prime. Feathers ruffled out more. In his case: a bit more cleavage that he showed through another button popped open, like some idiotic flaunting flirt.
His target of courting wasn't some stranger though — nah — he had his eyes, mind and heart already set on someone that he already claimed as his and it made him so cocky to see that person adapting to him.
Not entirely 'adapting' in the sense of getting used to one another (that too, duh) but in the sense of adding new items into their life that reminded them of him.
When he first saw you with that shell hairclaw? He didn't think much of it besides that it looked pretty on you or even as a simple accessory, dangling on the strap of your bag.
Later when his influence began to show through a few more beach and ocean themed items that you wore or had at home, it finally clicked. And if I tell you how much of a fool he became...
He tried not to let it show too much at first. Tried to act cool, you know? No one likes obvious cocky bastards.
He was smiling and grinning a bit more, though. Heart on his sleeve, when he became a bit more playful, started to play with your fingers a bit more often than he already was, adjusting your clothes and brushing them back to shape any given minute. Handsy, simply said.
Very.
Rafayel had already gifted you so much that represented Lemuria to him and you just going with the flow? Getting things for yourself to represent a little lemurian aesthetic in your daily life? Man, it almost felt like you're trying to flirt with him or something, if not immediately make him want to drag you to bed after one glance at the pearls decorating your earlobe.
This was just a wedding proposal at this point—
You shouldn't be surprised that he was unable to get those pretty eyes of his from you when you were trying to find out where to attach the newest mermaid-esque chain to your bag. Blue and pink hues flicking from the item itself to your wrist, then to your neck... oh, it was driving him crazy when you actually considered wearing it as a necklace. He almost jumped up from the cushioned chair he was clawing. Maybe if he could cry a good thousand pearls for you, someone could tailor a perfect dress out of them for his cutie. Maybe just you in a few pearl accessories would already be enough. Oh, that definitely was enough. Enough that Rafayel almost choked on his spit at the mental image.
Oh, damn it all. Let that cheap looking chain wait for your decision an hour or two longer. He was just ignoring your protests when he got up and began to tug it out of your hands so he could hold them instead and pull you along upstairs. That confused look on your face got him smirking, thinking that you really just had no idea what you could do to him. How much of a forest fire you can create in his mind and heart.
Ocean themed, mermaid themed, whatever, Rafayel also got different ways for you to show the world that you were a linked piece and he was going to make it bold and extra durable for you. Just so it could fit that cute shell necklace that you made together last week.
Not harsh — just a pale wash of gold slipping through the curtains.
And warmth. A steady, solid warmth wrapped around you.
It takes your sleepy brain a second to register that you’re not in your own bed.
Then you feel it. An arm around your waist.
Fingers loosely curled into the fabric of your shirt.
Breath warm against the back of your neck.
Rafayel.
He’s still asleep.
Which is rare.
You stay still for a moment, just listening. The quiet rise and fall of his breathing. His little mumbles.
Your kitchen disaster flashes into memory. Flour everywhere. Burnt cupcakes. Laughter.
You shift slightly. His grip tightens immediately.
Even asleep, he reacts. “…Don’t,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
You smile. “I wasn’t leaving.”
His nose brushes lightly against the back of your neck as he settles again, pulling you closer until your back is flush against his chest.
“You move like you’re planning an escape,” he mutters.
“I rolled over.”
“Suspicious.”
You laugh softly.
He exhales against your skin, still half-asleep, then presses a lazy kiss just below your ear. You turn carefully in his arms so you’re facing him now.
His hair is slightly messy. There’s the faintest trace of flour still near his temple. You reach up, brushing your thumb along it.
He opens one eye. “…What?”
“You missed a spot.”
He doesn’t move to fix it. Instead, he pulls you closer again, forehead resting against yours.
“You’re staring,” he says quietly.
“You’re cute in the morning.”
He squints faintly. “I don’t do cute.”
“You absolutely do.” You tap his nose lightly.
Without hesitation, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the tip of yours. You blink. He does it again.
