Professor Layton spoilers ahead. Layton Characters x Reader. Requests are open and encouraged.
L@yluke, Lucl!ve, Desl@y, etc shippers do NOT interact. Pr0fiction/pr0ship do NOT interact.
Selfshippers obviously very welcome.
This a Layton x Reader blog! I'm currently working on a major x Reader longfic series for the Professor Layton franchise. This blog is for writing practice, ideas that do not fit into those main fanfictions, and general just-for-fun style writings.
L@yluke, Lucl1ve, Desl@y, etc shippers do not interact. Pr0ship do not interact.
Information on rules, requesting, and what characters I write for below.
The three (or five, depending on how you look at it) characters I write for are Hershel Layton, Desmond Sycamore/Jean Descole, and Randall Ascot/the Masked Gentleman. I may be willing to add more in the future. The formats you can request are scenarios ("snapshot fanfics"), ficlets (short oneshots), imagines (usually short blurbs about a specific prompt), and headcanons. Be certain that you specify what format you want in your request or you will be at the mercy of whatever I feel like writing at that particular time.
You may send in multiple requests. You may request almost any AU (e.g. pirates, modern, fantasy) or scenario prompt (e.g. they're your plush who come to life, dancing with the character, they save you from a near-death scenario) that you can think up in that gorgeous noggin of yours. Reader will typically be she/her or they/them, feel free to specify your preference if you have one. I reserve the right to refuse any request I so desire.
Anything suggestive, violent, or otherwise potentially disconcerting in nature will be tagged as such (example: cw suggestive and tw suggestive). Normally I would use the mature filter for mature content, but considering Tumblr's new restrictions, I will not be doing that. Anyone sensitive to mature content or under the age of 18 should use their tag filtering system wisely and ask a trusted adult for help.
You may NOT request:
Anything from LMJ or LBMR
Underage Reader
Real-world politics
Romanticisation of suicide/self-harm
Incest
BDSM, kink, fetishes, DDLG, ageplay, petplay, etc
Severe gore, body horror
Religious figure AUs (ex: they're a god and you're worshipping them, etc)
OCs
Canon x Canon
Cannibalism
Domestic violence
Substance abuse
I forbid any use of my writing or fan works in any form of AI training or projects. DO NOT reupload my work anywhere for any reason. I am not associated with Level 5. I do not own any of these characters. I'm writing these fanfictions for entertainment purposes only. No AI is ever used in any of my works.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy. Have a wonderful day or night.
*stumbles into your inbox in the clumsiest way possible* omg omg are requests still open? I read the rules and it does seem like it is, but I'd like to double check!
I need more content of my beloved Hershel ;;;
– 🍤 anon
Absolutely! My requests are always open. Send me anything you want! <3
I have some Hershel wips in the works, but I'm happy to add ideas and requests to the list. I can promise that they will all eventually be fulfilled unless I die first!
The only limits I have are those listed in the pinned post. ☺️
🎩❤️ Just a handful of Hershel x Reader and Desmond/Descole x Reader headcanons ❤️🎭
Des
• Behaves differently between his Descole and Desmond personas. Descole is a storybook romantic. He'll pull you into ballroom style dances, profess his undying love for you with grand dramatic gestures, promise to you that if you requested it of him, he would pluck every star from the sky and lay them at your feet. He always has his hands on you in some way—his arm around your waist, a hand on your back or side, his hand holding yours, or you simply sitting (or napping) in his lap while he works. He loves to be touching you.
• Desmond is a hopeless romantic. He quotes poetry at you, attempts to impress you with his intelligence, showers you in gifts and compliments. He plays music using you as his muse. He sketches you in his notes. When he works out more Azran puzzles or otherwise makes significant discoveries, he's chomping at the bit to tell you about them. If he sees your reflection pass by in a window or a mirror, he stops and stares at it flutter along like a butterfly on the wind. Sometimes, he silently bursts into tears thinking about you when he's alone because it makes him emotional. Help him
• He's an incredible kisser and he loooves to prove it to you. 🤌
Layton
• Layton is a nervous romantic. He tries his very best to do right by you. Pulls out every gentlemanly stop. You are so special to him and he puts so much pressure on himself internally to not screw it all up. In the beginning, he takes you on dates he thinks are romantic in an attempt to woo you. Classic wine and dine, a walk in the park or by the river, etc. However, if you put him back in his element, such as suggesting a museum date, he will yap at you endlessly about anything you're interested in. It'll make him feel like he's on top of the world if you actually pay attention.
• He thinks up puzzles specifically for you because he loooves to watch you solve them. To see your mind working through your eyes, to see what you're like when you're figuring things out. He also loves an opportunity to offer you hints. It makes him feel useful and important to you.
