#She cut too much of my little strands I keep to braid though

[pigeonstab]

You didn’t tell me you were making a calendar! I can’t believe I know a famous model :O lol

Hiiii I hope you’re having a nice weekend and staying warm :D

Well I gotta have some secrets. Hehe

I am!! The dark and gloom is getting to me but I am fighting!! At least it's warm and I have my favourite dude, favourite rat, best silly fukn guy I dunno. I have you talking to me!! Which is delightful!!

How are yoouuu? Hope work's been treating you well, also we should have that movie night soon! If you're free. Preferably with sound lol.

[giggly-squiggily]

Special Privileges (Black Clover)

*kicks door in with my Yunleo BS* I HAVE ARRIVED!

Heyo everyone! This was very much inspired by my dear friend @intheticklecloset's HC that Yuno doesn't mind when Leopold tickles his neck. Thank you so much for letting me turn this into a silly fic! I had the best time writing it and after many moons- it's finally hear! :D I hope y'all like it!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@duckymcdoorknob @rachi-roo @imjusthere07

Summary: Yuno's neck is terribly ticklish, but he finds he doesn't mind it too much when Leopold's the one tickling him there. Leopold takes full advantage.

Leopold really liked Yuno’s hair.

It was soft to the touch, fluffy like a baby bird and feathery. It looked like the kind of hair where even if Yuno tried combing it down, it would never quite stay that way. The thought made him smile.

Wild as the winds he produced. Perfect.

“It’s lovely.” He spoke out loud, his voice hushed against Yuno’s crown as he carried on twirling and teasing the dark strands. Beneath him, Yuno hummed- far too comfortable to move. “How do you keep it so soft?”

“Hmm.” His boyfriend made a sound of unknowing- if he could shrug, Leopold was sure he would. “It’s always been that way. Never really knew why.”

“Lucky. Mine’s a mess when it’s down. When I was a kid, Mereo would chase me across the entire manor with a comb, screaming at me to stay still so she could brush it.” The fire mage laughed, the memory warm despite the description. “She was a bit rough with it, but I’d rather her do it than anyone else. No one else could have styled it the way she did.”

“Does she still do your hair now?” Yuno peered up at him, staring to smile when Leopold blushed.

“She…cuts it. Sometimes she’ll braid it too- hey, I am totally capable of doing my own hair!” Leopold fumed indignantly, melting almost immediately as he felt Yuno laugh against his chest.

“I believe you. I think it’s sweet- she still takes care of it for you. It reminds me of Sister Lily when we were kids. She’d do the same thing.” Yuno seemed to purr some when Leopold returned to his hair, carding his fingers through it and giving his scalp a small scratch. “I like it when you do it though. It feels nice.”

“I can tell.” The redhead laughed, kissing his forehead before carrying on his little scalp massage. At some point Yuno was presumingly asleep, eyes closed and breathing relaxed. Leopold let his fingers migrate towards the nape of his neck, just barely touching it.

“Hmm-hmmhmhm!” Yuno flinched some at the touch, his breathing hitched. Leopold tried not to giggle. He waited until Yuno was at ease once more before tracing the skin again. “Hmmhmhm! Leo…”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“....”

“Thought so.” Leopold grinned as he traced the skin again and again, feeling Yuno twitch and fidget against him. The softest of giggles could be heard, but the brunette wasn’t making any moves to get away. If anything, Yuno seemed to draw closer, fingers curling into his tunic as he pressed his smiling face into his boyfriend’s collar. “You like this too much to move away, huh?”

“Shuhuhush!” Yuno swatted at him, shoulders drawing up to his ears as when Leopold dragged his nails against his skin. “Ahehahaha, Leehehheo!”

“Still not denying it~” The redhead cooed down at him, kissing his forehead as he carried on twitching his fingers, drawing out even more giggles and laughs. “You know- I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before. Usually when Asta or Mimosa tickle your neck you’re running for the hills.” Then he gasped, eyes lighting up. “Don’t tell me- am I special? Do I get neck tickle privileges?”

“Stahahahap mahahaking it ohohohut to be a bihihig dehhahahahl! Gehaahhaha, yohohohu’re juuhuhust coohohomfortahahahble!” Yuno ducked his hand down to give Leopold’s side a pinch, making him jump with a yelp.

“Oh, it is ON!” Leopold doubled his efforts against Yuno’s neck, his other hand coming over to wiggle against his ribs. It didn’t take long for him to have the upper hand.

“Yohohoohu sohohoohn of ahahahahahhahah!” Yuno cried out as Leopold threw himself on top of him, pinning him to the soft sheets as he brought both hands to his ribs, tickling like no tomorrow. “Leheheheohohohohoho cohohohome ohohohohohon! Stahhahap tha-AHAHAHHAT!”

“What? I can’t make heads or tails of what you’re saying- you’re laughing way too hard!” Leopold spoke to the crook of his neck, planting tickly kisses and nibbles against the skin that left Yuno incoherent in his mirth. “I need to investigate further- after all; these privileges are mine and mine alone yeah? Hehehe.”

“GEHHAHAHA!” If Yuno could smack him, he would. Well- no, he wouldn’t- but the point stands! He shoved at Leopold’s shoulders and tugged at his hair as the other carried on tickling his neck with kisses, cheeks rivaling his boyfriend’s hair and voice near hoarse with laughter. This would be his death; killed by a collapsed lung after being tickled to near tears by his beloved.

Well- there were worse ways to go out.

Eventually though, Leopold resurfaced with a grin, giving him a much deserved break. “Hehe, I gotcha good, didn’t I?” In return, Yuno poked at his belly, making the redhead laugh and squirm off of him. They were laying side by side now, just like before. “You okay?”

“Yheha…yeah, I’m fine.” Yuno nodded, finally able to speak again. “I mean- I almost died and everything-” He laughed when Leopold narrowed his eyes at him, fighting down a smile. “No, but really. I…don’t mind you tickling me there..I guess it felt kinda..nice and all that..” He flushed, redder than from the tickle fight. He wasn’t usually this shy- but seeing the growing smile on his boyfriend’s face zapped away any bravery he had. “D-Don’t look at me like thahat! It’s so duhumb!”

“What can I say? I’m stupid in love!” Leopold threw himself on top of him once more, pecking his face with kisses until Yuno was whining beneath him.

“Ohoohoaky, oohoohaky I behehieheheve you! Gehheheht oohohohff!” Yuno busted into laughter, pulling Lepold down into his chest to hold him properly. “Ugh, you’re so lucky I love you.”

“The luckiest guy in the whole world.” Leopold smiled, his chest swelling at those sweet wonderful words. “I love you too.”

Thanks for reading!

[chevyslate158]

Threads Of Freedom 15th Hunger Games AU Archer Brown x Fem!Reader: Chapter 2 - Dreamer

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy Chapter 2 of Threads of Freedom, my 15th Hunger Games AU featuring Archer Brown. If you haven’t read the first chapter yet, make sure to check it out so you’re all caught up! This chapter is a bit longer compared to the last because I wanted to dive deeper into the family backstory and—excitingly—finally introduce Coriolanus Snow into the mix. I may have gotten a little carried away with the writing, but I hope it makes for an engaging read.

Also, if you’re enjoying this story, feel free to check out my new Coriolanus short story—it’s a little side project I posted earlier in the week, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on it too. Thank you for reading, and as always, feedback is more than welcome! Stay tuned for chapter 3! 😊 Word count: 4.5K Warnings: Violence, blood, illness, mentions of death, control, threats, mentions of hanging, physical conflict, harassment and themes of oppression Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

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The morning air in the Seam is sharp and biting, cutting through the thin fabric of my blanket as I shift from side to side, trying to hold on to the last bit of warmth. My eyes flutter open, and I stare at the beams above, their worn edges casting familiar shadows across the ceiling. I take a deep breath savouring the silence in the early hour. Outside, the first faint sounds of the district stirring can be heard—creaks of carts, low murmurs of voices, the rhythm of life in District 12. I know if I linger much longer, I’ll never get up, so I finally throw off the covers, swinging my feet to the floor.

My dress from yesterday is folded at the edge of my bed a soft baby blue once a more bright vibrant colour but now faded from the years of wear and scrubbing, its hem frayed and patched in a dozen places. I run my fingers over the familiar threads, tiny stitches my mother once sewed into each rip and tear with quiet patience.

Now, I am mending myself, but I’ve come to realise that my hands will never have the same gentle skill. There’s an ache in me, thinking of her soft touch, the way she would hum in the mornings as she tied my dress strings. Passing only as of last winter, her cough grew worse each day until it finally took her. Now that same cough rattles in my father’s chest, though he pretends it’s nothing but dust from the mines. His stubbornness is like a wall between us, keeping me out and locking him in.

I pull the dress over my head, tugging it into place as I catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror propped up by the window. My reflection is a stranger—there’s something in my eyes that wasn’t there before, a hardness that's only becoming more common as time passes by. I glanced at my wild hair in the mirror, the strands sticking out in every direction from a night of restless sleep. With quick, practised ease, I began to work through the tangles, smoothing it down and fixing it up until it finally lay presentable. Once finished, I decided to leave it down, letting it fall freely around the back of my frame.

I couldn’t help but remember when Ma used to sit me on the edge of the worn wooden chair, her hands gentle as she worked through my hair. Her fingers would weave through the tangles, humming softly, making me feel safe as she pulled it back into neat braids or whatever style I desired on the day, the scent of her homemade lavender soap lingering in my hair long after she finished. I used to laugh when she’d ask me how it looked, always proud of her work.

With Ma gone, it's just me and him now. The kitchen is quiet when I step in, but I see his mug on the table, a reminder of his stubborn routine. He'll be up soon, insisting he's fine, brushing off the faint wheeze in his chest.

He won't admit it, but I see the sickness in him—the way he winces, the way his hand shakes slightly as he lifts his mug. And though he tries to hide it, I see Ma in him every day, a reminder of the ending that's coming for him too, unless I can do something. I don't know what yet, but I'm determined to find it. No matter what.

I am snapped out of my thoughts when I hear the familiar creak of the floorboards before I see him, my father slowly shuffling into the kitchen with that same weary, pained look in his eyes. It’s been like this for weeks now, his body worn down by whatever illness has taken hold of him, though he won’t admit it.

He’s determined to go back to the mine today, as he has every other day, despite the way his cough rattles in his chest. His hands tremble when he reaches for the bread I’ve set out, but he hides it well, pretending not to notice. It’s always this way—he’s too proud to show weakness, but I know better. I’ve seen the way his body gives out on him at night, how he sinks into sleep as if it’s the only escape he has left.

He coughs again, this time more violently, and for a split second, his eyes meet mine. I try not to show how worried I am, how terrified I am that if he doesn’t slow down, he’ll collapse before I have a chance to stop him. At first, I told him he couldn’t do it, that he wasn’t strong enough to take on everything and keep on going to the mines. 