“You’re very smug right now,” you whisper.
“I won,” he replies softly.
“Won what?”
“This.”
His hand slides slowly along your back, warm and grounding. His thumb traces small, lazy circles just under your shoulder blade.
You melt into it.
There’s something different about him in the morning. Less guarded. More open.
He studies your face like he’s making sure you’re real.
“You stayed,” he murmurs.
“You’re surprised?”
“A little.”
You soften. “Why?”
He hesitates — just for a breath. “Because I’m not used to waking up and still having what I want.”
That does something to you. You reach up and cradle his face gently, brushing your nose against his.
“Well,” you whisper, “get used to it.”
He watches you for a long second. Then he kisses you. Slow. Unhurried.
One hand sliding into your hair, the other holding you like he’s afraid you might be swept away in the sea. When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His nose nudges yours again.
A third kiss. Lighter.
“Good morning,” he murmurs.
“Good morning.”
You shift closer instinctively, tucking your face into his chest. He responds immediately, wrapping both arms around you this time, chin resting lightly on your head.
Somewhere down the hall, you hear a distant timer beep — probably from the oven you forgot to fully turn off.
Neither one moves.
His fingers comb gently through your hair.
“You’re not getting up yet,” he says quietly.
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“Good.”
He presses another soft kiss to your hairline. Then, as if he can’t help himself, tilts your chin up and brushes his lips against the bridge of your nose.
“You still have flour in your hair,” he says softly.
“You too.”
He smirks faintly — but it’s softer than usual.
“Keep it,” he murmurs. “Proof of victory.”
You laugh quietly, curling closer.
“Rafayel?”
“Hm.”
“This might be my favorite version of you.”
His hand pauses in your hair.
Then resumes, slower.
“Careful,” he says gently.
“Why?”
“I might start expecting mornings like this.”
You tilt your face up again, brushing your nose against his.
sometimes, rafayel didn't know what he did for you to love him so... unapologetically.
it was nothing like he imagined your relationship to be. he was thinking of everything and nothing when it came to you, excitement — genuine eagerness — coursed through him like nothing ever before. so amidst all the thoughts and actions, he somehow missed the day of when you fell in love with him.
he realised it when he had a feeling of wrongness, that something was missing. your touch on his hair, your palm against his cheek. your lips on his forehead, or on his nape when he was working on a art piece.
how come someone who was so emotionally intelligent to miss that?
"touch me," he turned to you, paintbrush still in hand.
you stilled, blinking up at him from your magazine. "i beg your finest pardon?"
"oh, for goodness sakes, just touch me." he cornered you to the edge if the couch, and before you could voice out your protests, he laid himself on top of you. you welcomed him easily, legs parting as you hugged him closer.
you huffed, a amused smile growing on your lips. "fine, you needy little fish."
with the first touch on his nape, rafayel tensed before relaxing all at once, closing his eyes in relief, the feeling of wrongness vanishing ever so slowly.
he nuzzled against your stomach, wrapping his arms around your waist, heart fluttering against his chest.
for a certain period of time, rafayel couldn't sleep without you after that. he would be tossing and turning, arms seeking you out. he thought he was becoming clingy, you thought your heart would burst out from your chest.
he intertwined your fingers, bringing them to his lips.
he thought he was the luckiest bastard in the world when you brought them before you, nuzzling against the back of his hand, kissing his knuckles. there was so much love in your eyes, did he truly made you look like that? did he really make you so happy?
rafayel promised to himself, there and then, that he would try his best to keep that beautiful light within you alive. if only because he was a selfish man, wanting to be loved by you so earnestly, and love you without restraint or fear.
rafayel experiencing immense levels of cuteness aggression when he just sees you doing random things... like you're in the kitchen fixing him a snack and he'll come up behind you, wrap his arms around you and just squeeze you tightly... you just hanging out with him and he'll just grab your face with both hands, and start squeezing... him being covered in paint from working on a piece and he sees you and chases after you while you yell "rafayel, NO! you have paint everywhere!" but then you let him catch you anyway and and he wraps you in a tight embrace and nuzzles his paint-covered cheek against yours... you walking arm in arm with him and he'll just randomly lift your hand up and take a chomp out of the fleshy part underneath your thumb then put it back down like nothing happened while he's smiling to himself...