• He's a snugglebug. He loves your hugs, he loves to cuddle, loves to hold hands. He loves to hold you and make you feel protected, to reassure you that he's right there and he isn't going anywhere. He wants to make sure you know that you can rely on him, that he'll be Your Gentleman™ for as long as you want or need him. He often neglects to think of himself, so make sure you let him know that the feeling is mutual!
• Velcro boyfriend.
• He's always bringing you weird objects and artefacts, eager to engage in what you can only describe as show and tell. It brings him no end of joy if you actually pay attention to what he's saying and ask questions. He will answer them so happily. Please listen to him yap.
• This man is strong (he WAS a farmer for years, after all) and he WILL pick you up. He loooves to hold his s/o, pick them up, spin them around, princess carry them- He'll take any excuse to have you in his arms!
• You better bet he'll smother you in kisses while he's got ya there, he's not at all shy about it.
• Gives the beeest hugs. Warm, tight, and snuggly. He might lift you off the ground and swing you a little before putting you back down.
• Loves PDA. He's more than happy to show off his wonderful partner and how in love the two of you are—and how you're ALL his! They can't have ya!! You're his treasure—and, of course, he's yours!
• Sleeping in the same bed can be a challenge. He snores, he clings, he flops all around like a fish out of water, he kicks off the blankets and the sheets, he drools, he mumbles and jabbers on nonsensically at random intervals... And yet, he always wakes up before you.
• He wakes you up with pokes and kisses. You open your eyes to his big green eyeballs peering at you with unadulterated adoration and a big boyish smile on his face. "Good morning my love! Ready to start the day?"
• He doesn't want to start it without you.
• This man does everything in his power to entertain you and make you laugh. He's your clown. The sound of your laugh is music to his ears, the way you look when you're happy, the glimmer in your eyes when you look at him—these things are everything to him. When you're feeling down, he makes it his life's mission to chase those blues away. He's never making the same mistakes of his past again.
• He showers you in gifts. Something catch your eye in a store window while you were walking by? It's yours. No questions asked.
• It might be a little too much-!
• You have to communicate with this man and tell him what you want, otherwise he'll keep trying everything. He gets the wires crossed a bit between what he thinks you'll like and what you actually like.
• He has trouble taking hints. Don't beat around the bush, otherwise he'll overthink until there's smoke coming out of his ears. If you're vague, he'll read into everything you say then arrive at some WILDLY incorrect conclusion. Miscommunications will happen often if you aren't upfront.
• He has boundless energy up until the end of the day. Then he crashes like a ten ton boulder sinking into the ocean.
• He makes up puzzles just for you. You don't like puzzles...? Eh, you'll come around eventually! Hehehe...
• If you act interested in them, it will be like giving a mouse a cookie. He'll start hiding them everywhere just for you to find. Consider them love notes, like tokens of his affection.
Requests have always been open, but just as a reminder: you can request any scenario, oneshot, imagine, etc that you want here! I write for Jean Descole, Desmond Sycamore, Randall Ascot, The Masked Gentleman, and Professor Hershel Layton. I may be open to others in the future, but those are my main focus for now. <3
^ this is what the e-mail says when you send in a support ticket. i wouldn’t stop sending in manual feedback, but it’s a good idea to do what this says and reblog the changes blog’s reblog of the announcement post with your commentary.
do not add commentary onto somebody else’s reblog comment. the update has already been rolled out, and they might not see that ‘separate’ reblog chain. another example of how awful this is and how it’ll force us to change how we interact.
"And I? I wanted to dive into you like water, to press my face to your shoulder and vanish like sugar into tea."
Professor Hershel Layton x Reader.
Ficlet. Established relationship. 1466 words.
Summary: Fluff with no plot. You cuddle and kiss your lovely gentleman while it rains outside.
Content warnings: Where am I
A warm breath drifted across the back of your neck and shoulder as the man holding you exhaled a quiet and contented sigh.
Hershel's arms were wrapped tight but gently around your abdomen, his right hand resting lightly on your left side under your shirt. He held you close to him, body flush against yours, his chest against your back and his face buried in your hair. The bedsheets and blankets were draped comfortably around you both, the lights were all dim, and the temperature in the room was just right to be perfectly cosy. Rain tapped against the windows and roof of your shared home, creating a serene and melodious lullaby just for the two of you. You could feel him smiling as he nuzzled his face closer, pressing a lazy kiss to the back of your head. You couldn't help but huff a breathy laugh, fingertips aimlessly tracing the top of his work-weathered hand where it rested on your ribs. His return was a warm chuckle, drenched in a gentle delight and boundless fondness.