He denied it and insisted, “I’m fine,” he said, his voice rasping with a cold that’s never quite gone away. “You’ve got your own life to think about.” 

But I don’t have my own life, not anymore. My world revolves around the seam, around him, around making sure we survive each day. I give him another glance worry still in my eyes. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, his voice rough and thick with that terrible cough, but his words are firm, insistent. 

He doesn’t meet my gaze when he speaks, and I know he’s hiding the truth. I want to argue with him, to shout and beg him to stay, but the truth is, I can’t. He’s my father, and he believes that going to the mines is the only way to provide for us. Even now, with his health slipping away, he won’t accept any other way of life. The mines are his life, and no matter how much I wish he would change his mind, I know it’s not that simple.

Reluctantly, I agree, silently praying he’ll stay warm on his long journey to the mines and, maybe—just maybe—make it through the day without worsening his condition. He grumbles as I try to help him put on his jacket, but doesn’t push me away this time. He lets me adjust his collar and smooth down the creases in his sleeves, his shoulders sagging under the weight of decisions he can't bear.

I wonder if he sees how much I’m trying to take on for him, how much I want to shield him from the suffering he refuses to acknowledge. But no matter how hard I try, I know I can’t stop him from going to the mines—or digging his own grave.

Once he’s ready, I walk him to the door, my heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. I want to tell him to stay home, to take care of himself, but I don’t. I want to tell him I can handle the work here, that I can manage, but I know the truth—that we both need him to work.

He’s all I have left, even if he’s slipping away from me. He places a hand on my shoulder before stepping out, his fingers cold against my skin. "You’ll be all right, girl," he mutters, his voice muffled by the weight of his illness. "Just take care of the house, and we’ll get through it." His arms wrap around me in a hug enclosing my body for a moment then pressing a small kiss to the top of my head then gently releasing me.

I close the door behind him, the sound of his footsteps echoing faintly as he disappears into the morning mist. My chest tightens, and for a moment, I just stand there, listening to the silence he leaves behind. I know he won’t be back until late, and even then, he’ll likely be too weak to move by the time he returns. I can already hear the rasp in his breath, the way he tries to hide the pain. But it doesn’t matter. I have to carry on, to keep the house running, to try and make things easier for him, even if he refuses to see how much he’s hurting himself. I have to be strong for him, even if it means sacrificing a little bit of myself in the process.

The first task of the day is always the most overwhelming. I gather the basket of laundry, the fabric stiff from the cold, and begin sorting through it—my fingers numb as I work. The water is icy, but I don’t mind. It’s just another part of the day I have to push through. The soap is almost gone, so I ration it carefully, making sure to scrub harder on the clothes that have the most dirt. I can’t help but think of my mother—how she used to do this with such ease, humming a tune while she worked. 

Once the laundry is done, I move on to sweeping the floors. The dust is always thicker than I remember, creeping in from the seams of the house like it’s a part of the air itself. I sweep methodically, sweeping each corner, each crevice, even though I know the dirt will be back before the sun sets. The broom handles are worn smooth where my hand's grip, the fibres fraying at the edges.

It’s not the kind of work that feels rewarding, but it has to be done. With every stroke, I think of how little time I have left before the next chore begins and before the day slips away. The dust seems endless, just like everything else.

By the time the fire needs tending, the sun is dipping low in the sky. I keep a steady pace, but my body grows weary. The firewood is stacked neatly. Each log is heavy but I push through. I’ve learned to hide the ache in my bones, to act like it doesn’t hurt. It’s what my father would do, and even though he’s not here, I know he’ll need the fire hot when he returns. There’s no room for weakness. So, I light the fire, watch the flames grow, and hope I can hold it all together until he’s home. Finally, I let out a sigh of relief as I finished the last of the chores and collapsed onto the small couch, exhausted.

The moment I remembered, my heart sank. I was supposed to meet Annie at the Hob bar tonight, the one place where we can forget about everything—where the weight of District 12 doesn’t hang over us like a dark could. It’s not like I’d forgotten; it’s just that the chores always take longer than I expect. My father was so insistent on going back to the mines this morning, and I couldn’t make him stay.

I try to shove aside the worry gnawing at me and focus on the task ahead. I take one last look at the house—quiet and still like it’s waiting for my father’s return. Then, I ushered to the bathroom cleaned my hands and pulled my boots on at the front door exiting the house, determined not to be late.

The wind bites at my face as I step outside. The Seams look the same—quiet, desolate, dust swirling in the air like it’s part of the ground. The dirt paths are packed hard, and the mines loom in the distance. I hurry through the narrow streets, weaving between the barely standing houses. Each step feels like I’m moving farther from what I know, but I don’t mind. The Hob is close enough that I can hear faint laughter, clinking mugs, and live music—reminding me of a life outside the hard work, a world I want to belong to, even if just for a few hours.

The noise of the Hob greets me as I step inside—the chatter, the clink of glasses, bursts of laughter filling the air. I shake off the chill from outside scanning the room for Annie among the crowd of miners, traders, peacekeepers, and young women. I finally spot her, her eyes already on me. Without a word, I hurry over and pull her into a tight hug. It's a brief moment of comfort, a reminder that there's something beyond the harshness of the seams. Pulling back, I smile as she gestures to the empty seats next to her. We make our way to the corner table, the worn wood creaking under the weight of our conversation.

As we sit down at the table, the warmth of the fire flickering nearby, I lean in, eager to hear how Annie’s day went. 

“So, how was it today? Any trouble with the bakery?” I ask, my voice softer now, trying to shake off the tension of the day. 

Annie chuckles, clearly used to the chaos. “You wouldn’t believe it,” she begins, “I tripped over and nearly dropped the tray of bread, and I almost lost a whole batch.” She laughs, but I can hear the exhaustion beneath it, the weight of her responsibilities weighing heavily on her small shoulders. Still, she’s got that spark in her eyes, the same warmth she’s always had, and it’s comforting to see that.

I nod sympathetically, but then the conversation turns to me, and I sigh, running a hand over my face. “It’s been... a long day,” I admit, glancing around the room, avoiding her gaze for a moment. "I had to get Dad out the door for the mine again. I tried to stop him, you know, but he won’t listen. He still thinks he can work like he used to." 

Annie’s expression softened, and I could tell she understood the frustration in my words. "I know it’s hard," she says quietly. "But you’re doing the best you can. He’ll come around when he’s ready." 

I nod grateful for her support. We sit in silence for a moment, just being in each other’s presence, two girls who understand the weight of the world, but still find time for moments like this.

The music from the front stage begins to swell, a lively and infectious rhythm that vibrates through the air, making everyone’s feet tap in unison. The band, The Covey, plays with an energy that fills the dimly lit room, the sound of banjos, guitars, and a steady drumbeat reverberating against the walls. Maude Ivory, the new lead singer, has a voice that commands attention, her presence magnetic as she sings with a sharp edge of confidence that both captivates and stirs the crowd. 

Blonde wild wavy locks flowing just past her shoulders, for a moment, I wonder what it must have been like to witness Lucy Gray's legendary performances before she vanished. There’s a hush of reverence when Maude sings, but no one dares to speak of Lucy’s disappearance her legacy already fading into the trees, the whispers still faintly present—how she had been accused of murdering the mayor’s daughter and her ex-boyfriend, Billy Taupe. Some say she’s dead; others swear they saw her vanish into the woods. But now, with Maude at the helm, The Covey was relit.

Annie leans toward me, her voice barely audible over the music as she grins mischievously. "Come on, let's go dance. You need to get out of your head for a bit." She reaches for my hand, tugging me toward the makeshift dance floor. 

I hesitate, but Annie doesn’t give me a chance to refuse. She pulls me into the crowd, laughing as she twirls me around, the infectious energy of the music slowly starting to seep into my bones. I can't help but smile, the tension in my shoulders easing just slightly as I follow her lead. It's easy to lose myself in the rhythm, in the carefree joy of the moment. For a brief second, the world outside the Hob fades away, and all that matters is the beat of the music and the warmth of Annie's friendship.

But then, Annie’s gaze shifts and I can feel her attention snap to something—or rather, someone. I follow her gaze, only to freeze as I spot him: the peacekeeper from yesterday. The one I had seen in the alley, lying on the ground with his bruised jaw and the look of someone who had been dealt a heavy blow. His presence now is more subdued, as though the physical pain lingers beneath his uniform. His posture stiff, but there's a softness in his eyes when they meet Annie’s. 

Without a word, Annie steps toward him, her hand outstretched. He hesitates, the conflict clear in his eyes, but when their fingers brush, it’s like an unspoken agreement. His hands are tentative as he places them on her shoulders, their movements slow at first, both of them adjusting to the moment. As the music swells, they begin to dance, lost in the chaos of the crowd.

I watch them, a knot of unease growing in my stomach. I can’t shake the feeling that Annie is somehow tangled in whatever trouble he’d been caught in. Despite the warning in my gut, I let it go, deciding for once to let her enjoy the music, the dance, and the fleeting happiness of the moment.

The music swirls around me, a vibrant wave that fills the air when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turn, and there stands Archer Brown, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. His usual bravado is gone from yesterday, replaced by a shy hesitance that makes my heart skip a beat. 

"Care to dance?" he asks, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if he's unsure I’d say yes. But the warmth in his gaze and the slight curve of his lips ease the unease in his posture, making the offer all the more genuine.

My heart gives a little leap, and this time, I don’t hesitate I never did when it came to him. I place my hand in his, feeling the pulse of his fingers lightly tremble as they wrap around mine gently. Without another word, he pulls me toward the rhythm of the crowd, and as we fall into sync with the music, a rare sense of peace settles over me. For the first time today the weight of everything lifts, and it's just us moving together, lost in the simple joy of the moment.

As we dance, the world around us blurs, and it's just the two of us, moving in time with the music. Archer’s hands are warm against my back, a gentle anchor, and though he’s just come back from the mines, with the dust and grime still clinging to his skin, none of that matters. 

His presence is comforting, his closeness something I’ve craved. His eyes, a usually grey-blue now a stunning sapphire blue under the lights despite the tiredness in them, hold a quiet intensity as he looks at me, a tenderness that makes my chest tighten. The scent of sweat and earth is faint, but it only grounds me further, reminding me of the life we lead and the bond we share. We sway slowly, our movements in perfect harmony as if we’ve been doing this forever.

Our moment is shattered when Brayden steps into view, a sneer on his face. He stands a little too close, his gaze sharp as he sizes up the space between Archer and me, his eyes cold with jealousy. 

"Well, well, look who’s dancing with the dreamer," Brayden sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. 

He looks at me then at Archer mockingly. "You really think you're going to escape this place? You think someone like you," he points at me, "and you," his finger shifts to Archer, "are going to make it out of District 12? You're nothing but a pair of hopeful fools."