TIGHNARI X GN!READER ┊͙ rated sfw ⸝ comfort ⸝ for the days you feel entirely unlovable ( he loves you, always, regardless of it all ) ݂ ໋. cw for mild angst at the start & deep-rooted feelings of insecurity
It’s moments like this when you wish Tighnari wasn’t always so attentive when it came to you.
“Are you thinking that… just because you’ve had a bad week, you should retreat to your room instead of seeking comfort?” Tighnari observes sharply, ears twitching when he notices the nervous wobble of your lip.
You shake your head, instinctively. “I’m just… tired.”
(You tell yourself that you are not sad. You are not sad now, and you cannot ever be sad, because if nothing else, you at least want to be someone capable of making those around you smile.)
He sighs softly. “Don’t lie to me.”
He’s not smiling.
And neither are you, when you avert your gaze from him and down to your hands twisted in your lap, unsure of where to begin formulating a lie that would convince the only one who sees all of you, to believe you’re merely feeling a bit sleepy.
“Tell me. Am I correct in thinking that?”
You don’t move, because the truth, when spoken, feels so childish you can’t bear to admit it even when he asks you so tenderly. I don’t want you to see me sad, only since I know it will spoil your image of me. I want you to continue loving me, as selfish as it is.
“Hey.” His voice comes out softer now. Unbearably kind, and it strikes you deep inside your heart, your chest clenching.
You never handle kindness well when you’re like this. You much prefer silence, when this horrible heaviness can eventually come to pass without anyone having spotted it or being there to remind you of it.
It’s this tenderness — this deliberate kind of kindness — that always breaks something open inside you.
And so you’ve grown to hate it.
Of course, Tighnari is quick to notice the blur of your eyes, then the pull of your shoulders inward.
“Come here,” he says, and before you can think to hide, his arms are already around you, folding you into the warmth of him. It’s him feeling so incredibly warm and it’s his heartbeat being so steady against you that your tears are able to come out this fast.
“…Sorry—” you try, but your voice breaks. The pathetic sound only forces more tears to fall, and you instinctively press your palms to your face, a futile attempt to keep them from spilling any further than they already have. A last ditch effort to chalk your slip up as something catching in your eye, but he adjusts, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head, his thumb lightly brushing against your scalp.
“Don’t,” he says, softly. “Don’t hide from me.”
You shake your head, unsure of what you’re protesting, but it’s all you know to do. It’s moments like this when you think you might just hate yourself more than anything else in the world — when your voice betrays you and falls too weak to even manage a sentence.
And so you stay like this, small and trembling against him, letting his fingers trace small circles into your back even if you want to tell him there’s no need. Because you’re not sad. You try to prove this with a steady, albeit shaky, inhale to free the tightness in your chest, blinking slowly to fight the—
“Don’t try to hold them back.”
Your tears blur your vision just as quickly as before upon hearing that cursed, familiar tone, and you want to curl up into a ball because he knows. He’s always known.
And still, he stays beside you, holding you like you might break otherwise. You stiffen when you feel him shifting, so that he can see your face, brush a stray tear from your cheek with the side of his thumb.
You don’t dare to look at him.
He doesn’t press you to, either.
“Just how long have you been feeling like this?”
“N…not long.” (You lie, again, because not even someone as gentle as Tighnari can make you fully honest.)
His ears flick once. “You thought keeping this to yourself would make things better?”
You look down. “It’s not fair… to you. At all. To put a… damper on your mood, just because mine is like,” there’s an uncertain pause from you, “…this.”
“So you think it’s a burden on others — that I wouldn’t enjoy being around you as much because of it?”