It was a rare occasion when the two of you had nowhere to go, nothing urgent to do, and time exclusive to yourselves. Life with the Professor was terribly fast-paced and busy... and it was also sometimes mind-numblingly slow (yet somehow still busy). You wouldn't have it any other way, of course; all the thrills, excitement, and mystery-solving made moments like these all the more special—moments when you both could just lie lovingly lazy in bed, let down your guard, and simply cherish each other. No rush for anyone or anything else.
He lets out a humming sigh as he squeezes you tighter for a moment before relaxing. The way he held you, embraced you, kept you so close to him... You had scarcely felt more safe and loved in all your life. Your dear Hershel, your gentle gentleman...
He made sure to let you know how much he valued you. Every day, every chance he got. He dedicated time to you, even when he hardly had any himself to spare. Through kisses, through hugs, through a cup of tea he thought to make for you with a little note folded neatly beside it before he left for work. He made sure you knew how much you meant to him, how you took up just as much space in his heart and mind as he did in yours. You knew he would climb every mountain and chase down the stars for you if it came down to it.
The feeling was mightily mutual.
You wiggled a little in his hold, prompting him to pull his arms away in order to let you move freely. He made a small inquisitive sound at your sudden disruption, but didn't protest, especially as you rolled over and snuggled right back up against him, now facing him. You smiled giddily, your sparkling eyes meeting his smoky dark brown ones. "Hello," You whispered with a giggle as you gazed fondly at him.
"Hello my dear," He greeted back, amused. His voice was low with sleepiness as he yawned, "Comfortable?"
"Very," You readily assured, "I just wanted to see your lovely face." You wormed closer to him, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose as you rested a hand on his cheek, thumb tracing the curves and edges. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a boyish smile blossoming on his features as he let out a quiet and breathy laugh, perhaps feeling a tad bashful at the direct attention, even after all this time. Nevertheless, his arms vined their way out and around you, climbing like ivy around your torso and pulling you back against him, heart to beating heart. Even your legs mingled together, tangling like reuiniting lovers. His iconic top hat was sitting exactly where he had carefully placed it earlier on the bedside table—somewhere safe, yet always within his reach. This, much to your absolute glee, left his fluffy light brown hair visible, along with that adorable cowlick that never seemed to go away.
"My sweet love," His soft voice broke the steady rhythm of the rain again, his affectionate smile twirling its way into the tone of his words and glimmering in his dark eyes. He kissed your forehead before pressing his own against it, "I don't know what I would do without you..." The vast meaning behind this seemingly simple admission carried a heavy weight, but it was spoken with such reverent gentleness that no one else could have possibly guessed.
"I love you, Hershel." You told him earnestly, tenderness in your tone. You ran your warm hand comfortingly down his cheek before moving it to his hair, brushing back the soft strands with a doting carress. His breaths rose and fell in steady waves against your chest, though as you spoke those words, you felt a slight tremble rattle through him.
"I love you too," He reciprocated, voice thinning as he added, "-though I fear you might never know quite how much."
"You do a very good job of showing me," You reassured with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "You needn't worry... I promise." Your hand returned to his cheek, thumb wandering to the side of his mouth. He looked at you with a dreamy hopeful twinkle in his eyes for a long moment, considering your statement.
"I love you." You repeated in a whisper. He blinked slowly, his glittering, awe-filled gaze positively melting you in the most pleasant way. Tentatively, Hershel cupped your flushed cheek in his calloused hand, pausing to look at you for just a moment more, a bubbling heat creeping into his gaze before he finally closed the minute gap between the two of you. His lips met yours with a slow tenderness—there was no urgency, no blazing hunger, yet with all certainty there was no lack of passion. His hand moved to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair and drawing a pleasant sigh from you. He hummed, the feeling reverberating through you as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a loving purpose and devotion. His fingers brushed through your locks at a matching pace, returning back to the top as they feathered their way out of the ends of the strands, only to make their way down again.
He pushed lightly forward against you and you readily followed his lead, allowing him to shift in the way he was wanting. He laid you gently back, your head lying against the palm of his hand as he moved with you, propped carefully up on his arm as his body lay against yours. His sleepwear was a fine cotton material, soft against the areas of your skin that were bare. You moved your hands to his back, sneaking them under his shirt. Your heart gave a little wild flutter in your chest as you pulled him to you this way, curling your leg around one of his, his other one being hooked around your waist, as you ran your hands across the bare skin of his back. He shivered, breaking the kiss with a short gasp, followed by a breathy fluttering chuckle as he relaxed against your wandering hands, evidently liking it. He always seemed so surprised at an intimate touch—even in a setting like this. Once he adjusted to it however, it seemed like he could never get enough.
