#p x reader

• P would confess his feelings to you first. After meeting Julian, he realizes shortly after that he himself is the puppet that's fallen in love with a human.

• The first show of affection he does upon you accepting his confession is lightly kiss both of your cheeks.

• As the relationship progresses, two kisses on each cheek becomes commonplace when he's greeting you, saying goodbye, cuddling or comforting you.

mdni !! 18+ only .

this handsome puppet boy has been consuming my mind. this is my first time posting and writing properly on him pls be kind > . <

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photo used cr to syer gaming

Here is a Little contribution for the lies of p fans to this day!

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Romeo

Romeo learned about the day weeks in advance. Not because anyone told him directly — but because he overheard someone in town mentioning it while he and Carlo were out on a mission. The moment he understood it was a day meant to celebrate women, his first thought was Lea… and then immediately you.

He spent an embarrassing amount of time at the flower stalls.

He bought flowers for Lea first, something soft, bright, the kind she always liked. But for you he was much more careful. He walked from stall to stall, comparing colors, scents, shapes, until he finally found your favorite flowers.

Then came the pastry.

He went to a little bakery and asked the old woman there to wrap something sweet and delicate. He didn’t even care what it was, as long as it was beautiful and soft and special.

But the hardest part was the note.

He spent hours writing it. Scrapping one version. Then another. Then another.

Paper after paper crumpled beside him until he finally wrote something that made him smile shyly to himself.

When he gives it to you, he’s blushing slightly, scratching the back of his neck, trying to look casual.

But the note is full of soft poetry.

Lines about how you make even the darkest places feel warm.

About how the world seems kinder when you’re near.

About how lucky he is that you exist.

He watches your reaction carefully, hopeful like a boy waiting to see if he did well. He will either take You out on a Nice romantic walk or Stay at home. Either way You are getting pampered, no doing dishes or cooking or washing clothes, today is about You and he is at Your Beck and call.

.

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Carlo

Carlo also buys flowers for Lea. Of course he does. She’s his master, and Carlo understands loyalty.

But the bouquet he buys for you?

Much bigger.

He carries it proudly, like a trophy, clearly pleased with himself for finding something so extravagant. The flowers are rich, bold, impossible to ignore.

And that’s not the only thing.

He buys something expensive too — a bracelet, a necklace, something flashy enough that people will look at it and immediately know it wasn’t cheap.

Not because he thinks you need it.

But because he wants people to know you are his.

He’s not as openly sweet as Romeo. He doesn’t write poetry.

Instead he casually says something like:

“Come on. I’m taking you out.”

And suddenly you’re somewhere nice — a café, a quiet restaurant, somewhere with lights and warmth and music. Carlo leans back in his chair watching you laugh, watching you smile.

That’s what he really wanted. Seeing you happy.

He pretends it’s nothing, but the proud little smirk on his face says otherwise.

.

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High Humanity P

P learns about the holiday beforehand and quietly prepares.

Flowers in Krat are rare now. Very rare.

But he searches anyway.

He walks through ruined streets, abandoned markets, places no one else bothers checking anymore… until he finds something small but alive.

Maybe a single flower.

Maybe a delicate little plant growing between stones.

He brings it back carefully, as if it’s something fragile and sacred.

If he can’t find a flower, he brings you a trinket instead — something small he knows you like. Something he remembered you looking at once.

And on that day, for once, he does not rush out into Krat. He stays at the hotel. The whole day is yours. If you want to talk, he listens. If you want to play cards, he sits with you.

If you want to rest, he stays nearby.

He doesn’t make a big speech.

He simply shows it by beeing present.

.

.

Low Humanity P

Low Humanity P has absolutely no idea what International Women’s Day is.

But he has the spirit.

If he sees other men giving you flowers or gifts or even hugs, he immediately walks over too, wanting to do the same.

If someone explains the holiday to him beforehand, then the next morning you wake up to a quiet knock at your door. When you open it, he’s just standing there. Holding something. Maybe a tool he found useful, Maybe a shiny object.

You barely have time to process it before he suddenly steps forward and hugs you.

Completely silent.

You might be half asleep and startled, but the gesture is so genuine it’s impossible to be mad. After that he will leave without saying anything, but might start bringing things randomly until he understands that It's just a once a year thing. You kind of get used to opening the door to see him there.

.

.

Real boy Carlo

Real Boy Carlo… doesn’t really care. At least that’s what he says.

But maybe one day he finds a book lying around the hotel. Something random, something human.

And in it he reads:

“Today is International Women’s Day.”

He stares at the line for a moment. Later he shows up with a gift.

A Severed puppet hand.

He places it in your hands with that strange, crooked smile of his.

“Yeah. That’s your gift.”

You’re not entirely sure if it’s a joke, a threat, or some strange twisted attempt at giving something meaningful.