It sounds completely and utterly ridiculous when he says it aloud, and you almost want to laugh at yourself for feeling this way in the first place. Ridiculous… yes… but true — exactly spot on, actually — and so you nod once. Barely.
He breathes out through his nose. “If I asked you the same thing — whether I would be a burden to you if I were unhappy — what would you tell me?”
It’s almost comical how quickly you straighten when the topic of loving Tighnari arises. “You could never…!”
He’s still. “Would you want me to hide it from you?”
“N-no. I want to help… if that’s okay.”
“I see. Then why,” he asks quietly this time, and your gaze falls back, because you know exactly what will follow, “do you think you deserve any less patience than you’d give me?”
You can’t answer him this time. (Or perhaps, you could, but you know better than to say these thoughts aloud. If you can’t hide your feelings in the end, the only thing left to hide is the knowledge that you, at your core, are entirely unlovable underneath this layer he has begun to so carefully and lovingly peel apart.
You just can’t let him in on this last secret, no matter what.)
He doesn’t seem to expect an answer from you this time, either. His hand traces up your back, slowly, rubbing delicate circles into you. “You’re allowed to be sad,” he says.
(I’m not sad, you want to insist so, so badly.
You’re not sad. You can be anything but sad.
You refuse to admit this, ever.)
“You’re allowed to have days where your thoughts don’t cooperate, just like everyone else. That does not make you any less worthy of being cared for.”
You sniffle against your will, hand clinging to his sleeve. “I just… want to be someone normal… someone who you can find at least a little enjoyable to be around.”
He hums softly. “You are. Even now. Especially now.”
“But… there’s no way this,” you gesture at the soaked tips of your sleeves, “is fun.”
“Well,” Tighnari says, unhurried, “this is part of who you are. And loving someone means being present for all versions of themselves — not just the ones that smile more easily.”
Your chest tightens again, because it suddenly makes no sense when it’s you. You want to believe he’s being honest to you, but at the very end of the day, who, in their right mind, would willingly choose to spend the night beside someone like you — this trembling, crying mess?
You know Tighnari would, and you can’t bring yourself to understand why.
“If there were two of me, again,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek, “one smiling, one frowning — would you love one more than the other?”
You shake your head.
“Exactly,” he says. “So then, why would you think you are any different from me?”
You can’t answer. (You want to, and you think you can, but the words seem meaningless next to the way he sees you. And perhaps, that’s the cruelest part about it all — that he loves you fully, when you yourself cannot even begin to fathom how something like that could be possible.)
So you lean into his chest, sobbing quietly, and he holds you all the same.
(Tighnari knows you don’t believe a word he says. He already knows you’ve convinced yourself to not listen, and that, for some reason, he’ll change his mind once he realizes that you too, are capable of being sad.
That you too, are also entirely human. But it doesn’t stop him from holding you and telling you regardless, because even if you don’t see it yourself, he wants to tell this part of you that it is loved, too.
synopsis: he’s so madly in love with you and everything you do makes him fall even harder
pairing: zayne x reader, sylus x reader, rafayel x reader, xavier x reader, caleb x reader
note: I love when men are obsessed with their gfs sooooo yaaa. I try to keep mc gender neutral but ygm
zayne
“Should I wear this one… or this one?” you hold up two clothing options for him to choose for you for your night out. You’ve been dying for a night out with your best friends and now you’re beaming with excitement, having everything ready but your outfit. Zayne is sitting on the edge of the bed across from your standing figure. He’s been secretly peering over his laptop, watching you spending a lot of time in front the mirror and now he’s just fully invested, staying as close to you as possible while the clock is ticking. You’ve only twenty minutes before your friends collect you so you desperately need your man’s advice.
“You look… beautiful.” his breath is caught in his throat when you turn towards him with your outfit on, smoothing the palms of your hands over your hips. You grin, seeing Zayne’s eyes wander all over your body. You notice his cheeks and ears flashing red before he even locks eyes with you. But when he does, he’s in absolute awe, looking at you like you’re the most magnificent thing to exist and well, he’s not wrong.