The Professor rested a moment, his forehead against yours as he caught his breath, cheeks a delightful array of reds and pinks. He had melty stars in his eyes, looking at you with a glowing expression of abject infatuation and love. You were positive that you were in much the same state. The unrestrained smile he had on his face was absolutely gorgeous, lopsided and joyful. It thrilled you to bits knowing you were the reason for it. With gentle movements, he laid his head in the crook of your shoulder as your fingertips ghosted over his spine, tracing the outlines of his muscles, of distinctly textured parts of his skin... His fingers flexed against the back of your head as another delighted shiver ran through him, breath hitching.
"Dearest... I was thinking..." He began slowly, beating around the bush by the tone of his voice. You hummed inquisitively in wordless encouragement for him to continue. "I know we've been here for a while, but... Maybe we could stay a bit longer...? It is raining, after all..."
You laughed lightly. He was so cute it drove you mad. "I'm quite positive that days like these are made for lovers, Hershel."
Judging by the smile that appeared on his face, that seemed to be the answer he was looking for.
Jean Descole/Desmond Sycamore x Reader.
Oneshot. Established relationship. 2132 words.
Repost of an old work of mine from 2023.
Summary: You miss Des when he's gone. So... You decide to snuggle up with his cape.
Content warnings: Written in absolute delirium. None otherwise.
You miss him terribly when he's gone.
The hours feel like an eternity when you're waiting for your love to return. Whether he's giving a seminar to the esteemed individuals in the archaeology community under his professor persona or working in the shadows as Jean Descole, you miss your brilliant and artful lover. Today, however, is the former of those two scenarios: Professor Desmond Sycamore is holding a meeting in London to discuss some business with his peers in the field. You knew before you'd even started a relationship with him that he is a busy man and of course you understood; you'd never held it against him. However, it didn't change the loneliness that gnawed at your heart in his absence.
Thus, you found an alternative means of providing yourself some comfort...
It was late in the evening when Professor Sycamore began climbing up the stairs of the airship. He was heavy laden with books, paperwork, and exhaustion. The meeting had taken far longer than he'd intended, and then of course those imbeciles simply insisted on dragging him out to some miserable luncheon. The food was sub-par, the company was insufferable, and the weather was grim. Naïvely, he'd thought to escape once he'd partaken in the wretchedly mediocre meal, but then they'd wanted his expert opinion (of course he's an expert, which meant that it should be obvious that he was far too busy for their foolish nonsense!) on some “revolutionary” (“Hardly!” he scoffed inwardly) “new” (he'd heard of it weeks ago) unearthing of an ancient art piece that had recently been transferred to the London Museum of Historical Peoples.
“Ah, master! I was wondering when you'd return. I fear your midday, afternoon, and evening tea has long since gone cold. I will put a fresh pot on at once.” Raymond greeted him as soon as he'd entered the Bostonius. Heaving a long-suffering sigh of exhaustion, Sycamore shook his head.
“No need, Raymond. This day has been a near-complete and tremendously fiendish waste of my time. I have had a long and wretched experience with those bougie nitwits, though I was at the very least able to convince them to invest in my work. Unfortunately it gave them the impression that I would be interested in mingling; their hunger for gossip is almost as severe as their appetite for below-average fast food. There are only so many rounds of soggy chips and half-frozen fish fingers I can take,” He growled out with pain, “In any case, I am most certainly not about to allow them any room for shoving their big buffoon noses into my personal business! No matter, though... The day is done, and soon we'll be off elsewhere, far far away from these imbeciles. I have much more important business to attend to than entertaining their small minds. For the moment, however, I only wish to lie down for at least an ounce of peace. I'm utterly spent,” The archaeologist haphazardly abandoned his burdens onto a nearby table, too tired for further ranting, “If you would sort these for me, it would be much appreciated.”
Raymond nodded, uttering a quick, “Right away master,” as he immediately moved to engage the task.
Desmond massaged his face, exasperatedly looking around the room. His expression was strained, his gaze searching. Something very important was missing from this scene. Something he'd been looking forward to seeing all day.
“Where has my dearest gone off to then?”
“They retired to your room several hours ago, master. They've been rather mournful for your company all day.” Answered the butler honestly.
Desmond clicked his tongue, “This won't do at all. I shan't keep them waiting any longer. Thank you, Raymond. Goodnight.”
“Peaceful rest to you, master.” The older gentleman turned to him and bowed respectfully, bidding the professor adieu as he scurried off to your shared bedroom.