Archer stiffens beside me, his earlier warmth replaced by the tension of Brayden's taunting. I feel my stomach churn, a tight knot of hurt settling in as Brayden’s words sink in. His mocking tone echoes in my mind, I can't help but feel his words cut deeper than they should. 

"You’re a dreamer," Brayden continues, his eyes narrowing, "and dreamers like you don't get to leave you can trust me on that." His words hit hard hung in the air like a challenge. 

I feel Archer’s hand on my back, his silent support grounding me.

Brayden’s voice drips with disdain as he continues, "Your dreams are pathetic. Maybe you should focus more on taking care of your dying father instead of trying to escape, or you and him might as well both swing from a rope the way you’re heading." His words full of venom in leaves a bitter taste in the air stunning me into silence.

Archer’s land leaved my spine, then suddenly he’s lunging forward, grabbing Brayden by the collar shoving him back with enough force to tip a table over. The two crash into the wooden furniture, sending tankards clattering to the floor as Brayden stumbles, his sneer twisting into a snarl as he rights himself. 

"Take it back," Archer growls, his voice low and dangerous, but Brayden just laughs—a cold, mocking sound that only fuels Archer’s anger. They collide again, fists swinging and elbows jabbing, each trying to overpower the other boiling over into chaos.

Hob erupts as if a spark has hit dry kindling. The commotion seems to give everyone an excuse to let loose, people everywhere are shoving, wrestling, voices rising into a cacophony of shouts and jeers. Chairs scrape against the floor, tables overturn, and the once-joyful music is drowned out by the sounds of fists and angry yells. I back away, my heart racing as I try to keep my distance from the brawling crowd, my eyes glued to Archer as he grapples with Brayden, determined like he’s fighting for more than just an insult.

The fight escalates, each blow landing with raw intensity. Brayden manages to land a hard punch to Archer’s nose, and I see blood trickle down, staining his face. Archer doesn’t falter, though. His focus narrows, his moves sharper and more forceful. With a fierce shove, Archer throws Brayden back against the table, forcing him down with an unyielding grip, and for a moment, it’s clear—there’s no question who’s won.

Breathing heavily, Archer straightens, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at Brayden with a cold resolve. He lands a final kick to Brayden’s stomach, leaving him groaning in pain on the floor. Then, as if shaken from a trance, Archer’s gaze lifts, and his eyes meet mine. The intensity in his expression softens, his jaw still clenched, but there’s a flicker of something deeper—relief, concern, maybe even pride he takes a step toward me.

I gaze up at Archer, my heart racing with a mix of alarm and worry. Without a word, he takes my hand, his grip careful but urgent, and we slip through the back exit, leaving the chaotic brawl behind. Once outside, I can’t hold back the questions or the concern that spills out, but he only shakes his head, quiet, as we make our way back to my place.

At home, he sits on the edge of the kitchen chair, his head down, letting me tend to him. I gently dab at the blood trickling from his nose, the bruise already forming. My touch lingers as I clean his knuckles, rough and raw from the fight. Standing between his legs, I feel his steady breath, the anger slowly fading as I work. His hand reaches out to rest against my waist, grounding both of us in the quiet that now fills the room. The fierceness from before is gone, replaced by a vulnerable silence, and I’m struck by how much he’s willing to defend me. 

I pause, cloth still in hand, and meet his gaze, the question slipping out softly, “Why did you do it, Archer?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but the weight behind it fills the room. 

He holds my stare for a moment, then looks away, his jaw tightening before he answers. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the rawness of what just happened, and I wonder if he even knows why he snapped like that.

Archer exhales, glancing down at his bruised knuckles before meeting my eyes again. “Because… I couldn’t stand him talking to you like that,” he murmurs, his voice low but fierce. “The way he belittles your dreams throws your pain back at you… you don’t deserve that.” His fingers graze mine, hesitant, as if afraid of overstepping, but he holds on, grounding himself in the contact. “You’ve been through enough. And you deserve someone who’ll fight for you, not tear you down.” He swallows, his gaze searching my face, almost as if he's bracing himself for what I might think of him now.

I take his hand gently, feeling the roughness of his bruised skin beneath my fingertips. "Archer," I whisper, struck by the rawness in his eyes, the fierceness of his words echoing in my mind. For the first time, I see just how much he cares, the depth of his loyalty laid bare between us in this quiet, tender moment.

I smile softly, my fingers brushing lightly against his cheek as I speak, "I don't mind being called a dreamer. It just means that I still have hope." My voice is barely above a whisper, but the warmth of my words lingers in the space between us. "Thank you, Archer," I add, my touch gentle as I stroke his cheek. Leaning down, I press a light kiss to his forehead, the weight of my gratitude settling between us in the silence in the night.

-Back In The Capitol-

In the dim light of his Capitol office, Coriolanus Snow sat poised, his expression unreadable as a peacekeeper captain stood before him, his face tight with tension as he delivered the report. "Sir, a brawl broke out at the Hob in District 12. Three fatalities, numerous injuries, and significant property damage. It began with a dispute between two young men—over a girl, apparently—and escalated into chaos." Snow listened in silence, his gloved fingers steepled beneath his chin, his piercing gaze giving no hint of emotion.

When the report concluded, he leaned back, his mind already calculating. “Increase restrictions,” he said coldly, his voice like steel. “Expand curfews. Double the presence of Peacekeepers. Make it clear that lawlessness will not be tolerated in my districts. If they can’t govern themselves, we’ll do it for them."

For a fleeting moment, as the the captain left, Snow leaned back in his chair, Snow’s mind flickered to another time, years ago, when he had caused a brawl himself. The dusty air of the Hob, the feel of his fist colliding with Billy Taupe’s jaw as he defended Lucy Gray and the wild chaos that followed. He quickly dismissed the memory, disgust curling in his stomach at the memory of her.

Lucy Gray’s name still brought an unpleasant pang—a reminder of foolish entanglements and the chaos she represented. Shaking the thought away clenching his jaw, he rose from his chair, smoothing his blood-red coat. Such sentimentality had no place in the president he had become. Now, order was paramount, and any rebellion—no matter how small—would be crushed beneath his heel.

[crqelsummer]

home + hearth [tododeku]

Title: home and hearth Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Pairing(s): Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto Character(s): Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: another unnecessary kid fic! Language: English Archive Warnings: None Rating: Gen

Published: 2023-02-16. Word Count: 5,718. Chapters: 1/1

Summary: izuku's working late. shouto needs a bedtime story. how i met (fell in love with) your father with the baby of the midoriya family.

AO3 LINK

They’re up way too late for the seven year old that lays across his lap without a trouble in the world, the small body that rests her head against his leg warming ever so slightly as she shifts again. Her Quirk is activating off and on the sleepier she gets. He brushes a strand of scarlet hair out of her face, the artificial light of the television drowning out her pale skin. The clock blinks back an angry red 10:00 pm at him. Over an hour past her bedtime, and he knows she’s going to be drowsy tomorrow if he doesn’t get her off to sleep soon.

Another news broadcast plays, the dull reporting about to lull him off to sleep. A lot of the children’s shows had gone off already for the night, and keeping her in bed without her dad home seemed near impossible. He’d bathed her, sat with her for a bit while they read out of one of her new chapter books. Kimiko had seemed tired when he laid her down to sleep, shutting off the main light and making sure the night light bathed the room in gold. He’d barely finished cleaning the kitchen, putting Izuku’s bowl away in the fridge and slumping down on the couch when he’d realized he’d heard her door open again. She’d bounded back into the living room, blanket trailing behind her with the puppy eyes he can only attribute to Izuku’s genes. He’d almost protested, wanted to tell her to get back in bed and get some sleep. But he couldn’t find the strength to, his shoulder already giving him trouble and rest of his body sore from an early shift. So, he had opened an arm to let her crawl into his embrace. She’d talked about school, about heroes, about whatever Makoto and Takato had gotten up to lately. He’d responded with as much understanding as he could, though found most child politics quite confusing. An hour had ticked by while they’d watched the late broadcast, covering a minor villain attack. He’d thought Izuku would be home by now, hopefully at his side rather than running off and saving as many people as he could. He’d never ended up making it back home after Shouto had gone home for the day to pick Kimiko up from school.

Where he figures there should be bitterness, he finds little. He’d known who he married, and it hadn’t bothered him when they were twenty two and coming home to their tiny apartment with more scrapes than their rubbing alcohol could handle. The quiet tender moments in the bathroom as he dabbed away at new cuts that ran perpendicular to Izuku’s old scars. The more hurried ones, Izuku’s trembling hands stitching him together the best he could when it was all they had. It hadn’t bothered him when they’d considered settling down properly, after all Izuku had just hit number one and had a responsibility to Japan now to be the shining example. He’d wait up for him most nights except for the days when he’d been called in early, but was plenty pleased to wake to his scarred husband clinging onto him in the early morning hours.

Any residual bitterness dissipates almost immediately.

He looks down at the little one in his lap, her slow blinking giving away her tiredness. She rubs at her eye with a fist, curled up underneath a small children’s blanket with the faded embroidery of All Might in the corner. Her rose red hair is splayed against his legs like a fan, long fallen out of the braid that his steady hands had done before she’d run off to school this morning. It’s getting long again, but she doesn’t seem to mind this time around.

He remembers having a moment of unbridled fear of the threads of hair when he’d first seen her, the day she was born. It reminded Shouto too much of him, too much of Enji all at once. He wondered at that moment what her Quirk would be (would she even have one?), pyrokinesis? Could he even deal with that? And then he caught himself thinking about it too long while his hand had a thin layer of frost over it and Izuku was already about to start crying to his left. Her olive green eyes had at least put him at relative ease, when she’d really started registering the world properly a little while later. He started seeing more of Izuku in her as she grew, the years passing them by. Even if his husband was convinced she was taking after him in every aspect but her face.

Speaking of him, Izuku carries another civilian out with a smile on screen, face dusted with soot but eyes shining beneath it. Something in him flickers to light, a small smile of his own ghosting over his face. Kimiko sits up a little, leaning her tiny form against his side now, and he looks down at her as well. Her toothy grin makes his heart squeeze in on itself, “Daddy!”

“Yes,” He responds, pulling her a little closer, “Still not your favorite?”

She thinks on this for a moment, small eyebrows knit in thought with a tiny finger to her chin. She looks back up at him, a mischievous look peering through her dark eyelashes, “No, I still like Uravity more!”

Shouto thinks he can make a guess why Uravity is her favorite, her favorite color being the blush colored pink that all of her merch donned. The pink shoes that she’d almost worn a hole through before she outgrew them recently, the pink jumper she wore everywhere with the almost completely faded embroidery of Uravity across the chest. The visor that she’d gotten once for a costume that had been worn so often he was afraid the plastic would shatter. That and how she’d exclaimed one day that the martial arts Ochako employed on screen was something she was going to learn to do and for sure use it against every bully ever. Izuku had of course quietly and swiftly told her not to, he didn’t want her getting into any trouble, but that he’d look into putting her into some martial arts classes after the school year was over.