And the creepiest part?

Whenever he comes back later, his eyes immediately look around for the hand. Just to make sure you kept it.

Again If You accept it he might be happy in his own strange way and might give more or tease asking if You would want a real hand next. If You Say yes even out of curiosity then yes, he will Bring one.

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The Nameless Puppet

The Nameless Puppet can’t celebrate anything on his own.

The only way he participates is if someone gives him something that once belonged to you — something he had given you when he was still human. If he doesn’t recognize it, he simply holds it quietly or breaks it and simply moves on with his day

But if he does recognize it…

Everything changes.

He immediately looks around for you, searching the room, confused and restless. If you’re not there and the item looks old, worn, neglected, the item of a dead woman, he grips it tightly in his hands. Doesn't matter If you are dead before he turned, or died after him, or Simply alive and just somewhere, a part of him still feels the dread of a lost

Taking it away from him is dangerous, especially during battle becomes dangerous because he will stop everything just to grab it again. It îs a strategy to take it and throw IT away as he will go after it leaving him vulnerable a bit.

But if someone breaks it?

Something new and terrifying appears. A grief he doesn’t understand. A rage that feels endless. His attacks become faster, stronger — like something inside him is screaming without words.

A new strength.

A new fury.

A grief he cannot name.

P x Reader: The Scavenger and their Lost Puppy.

(I’ve got this idea idk if someone’s said it but-)

Reader helps out survivors at Hotel Kraft by scavenging around the area, avoiding aggressive puppets to bring back supplies and whatnot. Because they’re never actually there often, they miss out on our favourite little puppet boy P arriving, only hearing about him through the other survivors.

However, Reader starts noticing when all the bigger puppets on their usual scavenging route have been mysteriously decommissioned. Like, left in ruins. Destroyed.

And they definitely notice when they feel a shadowy presence following them around. It might have been a figment of their paranoid imagination, but in Krat you can’t be too sure.

So, Reader decides to observe for a while. A few weeks, maybe. Their scavenging route remains suspiciously clear, like something, or someone, is looking out for them. Making sure they stay safe, with nothing to hurt them.

Until one day, Reader decides to take a few more twists and turns down Krat’s winding alleyways than usual.

And circles back around to their main route…

Only to find a young man with ebony curls and curious cobalt eyes poking his head around the corner of the alleyway they had previously been traversing.

With a polite ‘ahem’ of their throat, the man spun around, a vaguely guilty and embarrassed expression on his porcelain features.

Questioning ensures. The young man spoke in very few words, his voice wispy and quiet. He was generally soft-spoken, and his facial expressions weren’t as… Expressive as a normal person.

There was something slightly off with him, but not in a malicious sense.

As it turns out, Reader found out he also resided at Hotel Krat. Upon returning, the other survivors explained that the young man was referred to as ‘P’ by them, and he rarely spoke. But he meant well. Apparently.

P hadn’t explained very well, but he has been following Reader. Clearing out their usual route.

Why? Because he was curious. Interested. Infatuated. There was an invisible draw he felt to the resident scavenger of Hotel Krat.

Reader found it rather amusing that this puppet boy had stalked them, making their life easier, instead of approaching them.

They let him off with a verbal slap to the wrist, and a dismissive wave of the hand.

Until it happens again. And again. And again.

Time and time again, Reader would catch their shadowy follower trailing after them like a lost puppy. He always had the same guilty, wide-eyed stare when he was caught.

It got to the point where Reader just started inviting him along.

It became commonplace to the survivors inhabiting Hotel Krat to see the pair walking together.

Clearly, the puppet boy had a mild infatuation with the scavenger. Maybe a little more than mild.

First, they walked together, later than normal. P’s cobalt eyes lit up in excitement when Reader linked their pinkies for the first time. Reader easily started ruffling his hair affectionately. P once even held their hand.

The survivors of Hotel Krat kept tabs on their relationship, taking bets and gossiping.

It became commonplace for the two to be spotted showering each other in various manners of affection- So much so, the survivors started playfully referring to them as The Scavenger and their Lost Puppy.

He has read and heard about this before; kissing. All he understood was that it was a gesture of affection, something humans do to signify their bond between one another.

The more time he spent with you, the more he felt the urge to at least try it once. What would it feel like? Would he enjoy it? Would you enjoy it? The mere thought of you even reacting to such a thing had his whole body flood with warmth.

While you talked to him on the days he was present at the hotel, those blue hues of his would always flicker between your eyes and the soft skin of your lips. He was mesmerized by every crease and fold, the color, the shape; he came to understand the thought process as to why someone would want to kiss their lover.

There would be a moment where he would be staring while you talked, as he usually does. It was mostly about your day, or the conversations you had with the hotel guests, but it felt like he couldn’t fully comprehend what you were saying.