Quietly, Desmond pushed the door open, peering into the darkened room. Opening the door further, the light from the hallway spilled in, bathing your sleeping form in a warm glow. The man in the doorway stared for a moment. He could feel his irritated expression melting almost immediately as a long, slow exhale left him. The tension also began slipping away from his chest and muscles as he took in the sight of you, gaze softening with love. You were curled up on the bed, hair all a mess, your face buried in the blanket-
Wait...
Desmond squinted, eyes narrowed in suspicion. That... wasn't a blanket...
You were wrapped in his cape.
How had you found that??
Not only that, but the fur scarf too, now that he looked harder. You were using it as a pillow, a small smile on your face as you nuzzled into the fluff of it. Leaving the door open for the light to see by, he approached your side of the bed, looking you over with his hands on his hips. You'd abandoned the Jean Descole persona's hat and mask on the nearby dresser, evidently pilfering only what you could comfortably sleep with. Desmond couldn't find it in himself to be cross with you. After all, Raymond had mentioned that you'd been missing him particularly badly... The longer he looked you over, the more his heart melted. He felt almost sick with adoration for you, like butterflies in his stomach. Ever so gently, he leaned down, reaching his fingers toward your face. With a featherlight touch, he lovingly brushed aside the strands of hair from your features, tucking them tenderly behind your ear. You let out a breathy hum at his touch, the sweet lilt of your sleeping voice buzzing in his brain.
“Oh, my dear, my love...” He whispered, devotion seeping from his words like a lovestruck poet. He could feel his face heating up from his neck as he looked upon you. From now on, he'd be certain to terminate any future attempts at waylaying him from returning home to you in a timely manner. Nothing was going to get between him and moments like these... certainly not wastes of space like his coworkers.
Desmond shook his head. No need for such things to consume his thoughts any longer. Not when he had you right there in front of him. A dreamy sigh escaped him as his lips curled up in a warm smile, unable to pry his gaze from you. His sweetest delight, his perfect partner. Oh, how he loved you. He looked you over, his gaze trailing across the cape that was wrapped so snuggly around you, gracefully outlining the form of your body. Even the darkest parts of him weren't able to resist your enchanting light, he let out a small huff of a laugh as his fingers traced the article where it met your form. You'd foregone the warmth of the bedclothes, the sheets and blankets still made up neatly beneath you. The only thing keeping you warm was that blasted cape.
What that cape stood for never seemed to bother you. You accepted both sides of him equally, happy to love every square inch of his being, his identity. At first he'd wondered if it was naïvety, sheer innocence, or perhaps even ignorance, but no. As time went on, he slowly began to realise that it was nothing of the sort.
You understood him.
Understood the depths, the pain, the darkness that swirled and crashed and raged within him. You listened, you observed, you thought. You cared. The two of you were different kinds of people, there was no denying this, this much was a mutual understanding. Even so, you found it within yourself to trace every jagged edge of his being and memorise it, understand it, figure out what it was and why it was there. Despite the monumental amount of hideous history behind him, you stood before it with an unabashed determination, even when he kicked against your efforts.
Desmond couldn't even begin to grasp why you stayed, why you persisted in your endeavour. He felt that you were wasting your time. He fought, wrestled, warred against himself in regards to your affections. He wanted it so badly, wanted your love, wanted to feel your arms around him – but it was a blow in the face to everything he'd worked for, wasn't it? A distraction. An obstacle between him and his goals. He'd resigned himself to living for one purpose for so long. Ultimately, it was Raymond who'd actually convinced him, evidently sick of watching him tear himself in half over his - at that point utterly undeniable - affections for you.
“It's like I can't breathe. I feel as though I'm drowning,”
“It's called falling in love, master. I'm afraid there's no cure, but it will get better with time, I assure you. You need only to let it in and stop trying to kill it. The more you try, the harder it fights back.”
He felt he'd never be able to thank him enough. How close he'd come to losing you. To losing this.
His hand curved around your cheek, hovering there as he sat next to you on the edge of the bed. You looked so peaceful... He didn't want to wake you up, but alas, his selfish side won out on this decision; surely you could spare just a few minutes of sleep in order to direct that breathtaking expression at him? To just let him hold you in his arms...
“My love...” He whispered, stroking your cheek, “I'm home now.” Leaning all the way down, he placed a kiss on your forehead. As he pulled back, he hovered just a few inches from your face, whispering your name as he rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone. With a small hum, your eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily.
“Mmm... Hmm... Desmond...?” You muttered, half-awake.