He and Izuku had taken the loss with grace when it’d been announced earlier this year. He thinks. Quietly he wonders why, her dad’s were first and third in popularity rankings, but Kimiko is also seven and certainly doesn’t care for old rivalries that had long fizzled out by the time she was born. Amused, Izuku had commented he was glad it wasn’t Katsuki at least. Izuku hadn’t known what he going to do if that ended up being the case.

“Your daddy is number one though, you know.” He says, mostly teasing as he gently tickles her with one hand. She giggles to his left, something akin to I know on her lips as she laughs, “Did I ever tell you how I met your dad though?”

She looks up at him, viridescent eyes wide with curiosity. Probably wouldn’t be the best bedtime story, but is one of the few ones he knows that wouldn’t make her worry. Shouto hadn’t yet showed her that fateful sports festival clip, he hadn’t seen much reason to when she could catch whatever hero she wanted daily, but he remembers it fondly. Kimiko shakes her head, “When?”

He leans back a little, thinking about how to frame it, “Well, a long time ago —”

“A really long time ago?”

“Twenty one years ago, in fact,” He responds, momentarily feeling a little old. Her surprised face certainly gives away that she thinks that was so long ago`, “Your dad was a classmate of mine in our first year of high school. We weren’t friends just yet, I was still getting to know him and adjusting to school. He was smart, analytical —”

“An-a-li-tical?” Kimiko sounds out the word in a tinier, inexperienced voice.

He notes his mistake, recognizing she doesn’t understand it, “It means he knew a lot and how to apply all of that knowledge.”

“Oh.” Is all she says, and he watches as the cogs turn in her head, not dissimilar to watching Izuku do the same. Filing the definition away for later, “Then what happened?”

“Well,” Shouto realizes he should probably omit the conversation he’d had with his father during the festival. Then figures he should probably omit his troubles with his father and family troubles to his seven year old. That was something that could be discussed at a later date, a very later date, even if it did remove crucial context in his opinion, “I used to only use the ice part of my Quirk. It was easier for me to draw on, easier for me to work with. I did that for a very long time. I was satisfied with it until our first sports festival. Do you remember the sports festival from earlier this year?”

She nods vigorously, “Misato was in it!”

Misato, the dark haired niece of his that had done well for herself in her own first year festival. Kimiko and Izuku had been glued to the TV for most of it, Izuku noting the students he could scout and Kimiko getting excited whenever her dad did even if she didn’t understand what was going on. Shouto hadn’t watched most of it, he’d been responding to a call during the first two rounds, but had gotten away long enough to watch Misato’s final fight with one of her classmates. She hadn’t won, but it had been something he was understandably impressed by, “That’s right. But I also had a festival like that.”

“Did you win?” She tilts her head in question.

“No. Your uncle, Katsuki, he won first place that year. I was second.”

“Did you win next year?”

“No. Your dad won that year.” Shouto remembers that one like it was yesterday, that time he’d gotten third, surprising even to him, but Katsuki and Izuku had gotten to fight fairly on a proper stage. It was less tense than he would’ve imagined, watching after his fight with Katsuki. He was impressed, it was almost like was watching two completely different students than the constantly brawling ones from the year prior. They certainly weren’t restrained, the full capabilities of One For All at Izuku’s fingertips as he dove and twisted around Katsuki’s attacks. He also wasn’t about to hold back against the successor, not to be outdone by someone else. Izuku’s fumbling knowledge about One For All at the time had definitely held him back and made the victory well earned in the end when his opponent had been properly defeated. Katsuki had been understandably angered about it, but he seemed more revved up than actually bothered by it. Or at least, when they were trading insults later in the day it still seemed mostly lighthearted. He definitely remembers when he’d complimented Izuku afterwards, expressing that he’d enjoyed watching it.

Izuku had turned a color closer to crimson when he’d said it, and made up an excuse about having to go and talk to Recovery Girl. Shouto had pointed out he hadn’t broken any fingers this year (another welcome surprise), why did he feel the need to go? And Izuku had left him behind in the hall, stammering a string of apologies. Turning to Kimiko now, aging almost twenty years, “He fought your uncle Katsuki that year.”

“Did you win third year?”

That he definitely remembers, having actually beaten Katsuki for the second spot. The other boy hadn’t certainly not been very amused by this, considering how Eijiro had to hold him back afterwards — but he had been surprisingly pleasant later about how he’d beat him fair and square. It’d left Shouto very suspicious, Katsuki had gone from first to third place in three years consecutively and knowing his explosive personality he imagined he wasn’t taking it well, but nothing ever came of it. His and Izuku’s second time fighting during the Sports Festival, this time nothing but good intentions between the two. A silent promise not to hurt each other to the point of real injury again, but everything else was all fair game. They’d both pushed their limits far beyond where they should’ve gone but it had felt so good to let loose. He didn’t have the necessary precision to really use his fire as well as his ice even then, but Izuku had a habit of removing his mental barriers to it. He was more afraid to hurt him, burn the only friend he really had. But the stadium had faded away halfway through, forgetting about everyone else and only seeing the boy ahead of him. A scrappy dance around the concrete beneath them, ice protecting him from his air based attacks and his flames enough to keep Izuku back so he could get in a few close-combat hits. He’d managed to hold his own against One For All for long enough, something that even stunned him in the heat of the moment. But, predictably perhaps, Izuku had won. His control was admirable, with all of the Quirks he harbored within him, and Shouto had been stunned into silence afterwards. Shoved outside the bounds of play with a string of apologies when they were no longer adversaries, Shouto had almost burst into flames afterwards for an entirely different reason that year when Izuku had complimented him back, “No, your dad won that year too.”

“Dad’s really strong.” Kimiko seems to think about this a little more, somehow her tiny mind wrapping around the concept as she yawns again. A toothy grin, “That’s why he’s number one!”

“Indeed,” Shouto says, gaze flickering back to the news station. A flash of green, and he’s gone again, away from the camera’s attention. He can’t believe it was that long ago, really. That many years ago and he hadn’t been able to put a name to his feelings until the end of their third year, armed with chocolate he had almost begged Fuyumi to help him with. He thinks Izuku was lucky he wasn’t born with a fire quirk, because the red he turned would’ve surely lit him and his uniform on fire. Shouto smiles at the memory. They’d come so far since then, “But yes, my first year at UA. Your dad was my opponent in the second round.”

“You fought dad?” She seems incredulous by this, “That’s not very nice.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t,” He answers, thinking about all of the restrained emotions he’d been holding back that year. His intentions weren’t exactly the purest when he stepped in the ring, “Did you know that in that fight, your dad broke almost all of the fingers on his hand just keeping me back?”

Kimiko grasps her own tiny, unmarred fingers at this, gasping at the admission, “Really?”

“Yes,” Shouto still cringes at the image of the purple and blue digits barely able to even move during that fight. He still has so many questions how Izuku was even managing it at that point, ones he never exactly got answers to. He wonders if that’s when his admiration really started, with his physical and mental strength during that fight, “He was very determined. Even though his Quirk was hard to control, he pushed through it all.”

“Whoa.” Her amazement is something that is so precious to him. It’s something he’d have to tell his husband about when he got home.

He feels himself twitching into a frown regardless, recounting the fateful few minutes they were on the field together, “When I used my ice too much, it started to hurt me more than it was being useful. Like when you get too hot, I had gotten too cold. I hadn’t wanted to use my fire to counteract it because I didn’t know how. Didn’t want to use it because…”

He trails off at that. What does he tell a seven year old, one that has had admittedly little contact with her grandfather but still has some neutrally positive opinion of him? She waits on him to finish the story, playing with the end of her fraying sleeve. He shakes his head for a moment, trying to get rid of the thought and figure a way to frame it.

“I didn’t have good memories with it,” He admits, feeling her hand grow warm on his forearm when she places it there. Her way of comforting people, something she’d learned from him by accident. He smiles softly at the action, “Your dad cared though. Wanted to fight me properly, without holding myself back, and he saw me struggling with it. So, he told me it was my power. Mine and mine only.”

Shouto sits with the memory for a moment, flexing his fingers. Remembering Izuku’s pained and strained voice yelling out to him, unlocking that part of him to burst to out like the flames that had erupted along the right side of his body. At the time, it’d only been a flicker of surprise, of realizing that he could even manage it. Then —

“It’s your power, isn’t it?”

Staring directly at him, running on pure adrenaline with his extremities bruised and entirely incapable of even making a fist. The same green eyes that he stares at now, begging him to let go of it all and face him without restraint. An uncontrolled One For All brimming at his fingertips, knowing he’d lose when Shouto lit himself ablaze. And yet he’d done it anyway, and felt somehow proud of himself when he did. When Shouto had approached him later, asking him why, he hadn’t had a cohesive answer. With his actions the rest of the year, he can only imagine it was because Shouto was the first in a long line of people he wanted to save. And save him he had, in a way. Izuku was the sole reason he’d ever used his left side to begin with.

Where would he be without him?

He loves that man more than he can say. More than he can articulate properly. It had confused him when Izuku had put his own life on the line when Shouto had unleashed what at the time had been the full extent of his power, and scares him now when his husband still does it on the daily — but perhaps it’s just what makes him him.

His heart flutters a little. Shouto needs to show that clip to Kimiko when she’s a little older.

“And so I did. It was the first time I used my fire in a very long time, but your dad made me feel confident enough to use it again,” He carefully angles left hand away from Kimiko, far enough that when he lights a small flame in his palm she’s in no danger of burning herself. She’s transfixed on the the light, the small golden globe washing her features in red How much fear, how long had he lived with it to now be comfortable enough to show it to his own daughter? He’s grown, lived long enough to reassign another emotion to it. He doesn’t love it and still relies on his ice primarily, but instead of being distressed by it, he’s duly neutral.

Neutral was all he could ask for.

“You’re not scared of it anymore?” She asks, voice light and unaware of the emotional turmoil that had occurred. Had he been too afraid to use it, had Izuku lost to Hitoshi the round prior…Shouto really doesn’t think his path to healing would’ve begun as quickly as it did without his interference.

“No. It’s apart of me as much as the other half of my Quirk,” He answers. It’s the truth when he says it, even as a wave of old anxiety washes over him as he admits it. She reaches out with a small hand, and he stiffens, afraid but she’s too quick. Her tiny fingers leap to touch and he extinguishes it as soon as one of her fingers touches it, “Kimiko!”

She shrinks back, a sad expression taking over her surprise. The momentary paternal terror washes away when he reaches for her hand, his own trembling and quick, but confused when he doesn’t see red skin or a welt beginning on the edge of her index where most of the flame had licked her. Kimiko must catch his expression, her voice low and barely loud enough for him to catch, “Didn’t hurt, felt funny.”

“Felt…funny?” He asks, carefully brushing a hand over her head, “Did you touch it?”

