#piersxreader

[andromedarune]

[Piers/Reader] “Kiss on 3, Okay? 1, 2... 2 and a half... umm???”

OOOOOooooo I’m working up my sanity and skill to write fanfic again so what better way to do that than by procrastinating on a paper due later tonight WHOOOHOOOOO!!!!

SUMMARY: “You're working on music for Piers' next set, and confirm a few things to yourself. Really just mindless fluff/angst stuff in a very stream-of-consciousness ficlet - don't mind me~~~”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35575087

(Hit Keep Reading to read the whole thing~!)

“Uhhhmmm --” his humming interrupts your thoughts “-- I beg yer pardon?”

You turn back towards Piers, blinking ever so innocently as you stirred the honey further into your cheap, instant-make coffee. His brows are furrowed, thick black barbs of shadows wrenched into one along his forehead. Blue eyes piercing -- he hates whenever you say that.

“What’s the matter now?”

He jabs his thumb back towards the computer screen. “What the hell did you do to the second chorus?”

“I put it into cut time.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause,” you linger on the sizzle of your words, resolving it’s hiss with a swig of your piping-hot coffee, “it mellows things down for a bit, gives everyone a breather.”

He scoffs, glancing down at the notation software on the computer you presented to him not too long ago. “Yeah, right. Like I ever need a breather.”

You don’t deny that statement. Better sip your coffee before that thought ramps up.

He drags his eyes across the screen once more. One finger rests instinctively around the silver of his choker, toying with its spikes and slides, mindless, clueless -- you were sure by now that he had no idea of how often he fidgeted with that damn thing. Once, you’d caught him doing it almost fifty times in one sitting; you were watching a new show -- together, for once -- legs tangled up below a heated blanket he insisted you buy before winter hit (even though he always ended up hogging it the whole time). Too distracted to watch, you pretended to watch, while watching other, more important things. Specifically someone’s nervous ticks.

His left hand slaps the spacebar. Listening to a payback of some section -- probably the bridge, you think to yourself as you steal another sip of your coffee. Good thing you’d bought some honey this time; Piers prefers his coffee as black as night, and while you weren’t against that, sometimes you needed to bring some goddamn happiness into your life. Piers oughta figure that out too -- he’s getting there, you figure. He’s getting there, even if it takes baby-steps cut in half.

He pulls out the earbuds. Shooting you an incredulous look, you make the poor decision to muscle through your mouthful of coffee -- there goes most of it, spilling down your lips and onto your shirt as the laughter shoots through you in a disastrous tremolo.

“Yer shittin’ me --” he’s trying not to laugh -- you know he’s holding it down, trying still to play like a hardass, “-- what the actuall fuck is happening after the bridge?!”

“Oh -- so you got to the fun part then, yeah?”

He snaps your name -- his snarl always loses its edge then, when it has to deal with matters of you -- and Marnie too, but that’s a different tone altogether. You meet his glare, smug despite your coffee stains. “Do I look like a bloody Octillery or what?”

Another laugh slips out of you. “It’s just a little metric modulation, a little tempo shift, no big deal -- a little extra practice and I know you can handle a few itsy-bits quintuplets on bass, yeah?”

“Yer killin’ me.”

You shrug. Makes us even, then.

Finally satisfied with your drink (or what little you actually got to drink), you deposit your mug into the awaiting sink before taking the long way around the kitchen back to him. His eyes are back onto the screen once more, lost to the world of not-music, his thumb pricking itself with the dull point of the upper spikes in his collar.

Pfft, collar -- you called it that once, teasing the metal in your own fingers, wanting to see his reaction. He had stared you down for so long that day, default sternness remaining hauntingly so on his face, you almost pulled away, afraid that you had gravely overstepped your boundaries. Before you made it out of reach, he flicked the wrist of your retreating hand, hiding his snicker with the click of his tongue -- “Do that again and yer gonna be the one fitted for a collar, got it?” You’ve been stuck here ever since, hopeless and thoughtless, trailing after the likes of someone who literally forgets to do amazingly simple things, like actually drink his disgustingly bitter coffee.

“Oh, right,” he mutters, watching you snake around behind him to retrieve his half-drunk coffee cup from the table. You can feel him stealing glances as you pop the cup into the microwave. His wordless thanks reach you even still, easier and faster with every day you stick around. Hell, one day he might even figure out how to say it.

You don’t let your thoughts dwell too long on things that can’t be helped; instead, you swivel around again, crossing your arms over your chest with a curious tilt of the head. “Thoughts?”

He glances down at the screen. Lips pursing, frowns furrowing, jaw clenching -- goddamn this isn’t fair. This is hardly a fair fight. You’d told him that before, too, shamelessly honest and true with your feelings for once -- “Relax, it’s just one battle -- you’ll catch up to me soon enough.” He hadn’t gotten it, but it’s not like you made it easy for him to understand. The two of you were amazing at these foolishly clever ways to say half-truths, burrowing feelings beneath computer screens and heated blankets and honey-less coffee -- a match made in heaven, one may say. Not you, though, not aloud.