“It's me, my darling. I'm here. I see you've made yourself rather comfortable with my cape while I was away, hmm?" He purred. He couldn't help himself but to lightly tease you. It must be a testament to his villainous nature, he figured, to be able to do that to a sweet thing like you. Was he Desmond or was he Descole right now? He truly couldn't tell anymore. You blurred the lines for him, but it was in such an intoxicating way, he found that he no longer minded.
“Desmond,” You repeated his name, relief heavy in the sound of it, sending shivers up and down his spine and a new wave of butterflies into his gut. You moved to sit up, and he leaned back to give you room. “I'm so happy you're home, I've missed you so much,” With that, you peeled the cape off of your upper half, freeing your arms in order to throw them around him. He welcomed your tight embrace, your face buried in the curve of his neck as he engulfed your form into his own arms. He couldn't restrain the happy, breathy laugh that left him as he caught you into his hold, pulling you up into his lap, as close to him as possible. He removed his glasses, tossing them onto the nightstand before his hand quickly found its place on the back of your head, fingers entwining with your hair as he gently moved you to look at him. Pressing his forehead against your own, he looked into your eyes - into your beautiful, gorgeous, hypnotic eyes - before pressing a desperate, needy kiss to your lips. You felt him kick out, hearing both of his shoes hit the ground and roll across it haphazardly, as he drew his legs up onto the bed.
He pressed forward, deepening the kiss, his hands roaming up and down your back, in your hair, seemingly everywhere at once. He finally simply grabbed onto you, pulling you with him in his surprisingly strong arms as he changed positions, his back against the pillows and the headrest of the bed, legs stretched out. Desmond broke the kiss for a moment, taking a breath. Looking at you, his eyes were glossy, hazy with the heat of the moment, an adorably wobbly smile on his face. His hand came up to cup your cheek as he pressed another kiss to your lips, this time much slower, sweeter, more methodical. A perfect fit, a perfect feeling. His lips were soft like the touch of his hands, though strong and loving. Full of want that he wouldn't usually let himself verbalise. Chest-to-chest, face-to-face, one of your legs wrapped around his, you could live in this moment forever. How lucky you felt, how on top of the world. He finally pulled away, needing air again.
He watched you for a moment more before whispering back a belated but wholly honest reply, “I missed you too.”
Professor Hershel Layton x Reader.
Ficlet. Established relationship. 1443 words.
Repost of an old work of mine.
Summary: You and the Professor snuggle up together on the couch.
Content warnings: None.
12:26 AM.
You were sick of staring, just watching and waiting as his arms raised above his head yet again. He was stretching for the seventh time in ten minutes. Those arms belonged around you right now, you complained inwardly, huffing in petulant indignation. Was he doing this on purpose, just to get a rise out of you? To tease you? Surely he wouldn't be so cruel, not your beloved Professor, you thought half-jokingly.
“Do you intend to sit at that desk until sunrise, Hershel?” You questioned the archaeologist, glaring at his back, arms folded across your chest.
“I may have to if you keep distracting me. Perhaps you could try a puzzle in order to pass the-” The Professor was suddenly cut off by a yawn, followed by yet another languid stretch, “-the time.” He finally muttered out tiredly, rubbing the back of his head and neck. Sickeningly adorable. It infuriated you.
“I'm already facing the biggest puzzle of them all." You retorted flatly, very much unswayed by his suggestion, “You're clearly exhausted, Professor. I doubt you'll be able to focus even if I'm pacified with solving every puzzle in the room for the rest of the night. Come lie down and rest. You can finish your work tomorrow.”
You heard him hum in thought, followed by a long pause. You knew him well enough to know that this meant that he was actually finally considering your invitation. Your heartbeat began to quicken at this, waiting eagerly with bated breath for his decision.
“Oh, alright,” He finally surrendered, his shoulders relaxing as he put his pen down. You beamed from ear to ear, sitting quickly upright. You couldn't help but eagerly kick your legs in schoolgirl fashion. “Indeed, you have a point. I've hardly made progress in the last hour, and that certainly isn't entirely your fault.” He turned to you with a playful smile and wink. The obviously delighted expression on your face gave him pause for just a moment as he considered how you'd been trying to pry him from his work for hours now. All that effort just to cuddle with him... You looked so pleased about finally succeeding. His expression quickly softened at this thought, a blush rising in his cheeks. Sheepishly, he began chuckling. "Goodness, dear. It seems I've neglected you a bit too long. It's terribly rude to keep a lady waiting; how ungentlemanly of me. You have my deepest apologies.”
“Indeed. I'll forgive you when you finally get over here.” You replied, failing to sound truly cross with him.