She nods. He hadn’t imagined that part then. And she came away unscathed them.

He doesn’t know what to do next. Shouto blue screens for a moment, thinking, thinking. His curiosity gets the better of him, even as it feels like his nerves are shot. He adjusts his shoulder enough to face her a little, carefully lighting another tiny column of fire in his palm. Barely bigger than a candle as he looks her directly in her eyes, his own voice struggling to stay calm, “You’re being honest?”

Her eyes widen at it again, but she nods vigorously. He reaches out with his free hand to push her free curls back out of her face. Even if his hypothesis is correct, he doesn’t want to put her through the experience of lighting her hair on fire too. She meets his eyes, and then looks back down. He takes a breath, “Then…you can touch it again.”

Her mouth opens to a little oh, as she unfurls a small fist, first reaching out with her index. Shouto’s holding in a breath that he can barely breathe around, watching her pale finger grow ever closer. He’s ready to extinguish it and run for the first aid kit at the first sign of fear. Hold her close if she cries, like his own younger self would’ve wanted. And yet, her yelp of pain never comes, as she makes contact with it. The red and orange engulf the digit, flickering around it. Then in her curiosity, more fingers. Almost the entirety of her hand. Kimiko giggles at the touch of it.

Shouto breathes, extinguishing it. He knew her Quirk allowed her to raise her body temperature just under what he thinks is boiling, but he hadn’t guessed that she inherited the ability to be immune to fire. He’s surprised. In a good way, he thinks. If she hadn’t scared him first.

Her amusement at the flames makes him feel some sort of way that he can’t name. He’d only had fear of them at her age, most of them at the hands of his father. They represented something dangerous, something to be terrified of. A punishment, a representation of everything that had frankly traumatized him as a child. A part of him that he couldn’t get rid of, no matter how much he tried to ignore it and shove it down into the recesses of his mind. And yet, there’s wonder in her eyes. Not any alarm or panic. He at least had avoided scaring her with it, a whole other can of worms he’s glad he hasn’t accidentally opened for her.

He’s okay with this, he thinks. His child is unafraid of fire. A new development. A welcome one.

He thinks.

The tight band around his chest loosens. She yawns again, the TV still rolling. It’s 10:30. He’s beginning to think she may be able to miss just one day tomorrow, she certainly wouldn’t argue with it. Leaning back into the couch, he pulls one of the bigger blankets off the other sofa with his good arm. Wincing, he scoops Kimiko up in his other arm, laying her against his chest. She wriggles into him, obviously getting herself comfortable as he drapes the blanket over the two of them. Kimiko shifts ever so slightly to his right, likely just for the cooling properties. He yawns himself, protectively laying one arm over her smaller body and muting the TV, “We’ll just wait here until your dad gets home, okay?” He asks. Shouto gets no response, noting Kimiko’s breathing has already evened out to her usual sleep pattern. Out cold then, with only the childhood ability to sleep anywhere and everywhere without a care in the world.

He watches as the broadcast silently goes to commercial, another inane product being the last thing he sees before darkness overtakes him.

-

Izuku is so late.

He knows he’s late too, racing home as quick as he can. He didn’t even bother changing out his hero costume, hurriedly tossing his day clothes into his duffle bag and booking it out the door with a request over his shoulder to one of his sidekicks to lock up for the night. He didn’t even wait for an answer before he headed for his car.

He didn’t think it’d take this long. One call after another. Logically he thinks he could’ve let some of the other heroes take one or the other, but he just felt better and safer about it being there wherever anyone needed help. Mirio had also been on scene already, along with Nejire so he really does think the two of them could’ve handled the earlier incident (a robbery with two decently powered criminals) by themselves, but he imagines their capturing and clean up had gone smoother with him there. That’s what he wants to think, at least when they’d thanked him before he ran off the next call.

It wasn’t until the media had gotten there, noting it was a late night broadcast when he’d been helping an older man out of the now-no-longer-burning-building that he even thought about what time it was. He’d noted the darkening sky over his shoulder and almost cursed on live TV before putting a bright, if not strained, smile on his face to speak to the reporter for a few minutes. Very, very long minutes. He hopes his answers were even a little camera appropriate because he was on auto-pilot, thinking about the fact he’d entirely forgotten…well everything today.

The villain had been apprehended, people saved, media placated for the time being. As soon, and he means as soon as the cameras were switched off, he was gone. Already on the way back to his agency to pick up his keys and clothes and headed right back out the door. Shouto had left hours earlier to get Kimiko from school, and he’d not-quite-lied that he’d be right behind him after he finished up some paperwork.

Damn it.

He’s a safe driver, he reminds himself as he just barely pushes the speed limit down the darker streets of Musutafu. It wouldn’t do anyone good if the number one was caught speeding.

But he’s also missed dinner, something Kimiko hates and Shouto seconds before telling her that her daddy’s a very busy man sometimes. The way his brows furrow in disappointment sometimes is not lost on him, as much as Shouto tries to make his own emotions scarce. Izuku always makes time for dinner except in the most emergency situations. And yet he let himself get taken away again, and done exactly that. He’d only scarfed down a protein bar between now and when he slammed into the office, he hasn’t eaten much if anything at all today other than lunch he’d shared with his husband. He’d forgone breakfast because Shouto hadn’t been home and Kimiko needed to be taken in to school.

A headache’s already lurking in the shadows when he turns onto his street.

He just almost trips getting out of the car, narrowly saving himself when his hand catches a wall. Sighing, he quietly, carefully unlocks his front door, careful not to let it slam behind him as he takes off his boots and stores his duffel in the corner. He shoves his keys in his pocket (which one he’ll certainly forget by tomorrow morning), and pads into the rest of the house. It’s dark and nearly silent as he tries to make his way around the entry hallway, only muscle memory saving him from running another appendage into a wall.

The TV is still on, as he can see the light flashing onto the wall in front of it. Reaching the end of the hall, he finds it playing the broadcast from earlier. A rerun probably. Shouto must’ve accidentally left it on.

Starting to look for the remote, he pauses before smiling softly and stopping just before the TV.

His husband and daughter are fast asleep, the latter clenching her father’s sweater in her fists and drooling onto it. Shouto isn’t much better, head lolled to the side ever so slightly and hair a mess as it fans out on the headrest. Still, he holds her close as they slumber underneath one of their newer blankets, the All Might one he’d pulled out of storage for their daughter long forgotten on the other side of it.

A pang of guilt hits him. Shouto must’ve been waiting up for him. Kimiko joined him at some point and he hadn’t put her back to bed. He hopes he hadn’t worried his husband too much, how long had they been up together?

He’s in the moral dilemma of whether or not he should wake Shouto so they can put Kimiko in a proper bed. He knows for a fact Shouto is going to complain about his shoulder in the morning if he leaves him like this.

But they’re so cute, the other half of his brain reasons, what’s the harm?

In the end, Izuku settles for a quick photo instead. Then, ever so carefully he gently taps Shouto’s shoulder as he carefully sits on the edge of the couch next to the pair of them. Shouto’s a notoriously light sleeper, so Izuku’s unsurprised when his eyes flash open. They dart around for a moment before looking to him, then looking down at their daughter, then back at him. Izuku smiles sheepishly, speaking in barely a whisper, “Evening.”

Shouto blinks a few times, reaching his free hand up to rub at his eye, “Did you just get home?” He asks, tone quiet and far less accusatory than Izuku thinks he deserves.

“Yeah. A couple of minutes ago actually.” 11:15 blinks back at him when he looks at their clock on the wall, “I’m sorry, how long were the two of you up?”

“Maybe until 10:30. Kimiko got back up because you weren’t home,” He responds. That answers that question then. There’s a small smile on his expression, “I told her the story of our first sports festival as a bedtime story. She seemed quite proud of you towards the end.”

Izuku is a bit bewildered, but chuckles lowly. He flexes his misaligned fingers at the thought, then looking to her. That isn’t exactly the word he’d use, “Proud of me? Did you tell her I broke almost all of my fingers?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t leave out how I egged you on to basically win the match?”

“I did not.”

“Or how I took that losing fight?” He asks even more incredulously. Shouto nods. Well, color Izuku surprised, “Well. At least she’s a fan of fifteen year old me, even if she isn’t now.”

Shouto shakes his head, “You know she thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread, love.”

“But not since toilet paper, Ochako stole that spot from me right under my nose,” Izuku says sarcastically, leaning back into the couch himself. Oh this is dangerous, he can feel his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. He knew he was right when they bought a new couch a couple of years ago, “What made you do that?”

He shrugs, as much as he can with a child in his lap, “Inspired, perhaps. We were watching you all night, after all.”

“That’s fair then,” Still an odd subject for a bedtime story. The only one she’s really watched was this year’s, and that’s because her older cousin was in it. But if Shouto wanted to reminsce to their daughter, who was he to stop him? Regardless, he sleepily begins taking off some of the augmented parts of his gear. The gloves, the belt. He clumsily stands, narrowly avoiding a coffee table to the calf, and unzips the outer part of his suit and stepping out of it. Haphazardly putting them on the other side of the couch, he’s left in only his undersuit, leaning against Shouto’s shoulder with sigh of exhaustion. Oh yeah, he’s not making it up to Kimiko’s room to put her in bed. Nor is he making it to his own room to go to sleep. He reaches over carefully to tilt Shouto’s head down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that Shouto leans into, “I’m sorry for keeping you up.”

“It’s alright,” If even possible, his husband’s voice grows even softer at this, “I’m thinking since it’s Friday, we let Kimiko have the day off tomorrow. She’s going to be exhausted in the morning.”

“Mhm. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all,” Shouto’s left is so warm as he leans into it that he barely registers what the other man is asking. Or saying. He’s sure whatever decision he makes will be the right one. His husband shifts enough to that they’re leaning into each other, Izuku’s head on his shoulder as Shouto’s head is on top of his, “ ‘Love you, Shochan.”

Shouto makes some noise of agreement next to him, the slow tone betraying his own exhaustion, “I love you too, Izuku.”

A moment later, “Mmm. Forgot. Our daughter’s fireproof.”

Izuku blinks awake at that, momentarily forgetting his exhaustion as he lifts his head to look at Shouto with a bewildered expression. Shouto only puts his head back right where it was, patting his hair down when he rests his head atop it, “Tomorrow, love.”

Izuku.

Izuku doesn’t know how to take that but he supposes he’s going to sleep. He really wants to know how the two of them figured that out. Or maybe he doesn’t. He doesn’t know. He can’t be late home anymore if this is what it results in.

[flawlessassholes]

high school coach daniel / star athlete max 🙂

EXCELLENT prompt please enjoy daniel coaching his star gymnast girl!max :) ~940 words, mostly sfw if still slightly psychosexual, more under the cut!

“Hips, Max, hips!” He yells as his eyes track Max’s flying body as she throws a layout Geinger. He can tell she has too much momentum—her center of gravity is wrong, and she’s headed nose-first into the high bar. 