You approach him steadily, tilting your head to the side and softening the features on your face. You reach out to cup his face, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. He lifts his hands to gently squeeze your hips and when you pull your head back, his eyes remain closed.
“More.” he says quietly.
You giggle and happily kiss him again, feeling his arms snake around your waist. His lips are warm against yours and his kisses are slow, gentle, definitely making you want more or at least, make you think about more when you’re separated.
You break the contact again, fixing your posture to stand straight. Zayne rests the side of his face against your stomach, still hugging your waist.
“I’m sorry.” he states, “I want you to have a great time tonight. I’m just feeling selfish. I hate going to bed without you. Please call me if you need a ride home.”
sylus
“Sylus, look at me.” you plead, dramatically tugging on his arm while his hand is stubbornly slipped down the pocket of his trousers.
“No thanks.” his voice is slow and he’s purposely turning his head away from you no matter how hard you try to appear in his vision. You’re whining but laughing at the same time, at some points not being able to speak through your breathless laughter.
All this drama just because whatever way the light is hitting, it makes your eyes look like there’s a million stars dancing in them. Your eyebrows curve to give an even softer appearance, adorning it with a cute pout on your lips. Yes, you’re asking your boyfriend for a silly favour and he usually always indulges in your frivolous shenanigans, but this time there’s no way.
Instead of telling you ‘no’, he almost breaks his neck turning his head away from you. Well, right after gazing deeply into your eyes, facial features becoming gentle and warm. He almost gulped, knowing damn well how much power you have over him.
“Sylusssss…” you stand in front of him, your arms wrapping around his neck. He practically stiffens up, knowing he can’t play this nonchalant character much longer. “Please look at me.”
“No.” his response is short and quick.
You lift one of your hands to trace your finger down his temple and cheek, smiling up at him. “Why? Because you know you’ll crack?”
He side-eyes you for a split second. “Yes.” he whispers very quietly, deciding to finally take his hands out of his pockets and embrace your figure. He returns the smile without hesitation once he finally glances at your beautiful, enchanting face. “I can’t look at you and tell you no.”
rafayel
You press your lips into a straight line, cheeks slightly puffed out as a result of trying to hold in your laughter. The muttering chatter and clinks of glasses spreads across the busy restaurant. You haven’t ordered your food yet and your hunger is quickly rushing in, making your stomach grumble. You barely turn your head to look at your boyfriend, all you have to do is slightly move your eyes to the side.
“The lobster Thermidor sounds appetising with maybe a side of coquilles saint-jacques. What do you think?” he squeezes your hand that’s been held hostage since you pretty much arrived. It was a rhetorical question really since he always orders seafood anyways. His head is buried in the menu, excited about this amazing restaurant he wanted to take you to.
His fingers from his free hand are lightly brushing over your leg like a habit he doesn’t notice anymore. You glance across the table at the empty seat that Rafayel was originally meant to sit in. He’s not crazy about table etiquette, but he’s so close to you that he might as well sit on your laps. He’s a really clingy boyfriend and sometimes it does come to a point where he literally has to be a hat on your head.
“Can I look at the menu?” you ask, waiting for him to look at you and when he does, eyes are immediately staring into yours and he’s locked in. His gaze momentarily falls upon your lips before returning to your eyes. Both of you slowly begin to smile at each other, a cute, shy kind of smile. You shake your head, letting out a chuckle and he’s just so in tune with your energy at this very moment.
“Yeah, of course.” his voice is calm, eyes shimmering with enchantment. He presses his lips softly onto yours before sliding the menu to you. “I got too excited sorry.”
You laugh again, tilting your head to the side. “You sure you’re nice and comfortable here?” you gesture to your seating area.
He nods, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “I like being close to you.”
xavier
You’re softly trailing your fingers down Xavier’s face, his eyelids feeling heavy as he’s practically experiencing ASMR. You’re drawing little hearts with the tip of your finger on each cheek, one by one. You move up to his forehead, gently pushing away the strands of his soft hair. He hums, falling into your touch.