He sighs, a crooked smile sparking instinctively onto his face.

“Guess I’d better get practicin’ then. Don’t wanna disappoint my music theorist, right?”

It’s your turn to scoff. You’re even there, too.

“Not a thing, but okay.”

“Eh, close enough.”

The microwaves beeps. Piers’ eyes are back onto the computer screen, everything pursed and furrowed and knotted and tangled and just a step out of reach. You open the little door to pull out his warmed, not-sweet-enough-or-at-all coffee, cheap and easy, to bring back to his side. You do so, ignoring the stains on your white work shirt that you’ll likely have to bleach late tonight, knowing Piers’ll use your every weakness in effort to keep you around a little while longer to practice his next set. And you do so well, knowing that you’re here hopelessly and thoughtlessly, finding every stolen glance -- every wordless thanks -- from him to be worth it a thousand times over.

You take your usual seat beside him.

“Close enough.”

Close enough.

[honeyandhondewberries]

can we have some more smitten Piers, please?

ohohoho did you say grumbly BOYS who are SMITTEN? You mean my (rolls sleeves) SPECIALTY? Yes 

~~

Sugarloaf (PiersxReader)

What the hell was he doing, standing at your doorstep like some pathetic, heart-eyed moron.

He’d kill Raihan after this.

“C’mon,” Raihan had said. “All you gotta do is walk up, knock on the door, ask for some sugar, and bam! Instant falling-in-love. It’s adorable, trust me, it always works in the movies.”

“You’re an idiot,” Piers had replied.

And yet, here he was, doing just that. He didn’t even need sugar. He didn’t even use sugar, hardly ever, and he was pretty sure there was a bag of it hardened in his pantry anyway.

“This is stupid,” Piers muttered to himself, though he didn’t turn around. 

His knees twitched as he fought with himself on if he should forget all this and leave. He opened his fists just to close them, raised his arm to knock just to lower it again. He could go home, drink some coffee, finish that song he was working on. That song about you, but it’s not like you knew that. Maybe seeing you could offer some inspiration, as if he needed any more. You were half of everything he thought about, even enough for Marnie to notice, and, unfortunately, enough for Raihan to notice and give his unsolicited advice.

Then, before he decided, you opened the door. Piers’ heart thumped, skipped, like he was some lovestruck preteen, at the sight of you in your pajama bottoms and bedhead. Your eyes widened, then your nose crinkled just like it always did when you smiled at him. He’d save this image in his mind forever, you so sleepy and sweet, because this moment could be a song in itself.

“Hey Piers,” you said as you leaned against your doorjam, so calm and cool and casual. “Here I was, about to get the mail, and I get a Piers instead. This is a pleasant surprise, what’s up?”

For someone who wrote beautiful words and melodies for a living, you always had the habit of making him forget all of them. So, instead of something poetic, all Piers said was:

“Sugar.”

He could have died right then, that’d be fine. He could crawl underground, jump into the ocean, throw himself off the Route 7 bridge, just so he wouldn’t have to wait for your response as the seconds ticked by. Your brows pulled together.

“Um… honey?” you said in reply.

“No,” Piers said again. Arceus he’d kill Raihan for this. “I-I… Do you have sugar?”

“Yeah, why?” you asked. “Do you need some?”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

His heart thumped. He didn’t think about that.

“Um,” Piers said. “One.”

You opened your mouth, but Piers cut you off.

“One cup, I mean,” he finished as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m… I’m making somethin’.”

“Oh, what are you making?” you asked, still so calm and collected.

Shit.

“Um,” Piers said again. What would Raihan say in a time like this? Something stupid, probably. “Sugar...loaf.”

Well that was definitely stupid.

Luckily, you didn’t seem to notice, and instead smiled that shiny smile that crinkled the corners of your eyes.

“I’ve never heard of that,” you said, because, well, it didn’t exist. “But sure, let me go get you some.”

You turned, waltzed away so simple in your little pajama bottoms, and Piers’ cheeks tinged pink at the sight of hips and legs and bare feet. He tore his gaze away and crossed his arms again, as if the harder he pressed against his chest, the slower his heart rate would be.

Could he ask you out? When you came back? How did people even do that? Dinner? Movies? Eat some sugarloaf with him? Augh, rubbish idea. 

He didn’t think much longer, because you were back with a baggie of one cup of sugar. You handed it to him, your fingers brushed his, and the contact was like a shock of electricity. Piers yanked the bag from your hands, but you didn’t find his motion strange.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

Again, his knees locked, then unlocked, as he stood at your front door. He could feel his face burning as his eyes unintentionally trailed down your frame again.

“Let me know how it tastes,” you said simply, and you motioned to say goodbye.