He slides the mat over the bar at the last second as Max’s grip-covered hands slap futile against the vinyl, and she falls eight feet and lands on her front. 

“Ouch,” he says with a wince, even though Max hates it. She hates falling almost as much as she hates failing, which is why she’s a damn good gymnast. Daniel’s best—and the best he’s seen in years. 

Max makes a frustrated sound and slaps her hands against the mat. “Goddamn it!” 

Jev shoots Daniel a look from where he’s working on somersaults with the level ones. 

Daniel winces. “Language, Maxy.” 

Max stands up, strands of blonde hair wild and manic as they fall out of her braid. “I would’ve had that!” 

Here they go again. 

“No, you didn’t.” 

Max blows a stray piece of hair off her forehead. “I did, and I would’ve caught it if you hadn’t moved the stupid mat in the way!” 

Daniel rolls his eyes and hops down from the spotter’s block. “The only thing you had was a mouthful of solid wood.” 

Sometimes, Max is a lot less like a seventeen-year-old girl and a lot more like a fourteen-year-old boy. She opens her mouth to make the joke Daniel knows she’s going to make, and Daniel holds up his hand. “Nope, don’t wanna hear it. Go condition and then cool down.” 

Max crosses her arms. “Come on, let me try it one more time!” 

If Daniel lets Max get back up on the bars and throw another Geinger when she’s been practicing for five hours, she’s going to tear her rotator cuff—or worse. And Daniel knows worse. Intimately. 

He tells her as much, and Max shakes her head and starts chalking up. “I’m doing it again with or without you, so if you don’t want to spot, then that’s fine by me.”

“Max—”

Max is already jumping to the high bar. He needs to stop indulging her, but he also doesn’t want her to break her neck, so he climbs back up on the spotter’s block. 

“Keep your hips up, core tight, up, up—” 

She nails it because of course she fucking does. 

He climbs down as she dismounts, and she launches herself at him like she does after every perfect ten at a meet. 

“See!” She says breathlessly as she steps back, his hands falling away from her lower back. “I told you I could do it!” 

“I didn’t doubt it for a second,” Daniel says. He shakes his head and nods towards the floor. “Now come on, go condition and cool down.” 

She practically skips off to join the rest of the optionals. Max has outpaced the level eights and nines her age—she needs more at her level, beyond what he can give her at his shitty little gym in the middle of nowhere. 

He returns to his office, which is more of a storage room for mats and chalk with a desk shoved in than an office, and works on meet registration until he gets distracted by approving the new team leo designs. 

“I think navy makes my ass look better,” Max says from behind him, and Daniel definitely doesn’t shriek as he slams the laptop shut. 

“Christ, you scared the shit out of me,” Daniel exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Also, like, you know you can’t say that shit. You took the same safe sport seminar I did.” 

“Yeah but that’s for coaches who are creepy pervs,” Max says, perching herself on Daniel’s desk. She hasn’t changed out of her sweaty practice leo. “You’re normal.” 

Daniel wishes he were normal. 

“Listen, I sent some of your clips over to my old coach. He’s good friends with Christian Horner.” 

Max stares at him. “Like. Coach of the national team Christian Horner?” 

“Yeah, him.” Daniel leans back in his office chair that’s falling apart like everything at this gym. It’s nothing like Horner’s, or the NTC facilities. “He’s invited you to their fall invitational to practice with the team. You’re probably too old for the national team, but there will be D1 schools there, you can get your name out there for scholarships—what’s wrong?” 

Max doesn’t look happy. He thought she’d be thrilled. 

“You know my dad doesn’t give me the money for these kinds of things,” Max says. She looks away—trying to hide her disappointment. “He won’t take the time away from taking Victor karting.” 

Daniel—Daniel knows. Max practices for free, the only girl at the gym he can afford to let do that. The rest of the optionals gossip about her, he knows. But Max isn’t like the rest of the optionals—she could make it to one of the big university teams, could—could maybe even go beyond that. 

“I know,” Daniel says. “But they do require your coach to be present, so if you’re okay with road tripping with me—” 

“Shut up,” Max says, her mouth falling open. “Daniel, we—?” 

He can’t hide his grin any longer. He smiles, all teeth, and Max screeches in excitement, leaping away from the desk. She does a little happy dance and pulls him so he’s standing and doesn’t wait until he’s fully out of the chair before launching into his arms and nearly knocking him flat on his ass. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She says, breathless in his ear. “I won’t let you down, I promise.”

He hugs her back and doesn’t say, you couldn’t if you tried. 

[hxpelessnurse]

It probably should be at least a bit concerning that Kazuichi hadn't even truly realized he was braiding Mikan's hair until he was reaching for the hair tie on his wrist, what had started out as a study session quickly derailing as the mechanic became distracted by the nurse's hair just within reach. It...made him a little sad, how choppy it was, no doubt because Mikan allowed others to cut it, just as she let them bully her in a myriad of other ways just to be seen. He could understand, in a way, not caring if something hurt so long as people were acknowledging you, but he hoped that by spending more time with the nurse, that doing little things like working on homework, taking her out for ice cream, and yeah, even braiding her hair, that she would slowly break away from those self destructive habits and cruel people and instead rely on the positive attention from Kazuichi and their other friends when she felt she needed it.

Nevermind the fact that Kaz himself had a few self destructive habits of his own he had no intent to correct, often pushing himself to extremes just to please others, neglecting to eat in order to save as much money as he could for his unappreciative father in hopes it would bring him up in the man's eyes, forgoing sleep when anxiety plagued him or when he felt as if breaks weren't an option. All he was was his work, and too often did things end in a fire for him to be satisfied with it. Sure, he had successes along with them, but the ultimate mechanic shouldn't fail at all, let alone as much as he did. He never felt like he deserved the title, and that was why he needed to prove he was worthy of it, not only for himself, but to also show his dad that he deserved this, that he wasn't a failure, that he was worth something...

Right now, though, he didn't have those doubts, didn't feel the need to near kill himself in his workshop, or by being an over glorified maintenance man for the school with no pay to show for it. No, Mikan had his full attention now, the world not existing outside her dorm room as he secured the braid into place with a wide grin. "Hey, check it out, we match!" Said with a tug of his own smaller braid, his eyes were bright behind the thick lenses of his glasses, his usual pink contacts having been forgone that day after Mikan had told him the dangers of keeping them in for too long, leaving their natural bright blue on display for no one else to see but Mikan. He knew she wouldn't laugh at him, wouldn't belittle him for wearing them, for wasting him money on such unnecessary prescription cosmetics when he glasses were more than enough.

Tucking in a stray lock behind the nurse's ear, that smile fell a bit, Kaz's hand lingering for a moment as his eyes picked out each lock that had refused to stay in the braid with how short they were, like they were suddenly a beacon, and he was a moth. He...hadn't noticed just how uneven her hair was, even as he was fiddling with it, the braid making those cut bits all the more obvious where they stuck out from the carefully twisted strands. "Hey, uh...I'm not like, super good at it or anything, but um...I cut my own hair since going to get it done is expensive as shit, and..." How could he say this without hurting Mikan's feelings? He didn't want that, he wanted to help. "I guess, I'm trying to say I can even out your hair, if you want. It wouldn't take much to blend the shorter bits in. Or I could cut it short if you want! I swear I can do a better job than what I do for myself, I even help Fuyu with his buzzcut sometimes! He says he only comes to me 'cause there's no way a 'two bit bubblegum bitch' like me would have the nerve to kill him while he's vulnerable and all, but I mean, I gotta be doing a good job if he keeps coming back, right? I'm not the only one who wouldn't kill him...um, at least I hope I'm not..."

Mikan hadn't even noticed his hands running through her hair until he was nearly done with the braid. She was far too focused on the textbook she was reading, eyes scanning the pages and mentally noting which ideas and topics would probably show up in future assignments. She liked studying, especially with other people, because it helped her focus on her future. Her current home life was pathetic and traumatic, so her only escape was school and her studies.

She could feel her eyelids getting heavy as Kaz continued to plait her hair, the words on the pages of her textbook getting fuzzy as she let herself relax and enjoy the quiet atmosphere. She felt safe around Kazuichi, and considering how often they'd been hanging out lately, she could admit he'd become one of her favourite people. She let out a small yawn as he tied off the braid and called attention to the fact that it matched the braid in his own hair.

"Oh!! I've n-never had someone braid my hair b-before!!" She replied sleepily. She took the long strand in her hands for a moment and admired the work he'd done - sure, her uneven layers ended up sticking out of the braid every which way, but she found it beautiful nonetheless. Her eyes got all watery as he continued to ramble on about possibly giving her a haircut to even out the choppy locks, her emotions suddenly bubbling over. She tilted her head toward his hand as he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

She gave him a nervous smile, her eyes glossy and wet, before she turned to face him and threw her arms around him. She sobbed softly as she hugged him tightly. "You'd d-do that for me?" She asked between sobs. "I d-don't deserve you, S-Souda. Y-You're so nice to me!"

She sniffled softly, burying her face in his shirt and letting herself calm down a little before she pulled away from him and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm s-sorry! I m-made a mess of your shirt," She apologized, pulling out her hand towel from her book bag and gently trying to wipe the inky black stain off his shirt. "I sh-should really invest in some w-waterproof mascara..."

@the-ultimate-muses

[radiant-reid]

Comfortable

A/n: this could unintentionally be a part 2 to Tough day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Genre: a whole lot of fluff

WC: 1.2k

CW: Nothing (??)

"Hi," Spencer murmured, raspy-voiced from the night of sleep he'd just had. Possibly the first adequate amount he'd had in at least a week.

He looked the epitome of soft. Long curls messily tumbling over his forehead. His barely-there facial hair had grown as much as it could in the week she hadn't seen him, which wasn't a lot. High cheekbones, sharp jawline like something holy created by Michelangelo. He didn't leave a chance for any other man to be as beautiful. And, if his pretty face wasn't enough, his personality made it a completely uneven playing field.

Y/n could unquestionably admire him for the rest of her life. And it still wouldn't be long enough.

"Hi, baby boy," Y/n returned, a smile spreading over her face. It was the smile reserved for him. "Are you feeling okay?" She asked, tracing his finger over his pointed features.

Spencer had been considerably upset after his last case. Tears starting the moment he walked in the door and not stopping for an hour afterward.

Spencer nodded slightly. How could he not feel better? His girl was wrapped up in his arms. She would have assumed he wanted it the other way, but Spencer needed to feel her in his arms. It was irrational, but he liked knowing she was safe. He needed to feel her body on top of his, her body weight acting like an anchor to keep him grounded.

"Yeah, thank you," Spencer spoke gently. Y/n was mesmerized by the rising and falling of his chest when he spoke. She still wasn't able to take her glance away from his deep-seated brown eyes.