Overtime, you would take notice of P blatantly staring at you, but it made you feel more compelled to talk. To keep his eyes on you.

At one point, you would stop rambling. Your right hand would reach up to gently cup his cheek, all while the pad of your thumb ran across his freckled skin. His high humanity would show—the warmth beneath your fingertips told you so. P would stand so very still and would watch your every move with bated breath, eager to see what you would do next.

You would lean in closer and watched as he followed your gaze, until ultimately, you kissed him. It was soft, barely there. He tasted of nothing, yet you could feel the warmth of his breath. You could tell he was excited—the whirring of his mechanical heart would increase, his eyes slightly wide with curiosity.

P’s legion arm would rise to grasp at your waist, his touch gentle. He wasn’t exactly sure where to put his hands, but your waist seemed like the perfect fit. He would pull you closer, a silent yearn for more of what you could offer.

You would pause when you pulled away, inches from his face. You could see that he had followed you, yet he stopped once he noticed that you weren’t going to kiss him again. Your eyes found his, and you could see the pure desire to learn more. You were unsure if you should lean in for another, but he finished that thought for you.

P kissed you once more; hard and inexperienced, teeth clacking together. You would pull away quickly, head tilted back with a small laugh. Your hand would thread through his curly brown locks to keep him close. He adorned a confused look, eyebrows twitched together. Was what he did wrong? He read about passion, longing, lust, yet this was not what he had just experienced.

He could feel your hands as they slid up his shoulders to hook around the nape of his neck, the both of you closer than before. The touch sent a flush of heat through his body, and he desired more of what was to come of this.

“Rushing into something like this is not best for beginners like you.” You would say to him, and he slowly nodded. “Just follow my lead.”

A/N: Of course my love!!! I wanna apologize for my absence, been focusing on more personal projects a bit more and life has just generally gotten busier. HOWEVER!!! I shall fix this by fulfilling the requests that I've unfortunately left on the back burner (sorry for that too!) I genuinely love hearing from you guys so please don't be afraid to reach out <333 With that I hope you enjoy!

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He's just so cute!!!

-Lagooneah W/C - Roughly 1.8k Not/barely Proofread -------------------------------------------------------

Everyone knows that Pinocchio—or P—can be so unintentionally cute.

Yes, the killer puppet with a beating however mechanical heart could be quite aloof, leading to confusion akin to a small animal still finding its footing in the wood. Even when it came to things most would figure simple he was tilting his head and furrowing his brow. There was one thing he did understand, enough to act on it at least…

Death. Killing. Absence of life.

Aside from a few sparing cases, death as a concept comes easy to him unlike anything 'human'. If you awoke and was immediately tasked to spill oil and blood how would you feel? You wouldn't, and he's the perfect example of this.

When he was called he heeded it; when someone needed a street cleared he came home covered in oil that wasn't his, when someone wanted his opinion on a weapon or a legion he practically lived in the training yard until he could provide listed feedback, when someone needed saving he searched until he found their body warm or cold. He was needed the moment he awoke, he hadn't stopped working since he awoke, he didn't know the calm life everyone swore they missed.

Well, aside from when you're in his arms.

Pinocchio doesn't know how to handle much else but his day to day job, his duty always comes first or it always did… Before you. You had come to the hotel quite a bit ago, the very same puppet you grew quick affection for being the one who saved you. You still remember how it went, how he scooped you into his arms with little effort after expelling of a puppet with even less exertion. How he called you 'My Lady' before speaking any further about or to you; as cold as he was then he still enraptured you, and until recently you were simply another human he figured he should assist if you ever desired it. Although… That wasn't exactly how things had went judging from your current position.

You're snuggled into his front, the cold metal hum of his body lowering your guard, easy to forget the horrors that await outside these walls when you're wrapped in his arms… Arms that were as gentle as they were cruel. His legion is hooked over your waist to connect with his other more organic limb that lays beneath you. He lays incredibly still, like if he moves too much he may harm you, but your soft giggles and caress of his freckled face should tell him there's no where you'd rather be than in these arms he previously considered were only made to harm.

"You have such cute freckles, P." P, that letter, that nickname that only you seem to call him leaves your smiling lips, your soft fingertips dancing over said dark spots that decorate his features. There's a stiffness to the way his eyebrow cocks, and an emptiness where feeling would be had he not been the way he was,

"The markings? Well, their just dots." He states bluntly. Clearly not understanding the reasoning for your words nor what lies behind them. To him they're just something he happens to have, not a blessing nor a curse, just marks that he has. If anything he may even come to think them odd, no one else has these from what he's seen except his father. Your giggle only confuses him further, especially since you don't say anything, rather you act on your feelings of adoration.