“Very well. I'm grateful for the opportunity to make up for my actions.” He half-joked, smiling jovially as he strolled over to the couch where you were. You held out your arms as he took the seat directly beside you and leaned in, allowing you to snatch him into your embrace like a dragon with its treasure. He laughed at your enthusiasm, a warm and delightful sound that rumbled softly throughout his chest. Tugging him down so that you were both lying on your sides facing each other, you nestled your head into him as he returned your hug and hummed a pleasant sigh, smoothly pulling you flush against him. As you both relaxed into the soft blanket-covered cushions, he ran his fingers gently through your hair, looking down at your head pressed to his bosom. The archaeologist could feel his face heating up. You were precious...
...
You could hear his heart beating.
It was the most wonderful sound in the world.
Deep, steady, beautiful. This was the very sound of the person you love the most being alive. It meant that he was right here, right here, safe and sound in your arms, and you in his. It was entrancing. You felt as though you could listen to it forever.
You let your hands wander with an innocent, loving touch, tracing his spine through the woolly fabric of his sweater. Your fingertips glided over his sides and shoulders, memorising the shapes. You felt him shift slowly, resting the lower half of his face on top of your head as he planted the sweetest kiss on the part of your hair. You giggled at this with a contended sweetness in your tone. “You're delightful.”
“And you are my greatest delight,” the Professor replied, his voice soft and gravelly with sleepiness. Your heart skipped a beat at this, and evidently he noticed, a goofy grin being pulled across his face. The Professor then pulled you further up into his arms, keeping you close as he pressed his forehead to your own. His deep, dark brown gaze met yours, his eyes half-lidded. In them swirled a hazy mix of adoration and the cutest sleepiness – but the manner in which he looked at you, so genuinely, so incredibly... It was enough to steal your breath for a moment.
It was the way you could see honesty in his eyes; you could see love; you could see him. The way there was nothing hidden from you.
It was the way you felt completely safe when you were with him.
You never had to question his motivations; you never had to question how he truly felt about you. He had no intention of hiding it, for it was right there on display—not that he had a problem with telling you, either.
Hershel's eyes crinkled as he grinned, watching with a sense of childish awe as you got lost in his eyes so easily. He could feel your heart steadily beating against his chest; he could feel the gentle thrumming of it increase in intensity ever so slightly the longer you stared. The way in which you simply adored him down to the very bones of your being was breathtaking. He never considered the possibility of finding pure love like this again in his life; he never thought it possible. But now? Every day, every morning, when he wakes up and you're still there, you prove to him time and time again that nothing is impossible. You were incredible. You were his everything.
Before, he'd tried not to frown when the question of Why? had drifted through his mind. Why did you adore him so? Why him? He wasn't exactly a stupendous or especially experienced lover. You had told him before that he was different from others, and he supposed he certainly was different, but he'd never considered himself to be the phenomenon you seemed to view him as. Over time, he came to the conclusion that he'd just simply have to accept it—accept that you... preferred him. You had your motivations, albeit they were a mystery to him. However, his inquisitive mind wouldn't quite let it go as easily. He tried to pinpoint it, tried to narrow it down, but the pieces just wouldn't fit into place.
Now, in moments current, as he watched your mesmerised gaze directed at him, felt your heartbeat against him... Something inside him understood. It was wordless; there was no clear written or verbal answer, only the understanding that the puzzle was completed.
That was enough for him.
With lidded eyes, slowly, non-intrusively, he leaned in, his lips tenderly brushing against yours. He paused, waiting for a reaction, for permission. His fingers combed through your hair, trailing like the gentle kisses of raindrops down the back of your neck. You leaned in, returning the loving advance. He sighed dreamily, something like relief, as he fully leaned into the kiss, as if he'd been underwater and finally come up for air. The kiss was slow, loving, tender – honest. With feeling, with adoration, with commitment. There was no rush for anything or anyone else. It was all yours; every second of it belonged to the two of you. Those very moments in time—even those, too. His hands slowly trailed down your back, down every curve, the touch of his fingertips like promises. “A gentleman always keeps his promises,” you recalled him once saying. You hoped he would keep you, too. Hershel was a true gentleman, though; of course he would.
You finally parted for air. You could feel the rising and falling of his chest in sync with yours. You let out a breathy laugh, smiling at him, a gesture that he readily returned. Every piece was in its perfect place, exactly where it was meant to be. Exactly where you were meant to be.
You could feel his heart beating against your chest in rhythm with yours.
Professor Hershel Layton x Reader.
Ficlet. Established relationship. 1041 words.
Summary: You kiss that middle-aged man whom you love so dearly.
Content warnings: No content warnings aside from this being perhaps painfully self-indulgent.