Y/n held his face in her hands, moving higher, so she was lying fully on top of him. "You never have to thank me, Spence. I'm always here for you." She reassured him, knowing the comfort was something he needed so he could stop thinking about what he'd had to see in the prior days.

She delicately traced down his perfect nose. Giggling when he scrunched it, which made the side of his lips twitch upwards. Pure happiness.

Still, Spencer felt guilty. Y/n was always there for him, no matter what was going on in his life. He couldn't even imagine how terrified he'd feel if their roles were reversed. Seeing Y/n come back from cases heartbroken would feel like a nightmare. Spencer didn't understand how she did it.

"Y/n." He started, his new serious tone drawing Y/n's features into a frown. "I worried I don't tell you how much I love you." Despite being able to memorize them, Spencer was never good with his own words. He could recite hundreds of love poems off by heart, but none of them expressed how he felt. "And I do love you. So much. I'm just not good at showing it." He claimed.

Y/n could see the guilty look on his face. She could tell he felt like he didn't deserve any of the good things in his life, despite all the terrible things he'd gone through.

On top of that, he always felt inexperienced. He'd never seen a happy relationship growing up, and it was something he couldn't learn out of a textbook, so he had no clue if he was doing it right.

"Spencer, honey, you tell me more than enough." She assured him, holding his face in her palms. "And you show me just as much. Seriously, I've never felt more loved in my life. I can tell you're worried you're not doing it right, but you've never done anything wrong." She comforted him, stroking his cheeks. It was unbelievable to her that Spencer ever felt he didn't show her enough love. "I see and hear how much you love me all the time. I can physically feel it." She told him, reaching down to place her hand on his heart.

Spencer nodded at her sadly. "Okay, because I do love you." He continued.

"I love you too, baby. I'm going to make us breakfast, my love," Y/n announced, not particularly wanting to leave Spencer for a second but hungry.

Spencer shook his head. "Wait, kiss, please." He adorably whined out his request.

Y/n couldn't say no to someone looking as cute as he did, leaning forwards to gently place their lips together. It was sweet, sensitive and full of nothing but love. Everything Spencer needed. Everything Y/n needed.

"Shower and then come to the living room." She gently instructed as she rolled off him.

Spencer nodded, moving so he could get out of their warm bed. "What are you making?" He turned back to ask her.

"Your favorite, of course. French toast." She answered.

Spencer had one last request. "Can you do the thing?" He asked shyly.

Y/n smiled at how adorably childish he was. "Of course." She agreed.

He insisted it made him feel better when she cut the french toast with Halloween cookie cutters so he could eat the little pumpkins, ghosts, witch hats, and bats.

Once breakfast had been eaten, it was Spencer's choice of activity. Naturally, that meant reading.

"Can you read it to me?" Spencer asked, holding his book out to her.

Y/n nodded, smiling at how cute he always looked. "Of course." She agreed, taking the book and sitting on the couch, holding open her arms so they could hug.

Spencer shook his head. "Can I braid your hair?" He shyly asked, wanting to be as close to her as possible.

"Yeah." Y/n was more than happy to let him. His soft, gentle fingers did it better than she did anyway. She moved so Spencer could sit behind her on the couch, his height making it easy.

Spencer glided his thin fingers through her strands of hair, carefully braiding it, making sure it wasn't too tight. Y/n read aloud his book, trying not to fumble over any of the big words.

"You know, you could read this so much faster than me?" Y/n commented after finishing a chapter.

She couldn't see, but Spencer shrugged. "I like this, though." He simply told her. Y/n figured the answer was good enough and kept reading. "Alright, all done." He stated, placing a kiss on her hairline.

Y/n ran her finger over the braid. "Wow, it's amazing, Spence. Thank you." She complimented, tilting her head up to look at him.

Spencer smiled at her. "Can it be my turn now?" He timidly requested.

Y/n was happy to oblige. She loved all the hairstyles he had, but the benefit of his long hair was that she could braid it. "Yeah, you are going to have to sit on the floor, though." She told him. "And you have to read."

Spencer quickly scrambled to sit on the floor, taking the book from Y/n. "But I like listening to your voice." He commented with a pout.

Y/n let out a giggle as she parted his hair. "Ah, so there's the real reason." She accused.

Spencer looked up at her like a dear caught in the headlights before smirking. "Maybe." He spoke.

"Okay, stop being cute and read." She instructed, spinning his head back around so start braiding his long brown locks.

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[i-cant-sing]

An Accident

Yeah... you may have seen this before, earlier this week when I accidentally posted it. Anyways, this is a part 2 of the Todoroki clan being obsessed with reader's hair. So, um enjoy.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Todoroki Clan:

Rei is obsessed with reader’s hair.

She’s taken such good care of it, and after years of hard work, your hair now reaches just around your butt. Your hair is healthy, thick, luscious, and cut into a smooth, U shape; of course all trims are done by Rei herself because she doesn't even trust professionals. And even though you’ve asked Rei on multiple occasions to cut it short, at least up to the middle of your back, she just wouldn’t, always saying that you’re being unreasonable. But you’re not; you’ve given her multiple valid reasons.

For example, Rei and Fuyumi do your hair themselves. And initially, they would let you choose whatever hairstyle you wanted, but now they pick one for you, saying they know which one will suit your outfit of the day better. Rei likes to do double buns, or ponytails tied with ribbons or just one high pony with a pretty big bow on the top of your head. Fuyumi on the other hand makes super intricate hairstyles, and while they look pretty, only you know how much pain your scalp is in. Fuyumi does your hair as if you’re her doll, yanking and twisting hard, saying that she needs to be this rough to achieve the distinctive braid patterns. Thankfully, Rei usually does your hair most of the time.

One of the main reasons you've begged Rei to let you cut your hair short is how much time she (and you) would safe. Since your hair is so long, it takes a lot of time for Rei to put in hair masks, serums, oils, etc. It takes even longer to wash and dry them out, and then style them as well. But she smiled oh so kindly, and told you that she doesn't mind. She looks forward to taking care of your hair, forcing you to sit between her legs for hours as she applies some expensive magic growth oil, ignoring how you didn't like this.

And even if your hair is curly naturally, like even 4C curly hair, Rei will have it straight as a stick in no time (don't bother telling her that you like it natural). But don't worry, its still quite voluminous.

Of course, Rei washes your hair herself, telling you that you’re simply not capable enough to manage it. (At least she lets you wash your body yourself.) And due to your hair being so long, it takes time to not only wash it, but also dry it. Rei will detangle using a wide tooth comb, starting from the bottom and working her way up. Then she’ll dry it with her cold breath, and if required, call Enji to dry your hair with his heat. You like it when Enji dries your hair, because he does it quickly and your hair becomes far smoother.

And its not just Rei and Fuyumi that are obsessed with your hair, the boys are just as fond of it as well. Enji likes to card his fingers through your hair while he’s working on some papers or listening to news, his warm hands always putting you to sleep in his lap. Its an adorable sight, gives him a sense of peace.

Shotou also likes to run his hands through your long hair, especially after a stressful day. The feeling of his fingers through your smooth, long locks, it calms him. And if he’s feeling extra stressed, then he might braid your hair loosely as well. He always wears a scrunchie on his wrist for you.

You wouldn't ever admit it, but you enjoy it when Natsuo played with your hair. Its like he can sense when you're having a headache. He'll have you sit on the floor while he takes a seat on your bed, and then his fingers will do their magic. He knows exactly where to put pressure on your scalp, and exactly how much force to use. His massages always relieve your migraines, and he always massages with expertise to ensure their is proper blood flow in your scalp.

While you are more than happy to let Natsuo touch your hair, you hate it when Dabi's around. If you didn't know better, you'd think he wants to rip your scalp off. He knows how much it annoys you, always pulling at your ponytails, tugging at your braids, even yanking it a few times when you ignore him. And you've complained to your family, but all of them say that "oh he's just playing around." Or "no, he just misses you. He's only teasing." And when you ask Dabi to stop it, he'll just smile and say "big brother privileges."

He's insufferable.

Everyone gets to play with your hair, but God forbid if you do. Oh no, apparently you'd "destroy it", as if you're not capable of managing your own hair. You're not allowed to open your ponytails because, quoting Rei, "you're yanking your hair. You're going to rip your follicles- baby, stop. Just let me do it." But you know that she does that because she wants to brush your hair with the soft, bristle brush before you go to bed. And somedays, Rei doesn't tie your hair in a bun or something, letting your hair fall, and it gets in your way, and even then you're still not allowed to put it up because "oh honey, your hair needs to breathe too. If you keep it in a pony, the band will leave a mark in it." Honestly, everyone finds it adorable when you're dressed in your little, fluffy skirt paired with a cozy oversized sweater, all mad and pouting, trying to blow the hair strands blocking your field of vision. Like a little baby.

While Rei looks at your hair and sees years of her hards work and patience, all you see is losing control over your own life. And you are. They decide everything for you, from the clothes you wear, the food you eat, and even things you should like and dislike. They choose when you should go out, what you should watch, when its time for bed. They disregard your opinions and feelings, and if you show that you're frustrated, then its means that you're just throwing a "tantrum", and you need to be put to bed like some cranky child. You've told them that they're too overbearing, but they always say that they just love you.

What kind of love is controlling?

They're so lost in their delusions, that they don't even see the deteriorating effects it has on you mentally.

Actually, one person did see them. Dabi.

He saw how much everything was overwhelming you, how you were near tears when they talked over you, made choices for you.

He felt a bit bad for you, just a tad. Mostly, he felt there was another opportunity to mess with you.

When Dabi came to bother you one night, tugging at your hair again, this time a bit harder than usual, he saw you were ready to cry. You didn't even bother saying anything to him anymore, just kept quiet and did your best not to cry. Of course, now he ridiculed you. Called you a little crybaby and used that annoying patronising tone with you. And just as he was about to leave, he said "if your hair bothers you so much, why don't you just cut it, you big baby?"

As if something had finally snapped in you, you let his words echo. Why don't I cut it? What's stopping me?

Was it because you had learned to just give in?

You didn't even realise you had walked to your bathroom until you were holding a pair of scissors. Which surprised you, because you weren't allowed to use scissors unsupervised. It was almost as if a sign from the universe motivating you to do it, and definitely not Dabi who left them on the sink.

Holding the pair of scissors in one hand and a chunk of your hair in the other, you hesitate for a second and wonder what will Rei do. But before you could stop yourself, you cut.

I'll cross that bridge when it comes.

You start low, maybe 2 inches above your hips. It looks okay, but maybe you could cut a little more. And a little more. And a little more. Before you know it, your hair is around shoulder length, in an uneven, chunky bob. Its not perfect, but somehow you feel much better. Like you’ve finally gotten some control back. Wiping your tears away, you ruffle your hair a bit, the cool air on your neck adding to the feeling of freedom. You feel normal, happier, peaceful. Things you haven't felt in years. And all because you had 3 am meltdown.