“You’re getting tired?” your voice falters into a whisper. Your actions are very compatible with the lit candles in a dark enough living room and quiet background noises coming from the tv.
He takes a hold of your wrist, placing your hand on his cheek. He nuzzles into your palm, a small smile appearing on his lips when he looks at you. “No, I’m just thinking about you.”
“You’re thinking about me? Right now?” a sweet chuckle escapes your lips. He scoots closer to you, guiding your arm around his neck. His eyes admire yours, creating that soft ambiance that warms hearts.
You instinctively start gently scratching the back of his neck and upper back with your nails, leaving goosebumps to rise on his skin.
He can’t help but kiss you, brushing his lips against yours before slowly backing away ever so slightly. “Not just right now. I always think about you.”
You pause for a few seconds before cupping his face and kissing him again. It’s all just light but meaningful kisses and you love having moments like this with him. It’s sweet, it’s intimate.
Xavier inches away again, also pressing his lips to your forehead. He invites you into a warm embrace, making sure you feel safe in his arms.
caleb
You’ve started walking a bit behind Caleb, distracted by something before both of you are on your way. He’s carrying all the grocery bags, refusing to let you hold anything and giving out to you when you were being stubborn about it too. You watch him move two smaller bags from one hand onto the other busier one. He sticks out his free hand behind him, wiggling his fingers.
“What?” you ask, knowing exactly what he wants. As a response, he throws his hand out aggressively and when you’re just quietly laughing, he peers over his shoulder to look at you, eyebrows scrunched together.
He clicks his tongue, turning around to take a few steps back. “Give me your damn hand.” he locks his fingers with yours, finally holding your hand. He’s not playing around with you, he’s been asking for attention all day, happily running errands with you.
“At least give me one of the bags, Caleb.” You attempt to reach for one but he just hides the bags behind him.
“You’re obsessed.” he says with a squeaky voice, waiting for you to shoot him a glare, only for him to have the most beaming grin when you do as he predicted. His smile forces a smile out of you.
“I think you’re obsessed.” you laugh, making sure you’re watching where you’re going while focusing on your boyfriend at the same time.
He raises an eyebrow, the usual glint of playfulness flickering in his eyes. “With you? Yeah, it’s obvious. I’m not hiding it.”
Truth to be told, he would probably crawl under your skin if he could.
Staring at each other, he knows he could do it forever, but eventually shyness takes over and you bite your lip, holding back the widest grin. You break the eye contact, but his view of you never vanishes.
thank you for reading! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
please do not post my work anywhere else or claim as your own
𓏲𝄢 𓈒 their ideal date ◞ ft. gachiakuta guys + gender neutral! reader
sorry it’s so short, my writing motivation has gone down the drain but im trying! ++ i wont be doing any other gachiakuta characters for this because i could not come up w anything
𝜗𝜚 𓂃 ֹ enjin - chill movie date
now, don’t get him wrong, enjin doesn’t mind going out a few times for a nice date; but he’ll always prefer staying inside, bundled up under the blankets with his girl. he’ll put on a movie— any movie, just something to keep the two of you entertained. though, recently, the two of you have been watching quite a few rom-coms. enjin swears they’re not that funny but of course; he’s always the one who laughs the loudest and slaps his knee so hard you’re nearly worried.
𝜗𝜚 𓂃 ֹ jabber - amusement park
of course, jabber would want to go to the place where he can shake off the most energy possible. he’s the type of guy who’ll grab your hand and drag you to the scariest looking ride. his favourite’s the one with the big drop. jabber screams through every single ride, his laughter bubbling through shrieks. oh, and he always buys the pictures afterwards. he will never not laugh at your scared face.
𝜗𝜚 𓂃 ֹ zanka - painting together
i feel like he’d enjoy chill, sweet activities. he’s not the best at painting, and you might not be either, but he finds it so much fun listening to you laugh while you take his paintbrush and paint something on your own canvas. zanka likes exchanging canvases, too; and he definitely keeps yours in his room to admire when you’re not there.