“You can make it with me,” Piers blurted before he could stop himself. “If you… if you want, later.”

And there was that smile again - that was the special one you had when you were a little embarrassed, not that Piers noticed the differences in your smiles. He hadn’t written a song about that, either.

“Sure, let me get changed first,” you said. “I’ll meet you at your house, maybe in an hour?”

“Yeah,” Piers said. “Yeah sounds good.”

Then you finally waved goodbye, closed your door, and again, Piers could have died right there.

As he slumped down your front steps, he smacked his forehead, and pulled out his phone to figure out what the hell sugarloaf could even be. A text from Raihan was waiting for him.

Get any sugar today? ;)

Piers didn’t take long to reply.

I hate you.

[honeyandhondewberries]

another super self Indulgent thing but... something steamy with Piers? It doesn't have to be nsfw!! maybe an after a concert scenario? cuz you know, the adrenaline is usually really high

you got it you piers simp 😎

~~

Rubbish You (PiersxReader)

It started out simple enough.

You came to one of his gigs, then talked to him after. That was simple enough.

Then you kept coming. Also simple enough. He was in a band, he had fans, that’s how that was supposed to happen. What wasn’t supposed to happen, however, was how Piers started looking for you. His electric blue gaze would scan the crowd, watching for your smile, watching for your eyes. And, what definitely wasn’t supposed to happen, was for his heart to jump whenever he found you.

Yeah. That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

Because then, all he could think about, was you.

You.

You.

You.

Rubbish you and how you would smile, rubbish you and how your nose would crinkle, rubbish you and how you would lean in to hear him whenever he spoke after a gig because the music and the crowd was still buzzing. Rubbish you and how you’d try to make him laugh, rubbish you when you would succeed, rubbish you you you.

He hated it.

He hated how you moved to Spikemuth with your Pokemon and your smiles and the way you would look at him. He hated how you came to introduce yourself as a new neighbor, only to freeze when you realized it was him.

He hated that he was writing a song about you, only for you to come waltzing to his door.

It took a lot for him to write songs about people he knew. Normally there was the generic love song, with lyrics that people could kind of relate to, but more importantly, tap their feet to. 

He shoved that song into the drawer and pretended to forget about it.

And then, he kept bumping into you. Spikemuth was a close-knit town, so that was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was how you would look at him with that hungry gaze, how you would brush his arm when you spoke, how you would stand close enough for him to count the colors in your eyes.

He was a singer in a band, a good one at that, so he was used to a hungry gaze.

He wasn’t used to returning it. 

He wasn’t used to finding you, staring at you, trailing his eyes down your body whenever you looked away. He wasn’t used to noticing every dip and every curve and every bit of your legs and hips and shoulders and face.

He wasn’t used to that sweet intoxication that came with craving a kiss.

Rubbish you, doing all of that to him. You didn’t even know it, either. Or did you?

He wasn’t used to this, he wasn’t used to these cravings consuming him from the inside out. He didn’t expect you to have such an intense, lingering effect.

He did expect you to be at his next gig.

There wasn’t anything special about this one - it was in Spikemuth with his regular band and his regular songs - except for one change. That song he shoved in a drawer had been practiced and rehearsed until it was perfect, because he knew you would be there to listen to it. He was up on his stage, with his band, with his audience, and you.

And when he found you, standing right where he expected, he sang the chorus straight to you.

The way you moved, the way you swayed, it was like a melody in itself, pumping through his veins like the beat of the drums behind him. Each lyric was aimed straight at your heart, straight into your ears, as if his sound could be as intoxicating as you.

When he finished, neither of you strayed your gaze.

The audience cheered, clapped around you, hooted and hollered at this new, dynamic, passionate song, but as his band agreed on this impromptu intermission, you and Piers made no sound. You didn’t need to. He gripped your wrist, you intertwined your fingers with his, and he led to the spot where the neon lights flickered, to where the smoke hung in the air, to where he pressed you against the bricks.

Rubbish you, knowing how to kiss him in the way that made his knees buckle.

Rubbish you, nipping his bottom lip in the way that made him moan.

Rubbish you, trailing your fingers over the exact spots that made his breath hitch.

“Who’d you write that song for?” you whispered in his ear. “I think I’ve got a clue.”

“Rubbish.”

[andromedarune]

Ch. 43 of “Triple-Decker Whiplash!” is Up~!

There will be one (1) poop joke in this chapter - check it out on Ao3 and/or Wattpad~!

Updates still will be slow, but nonetheless I’m still plugging away at this literary dumpster fire lol! So thanks for being so patient, those of you who keep up with that fic!

[andromedarune]

Ch. 42 of “Triple-Decker Whiplash” is Up~!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26126284/chapters/75708041

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1055631026-triple-decker-whiplash-42-these-people-have-some

In today’s episode, Reader has her hands full dealing with children. Funny thing is, the legal children are the easiest to deal with. Also, side-quests.