Your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck as he held your body close to his. Together, moving as one unit, the two of you swayed to the music playing from the phonograph in the background. In the moment, it sounded almost ethereal and otherworldly—as if the two of you were the only people in this little world of yours, inside a dream all your own. You had laid your head gently upon his shoulder, face in the crook of his neck as you danced slowly around Doctor Schrader's old office, now Hershel's. The scent of his cologne surrounded you, filling your senses with a pleasant, almost dizzy sensation. The aroma was something with rich undertones yet still subtle, fresh, and respectable—vetiver and lemongrass if you had to guess. You adored it, if only because you adored him.
The way he held you sent your heart soaring. He held you tight in his strong arms, and yet he was oh so very gentle, careful to never hurt you. Safe. He made you feel so precious, like something he would fight to the very ends of his being for—and he would, if it came to that. You knew him, and he knew you, in that you would absolutely do the same for him, no matter how much the prospect frightened him. He'd simply have to make sure that such a situation would never arise.
With a fond reverence, your fingertips found their way to the back of his head, slowly stroking over the soft strands they found there. No matter how much time passed, no matter how long you spent with him, being this close with him always awed you. You remembered the days, weeks, months and years of yearning. Now... He was finally yours, and you were his, with a true love that you knew could not be broken. With a tranquil smile, you nuzzled closer to his neck, gently pecking the exposed skin there. With a quiet and breathy chuckle, your love turned his head to face yours, returning your gentle kiss with interest.
The tiny, sweet pecks led tenderly upward to the corner of your jaw, just below your ear. You couldn't keep yourself from grinning, attempting and failing to stifle the giggles his loving affections threatened to elicit from you. He hummed in a playful tone against your skin—that warm, rich voice that filled your very bones with a fuzzy delight—as he followed the curve of your jawline. You could feel him smiling as he purposefully placed each kiss with careful precision. You half wondered if he'd been measuring them out somehow, perhaps making it into some kind of puzzle in his mind. You turned your face to him for easier access as he reached the corner of your mouth, where he lingered for a moment. One of his hands came up to the back of your head, holding it softly as his fingers slid into your hair, entwining with the strands. You obliged as he gently pulled you, coaxing you yet closer to him, your body now flush against his. His other hand roamed along your back, remaining mostly around the small of it as he caressed the curves with a loving reverence, you'd never felt from anyone else. His lips hovered just over yours, chestnut brown gaze clouded over with an enraptured fog as his hands adored you, respected you, made promises to you in ways that simply could not be verbalised.
You loved him. You loved the way he was, loved the way that he loved you. The way you knew that with every word, every look, every touch, he loved you, too.
His hand moved slow, slowly gliding up your back and across your shoulder. You moved with him in sync as he gently guided you, his hand smoothly sliding across your skin as it travelled down your arm—until finally, it reached yours, where with an almost indiscernible trembling, he took it into his own. His hand was soft, yet not unmarked; you could feel small, roughened scars, calloused finger pads, mementos of the many adventures and discoveries he'd encountered in his chosen field. His gaze met yours then, seeming to awaken through the enamoured trance he'd been in. Quietly, he spoke your name through an awed breath, an ardent whisper from his heart, eyes lidded and cheeks a delightful array of pinks and reds. His thumb rubbed over your palm, a sensation you were half-aware of as you looked into his eyes, a breathtaking spectrum of browns as the light caught them.
"Hershel..." You murmured in response, your eyes suddenly drawn in by how close your lips were to touching. You glanced back up at him in a moment.
Warmth blossomed from your heart, bursting across your chest as if a garden had suddenly sprung up from within your very being as the minute gap was closed between the two of you. Your lips met with an all-encompassing embrace, reliving years of a slow-burning love and bringing to the surface every ounce of growing devotion and desire, soothing over every night spent longing. I'm here, I'm yours, it seemed to say. His lips were soft and tasted—perhaps unsurprisingly—like the familiar flavour of Earl Grey tea. They moved in sync with yours, his fingers flexing against your hand as he guided it up to his cheek. You readily obliged, placing your other hand on the opposite side of his face so you could hold him properly, as he evidently so desired. A pleased sounding hum rumbled out of him as he tilted your head back ever so slightly, causing your heart to flutter in place like an overexcited butterfly. The hand on the back of your head returned to the small of your back, squeezing you against him as a mutual passion coursed through the two of you. You cleaved to each other, unquestionably in love and incontestably made one for the other.
He spoke your name as your lips parted. You looked at him, eyes appearing to shine with a light produced somewhere from within. You were so beautiful.
"Yes, Hershel?" You prompted, your tone innocent, sweet, lovely.