I really like fictional couples that actually enjoy spending time with each other. It seems like such a simple, mundane thing. But, often, I see fictional couples who are completely enamored and dramatic and willing to die for each other, which is fine. But like… do they enjoy hanging out? Do they have private jokes and would they be friends even if they weren’t in love? It feels like such a basic thing, but it’s something that I actually don’t see that often. And it feels so refreshing and honest compared to these over-dramatic romeo and juliet-esque romances. Just two people who become good friends and because they enjoy each other’s presence so much it grows into a strong attraction. It feels more real and tangible than two attractive people meeting and “falling in love at first sight” - like, of course, you fell in love at first sight! You’re both supermodels! Sorry, can’t relate.
men who are not into PDA but are on you almost immediately after the door to a private space closes behind you, all of their longing and waiting suddenly so obvious when it’s being pushed between your lips and they can’t grab enough of you at once
Enjin had to shoot you a look after getting dissed so hard without warning nor reason.
So what if he had a RBF? Not like there was anything to smile about in this crappy place to begin with. He never had to smile, got picked on and bullied for his dimples when he was a kid and even now as a teen. As long as he remembers he was scowling unless getting a good laugh at something ridiculous or when trying to sleaze himself into getting something he needed and wanted.
Still, he couldn't help but feel his scowl deepen more when he saw that huffy determinded look of yours that just told him that he'd have to deal with your shenanigans. Before he could even open up his mouth, you had already glued on your first sticker onto Umbreaker and not one second later you put on the next.
"... you're makin' me look like some clown."
"Hah? Why? You already do a pretty good job at that without m—" And before you could jab at him another round, Enjin had your lips pinched together with the fattest frown you'd provoked out of him so far. It was quick work to have you in a headlock and his other hand rubbing your head messy. "I'll throw you in the dumpsters someday for pick up."
But while you couldn't see, he was unknowingly smiling faintly before returning to his usual horizontal lip line look the moment he let you go to turn the other way.
It didn't really stop with stickers and patches that you left on his Jinki. Once you both found home and reason on the Surface, uniform freshly sewn by August, you were already back to tinkering up how to help his scary image. While commissioners should be grateful for your involvement for their safety, many seemed to shoot dirty looks towards the blonde just after one glance towards him.
You weren't always there to de-escalate situations. Neither was Gris.
"For crying out loud, could you stop bedazzling me with random crap?"
You let out a gasp of offense and even gave his chest a whack that got him sounding like a grumpy old man forced to stand up.
"These're charms to keep people from thinking that you come straight from the mafia!"
"Maybe I like that they think I'm part of a mob?"
"Well, I don't!" You huffed out and before he could even start an argument or throw a biting remark, you already were working on the collar of his uniform. One button, then another joining the HQ's emblem on the other side before you leaned back up to puff your chest out with pride and a big smile. "Much better!"
"You're such a pain in the ass—"
But even when he tugged you down onto the sofa with him, just to squish you between biceps and chest to have free reign of ruffling your head, as he always did, he still smiled like a fool. Because you liked his dimples and maybe you also made him like them more too.
And what if Enjin had an older sibling that used to be a doctor, working alongside Alice?
The reason he picks up kids left and right for a second chance and a place to belong just to fill a hole. Maybe it was that sibling that gave him his second name and his Jinki that's glued up by stickers and patches.
What if he visits the contaminated zones all alone in hopes to find them again because they had an accident there? Maybe hoping that they'd just return without a scratch and that it was all just some wild nightmare of his?
The tattoos he wears, all just a symbol of his blood and flesh that is no more. A dumb comment of "I also wanna have a sick tattoo when I grow old 'nough!" and just to get a blackout full back and neck one in tribute to them. Maybe a map of how to get to the Sphere; maybe just a reminder of the division of heaven, earth and that space in between that's looked over by the Watchmaker.