The press of warm, soft flesh meets his dotted cheek. Slow, gentle, long enough to make his heart jump from its cogs, and you don't stop there. Your lips meet the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and his other cheek with the same gentle affection. None of the kisses are met with much acknowledgement outside of a flex of his legion at the small of your back or an adjustment of his leg that folds your layered skirts… That's only until you pull back to look at your hard work.

The gentle shine of lip gloss paints every place you kissed on the puppets face, that in itself was cute enough without the additive of his reactions. Blue eyes blown wide, mouth opening and closing with a fuzzed audio but never once uttering a word. He's speechless, and not in his usual aloof and collected way, in a completely baffled way. He quite literally cannot form words to speak to you. Nothing is good enough, nothing would get an answer he would be satisfied with. What would he even be looking for with a question? What he was looking for was action, an action only you had done just now.

"P, I—" Before you could get your giggle-ridden words out it's your turn to widen your eyes. He lunges his face so far forward the tips of your noses meet, and his eyes are practically glowing against your skin. Your cheeks flush at the sudden proximity to him, although you had just been even closer pressing your lips against his synthetic skin, this felt very different. You half expected him to return the actions—or better yet—let his lips meet yours, but what followed was a flit of his eyes; a plea, a silent desire…

Was he… Asking for more..?

With a smile and a few fast blinks you gather your composure enough to say,

"Did you like that? The kisses?"

It was funny, you should've expected the puppet who held you over the plush of this lobby couch would desire your affection. It was pretty clear he at very least allowed it, but him asking for it? That was new.

he doesn't answer with words, just mimicking his prior mannerisms as if you could read his mind. Sure, you definitely could read him, but everyone could. He wasn't necessarily mysterious because he hid things, he was at the very core unable to fully understand emotion or anything relating to it… Yet. He didn't yet know how to frame his words for inner desires, he didn't yet know how to decipher those inner desires in the first place, all he felt he could do in this powerless silence was to imply.

You pressed another kiss to the tip of his nose, and you swore his eyes fluttered closed. He pulled you close so your warmth was pressed against the hard plains of his body. With his head rested against your cushioned chest, his face was a canvas for her fondness, you definitely took it that way.

It may have very well been a few hours that the two of you were like this; tangled together into a warm pile of kisses that the puppet hardly objected to. You kissed his entire face, his hair, even his palms received some attention and he didn't move an inch. Not in the same stiffness as he was before, he was rather languid against the old couch, against you. It was his personal heaven, though he couldn't define it as such, he definitely felt the way his heart thumped and his ergo flourished that this was good for him.

He hardly felt much good in his short life, so in that way it was easy to know when something was. The feeling was so foreign that it blared like a siren when it was there. He would feel grief, guilt, anger, selfish desire, never good. Not outside of these walls, not in the way you made him feel it.

That wasn't to say he hadn't felt at least some bit of good his time here. Sophia always had a nice presence, he felt comfortable around her and her ergo. Maybe it was simply because he she would support and supply him of the rawest form of life as he knew it, or maybe it was her kind and gentle word, whatever it was he could suppose he enjoyed it. Eugenie always helped him with his arm and his weapons, recommending what would be best and asking what he would desire out of his items; little Spring the orange cat was a plus even if she hissed at him occasionally still. Lady Antonia was quiet but strong, he could tell every time he spoke to her that she was fiery in a way that no one else he had met was. Even then she always checked on him, always told him what she felt and believed and why, it enticed him to continue his visits to her chair. Enticed him to know of her days even if he couldn't learn from them. Just to know people was a curious concept, because even his father who he was supposed to know was a stranger to him.

He was still navigating the good people made him feel and how they made him feel it. He paid close attention to the way his cogs would loosen or tighten, how his heart would either thrum vigorously or hum softly, and the why of these happenings was a completely different story.

He laid in your arms, still being showered in warm presses and vibrations of giggles, and for a moment he figured… Why does he need to know? Why does he need to know why something makes him feel the way it does? Why should he ask instead of bask in it and seek it again? You always gave without him having to ask, maybe that's what separated you from the others he knew. What made your good feel so different. You never asked him for anything but his company or the way he offered it. You would lay like this in his arms for hours, never needing anything but reciprocated wraps of his arms or his attention. You didn't need him to kill, you didn't need him to gather ergo, you didn't need him to test weapons and legions out and see which one fit best, you didn't need him to save a city and people he never knew, you needed him. Only him.

That was… New…

"Pino? Are you ok?" Your voice breaks his trance, eyes fluttering to look up at you. The sight shocks you, just enough for you to take in a quick breath. He felt… Warmer. His heart for just a few moments felt like a real one, and you swear you can feel the warm brush of his breath against your cheek as he returns your gaze with his own half-lidded one. He looked, felt, so… Human. You cradled his face, and for one last kiss, you pressed one against his lips.

'You like this, you like her. You don't need to know why, just that you do.'