After you cleaned up the bathroom, you went back to bed, anxious how everyone will react in the morning. Maybe they won't care. You thought. Its only hair. My hair.

Everyone was waiting for you at breakfast the next morning, and to everyone’s surprise, Dabi had joined them as well. Rei was cooking up some eggs, while the kids chatted. Enji was suspicious of the mischievous glint in Dabi’s eyes, and it was filling him with unease. Just as he was about to question him, you walked in.

Everyone went silent.

Then Fuyumi let out an audible gasp, while Dabi chuckled darkly. Natsuo, Shotou and Enji looked at you with their mouths agape.

“Good morning.”you greeted them.

Rei, who was facing away from you, finally turned towards you. “Good mo-”Rei’s breath hitched, eyes blown wide, as the plate of bacon fell from her hands.

Its funny how everyone in the kitchen, including you, had the same thought at that moment.

What the fuck?

Taking a deep breath, you moved to sit in your usual spot between Fuyumi and Rei, but Shotou suddenly pulled you back and pushed you into the seat beside him. He knows his mother is in a better state mentally, but something tells him not to risk it. Fuyumi snapped next, quickly getting up and cleaning the mess on the floor while Enji pulled Rei, who was still staring at you in disbelief, to sit beside him. You remained indifferent to everyone’s stares, quietly eating your food. As soon as you were done, Shotou got up and quickly pulled you out of the room, Dabi following close behind.

They sat in your room as Shotou looked at your hair with worry. “Looking nice, doll.”Dabi chuckled as he plopped down on your bed beside you. “Thanks.” you mumbled. “Y/n how did- why did you- why did you cut your hair?” Shotou asked, still looking at your choppy hair. “Do you not like it?” you asked. “N-no I do. But what will mom say-” “Shotou, its my hair.” you snapped. “Yeah, Shotou.” Dabi mocked. Fuyumi and Natsuo soon joined you guys, worrisome looks on their faces. “Why did you cut it? Oh my god, do you even know how much trouble you’re in?” Fuyumi was freaking out. “Its my hair.” you rolled your eyes. They ignored you. “Okay, okay. Shotou why don't you stick around with Y/n for a couple of days? Fuyumi and dad will try to keep mom away from her.” Before Fuyumi could nod, you stood up. “No.”

Natsuo looked at you confused. “what do you mean “no”?”

“I mean no. I don't need Shotou to babysit me. I can handle myself.” Fuyumi walked towards you, reaching her hands for you but you backed away, “Y/n, sweetie-” You cut her off ,“Stop treating me like a child.”

Shotou spoke this time, “Its for your protection-” “Protection from who? Our mother? Why?”your words dared them to say the truth. To agree that Rei was unstable. They didn't say anything.

A few days had passed by and things were returning to normal. Almost normal. Rei still had this thousand yard stare when she looked at you, but she never said anything. Cutting your hair was the best decision you had made, because not is it only easy to manage, but it also got the family off your back. Rei doesn't wash your hair anymore(although you think she's just not over the shock), Fuyumi doesn't need to do your hair, they dry faster, and all of your brothers (including Dabi) doesn't mess around with them anymore. Enji was the first to adjust to your new cut, he even complimented you one day.

Did you feel guilty because you know how attached Rei was to your hair? A bit, but then realised that you needed this. You need some control over your life, and if this is how they react to your new cut, then maybe you could start taking back reigns over other aspects of your life as well.

You thought that maybe Rei had finally gotten over it a week later, when you were laying in the bathtub, enjoying the hot bath. When you heard her walk in, you were a bit startled. Why was she here- is she finally over it? "Um- hey." She smiled at you. "Why are you here?" She took the bath stool and sat behind the tub. "You know why." She replied and started rolling her sleeves up. Is she here to wash my hair? "Oh, are you here to wash my hair? I don't need help with that anymore now that they're short." Rei smiled again, this one looking forced, before dipping her hand in the tub. "No, silly." And with that, Rei froze the entire the tub in 2 seconds. The ice trapped your limbs, and reached up to your clavicle. The sudden change from hot to cold had you jolt, but you couldn't move due to the frozen ice. "Mom-!" You heard the buzzing sound of a trimmer and then felt Rei entangle her fingers in your hair to yank your head back. "I'm here to complete your haircut." You tried moving your head but her grip on your scalp was unrelenting. She started trimming the right side of your head, moving it slowly as to get every single hair. "Honestly, you should've come to me. I do agree that it'd be a good idea to start again." Tears fell from your eyes, your teeth chattered and you could feel your heart beat slow down as the cold seeped into your bones. "M-mom, I'm col-d. P-please s-stop..." Rei was done with one half of your head. "You know, I read somewhere that your grows thicker if you cut it. I'm sure that after I've shaved your head, your hair will grow even fuller. I've already gotten some new oils and hair masks! Maybe we could do them together." You couldn't hear anything besides the slowing of your own heart beating. Your breath had started to become shallow, you couldn't think about anything except for how painful ice could be. Your lips were turning blue, eyes were getting clouded with black spots, all sensation from your body was losing. Just before you lost consciousness, you heard the bathroom door open and a panicked yell.

You felt warm.

When you came to, your entire body felt warm and weighted, probably due to the heavy blanket spread on you.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself in a dimly lit room. It was...your parents room. Why am I here? You turned your head to look around but your eyes stopped at the large figure sitting on a chair next to your bed.

"Dad?"

The figure's head snapped towards yours. "You're awake." He paused. "How- how are you feeling?" You moved the blanket off you, your body felt dense and ached. "Warm and...sore. What happened? Why am I in your bedroom?" Enji shifted in his seat. "I think its best if you stay here from now on, so that... your mother and I can look after you." Your eyes widened. "What? Why?" You moved to sit up but then a pain shot through your head. "Ah shit." You hissed in pain as you went to massage your temples but your hands halted at the feeling of your hair... or lack there of. You tried to run a finger through your choppy bob cut, but all you felt was your shaved head. Your eyes met Enji's, looking at him in disbelief as you recalled the events that had led up to this. "Darling-" You jumped off the bed and ran towards the vanity mirror, praying that this is just a nightmare. But as you looked at your reflection, you realised that this was the terrifying reality you were living in.

Tears dripped from your eyes as you took in your appearance. Trimmed- no, shaved pink hair. You couldn't see a single bit of hair above the roots, only a baby pink scalp. She had not only trimmed your hair first but then also proceeded to shave your scalp off. Your head looked like it had peach fuzz.

You couldn't bring yourself to look away, not even when Enji placed a hand on your shoulder. "Y/n-" He didn't even what to say. He was still in shock from what would've happened if Fuyumi hadn't yelled for him when Rei was-

Enji shook his head. Now's not the time. You're here and you're fine. You're fine. Enji pulled you towards him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. "You're fine." He repeated, more to himself than to you. "Why- why would she do this?" Your voice was muffled by his chest but he understood. He understood your pain and it tore him apart that he still wouldn't be able to help you.

Enji honestly didn't know what to tell you. He didn't know what words would bring you comfort. "It... it was an accident." His chest rumbled as he spoke. You pushed yourself away from him as you looked at him perplexed.

"What?" Your eyebrows raised, nostrils flared and blood rushed to your face. You were going to blow up.

"An accident? Is that what you said? Oh okay. Was it an accident when she froze the fucking tub? Did the trimmer accidentally fall from her hands to my head?! Oh and did she accidentally pull the razor over my head?!" Angry tears fell from your eyes but you were far too enraged to care.

Enji opened his mouth to say something but he was cut off by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Turning around you saw her.

Rei was standing there with a tray of food and water. Her face turned to shock before turning to happiness. She set the tray on a nearby table before she rushed towards you, her hands reaching for your face.

"Angel, you're awake-" you pushed her hands away roughly as you backed away from her.

"Dont you dare touch me."

The couple, they had never heard your voice such hostility. It wasn't like you. Rei shook her head as she tried to reach for you again, taking another step in your direction. But you smacked her hands away again. "I said don't touch me!" Your yelling had got your siblings to rush in the room, wanting to see what the commotion was about.

Rei's eyes shifted from you to Enji, looking at him for help, before they returned back to you. She took a deep breath before speaking. "Y/n, darling. What's wrong?" You scoffed at her soft tone that tried to quell the storm of negative emotions bubbling inside you. "What's wrong? What's wrong? I don't know, you tell me, Rei. Why the fuck am I bald?!" Your head was pounding with rage, raw unbridled anger.

When Rei didn't say anything, Fuyumi stepped forward to help her out. "Y/n its-"

"Shut up."

Fuyumi's- everyone's eyes widened. Of everyone, you never even rose your voice at your favourite sibling. But to hear your voice turn so cold towards her, it shocked everyone. "Y-Y/n-" she tried again but you cut her off. "I said shut up. I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Rei and she'll answer for herself."

Enji placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back slightly. "Have some respect. She's your mother-" You yanked your shoulder away from his grip. "No, she's not!" You inhaled deeply, trying to stabilise your voice. "No, she's not. You're not my dad. I'm not a part of this family. And I'm so sick of playing this game."

Dabi's eyes narrowed. "Stop being an ungrateful brat. You've been given all the luxuries one could only imagine, spoiled to no end-" You laughed. "Did I ask for anything?" "You never had t-" "And all these luxuries that you're talking about, I didn't get them for free. I had to give up a lot. No, wait-" you laughed again, tears blurring your vision. "I didn't give up anything. You all took it. Yeah, all of you snatched everything away from me. My family, my friends, my privacy, my sanity, everything. And you-" you moved towards Rei, pointing a finger at her. "You have been the most greedy one of them all."

Rei's jaw fell open, as she shook her head. "No-" You shook your head.

"Yes! I gave you everything. I let you dress me up in those god awful clothes, feed me whatever you wanted, stick to your side like glue because you don't like it when I was out of your sight for a more than a few minutes. For fucks sake, I didn't even go to college this year because you weren't ready to see me become an adult!" You ran a frustrated hand through your hair. "I played into your sick little fantasy. I let you treat me like a child, talk to me like I'm some helpless baby. I let you touch me even though it disgusted me to no end. I never even complained when you gave me ice burns because I was throwing a tantrum." You looked at the rest of your family, and they were shocked to hear that last bit. You smiled cruelly at them. "Yeah, you didn't know that did you?"

Rei was crying herself by now, as she reached out for you once again but you moved away. "I let you have everything. All I wanted was this little bit of freedom, for my own sanity. But you couldn't stomach that could you?" Your head hung low, your tears hitting the floor.

"Why do you have to be so selfish?"

Your voice held so much pain and defeat. Rei couldn't help but engulf you in her arms, wrapping herself around you tightly before you could even protest. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She cried out. "I- I promise I'll fix this! Yes. I-I've already gotten you some new hair oils! They say that they'll help you grow 6 inches in a month! Oh and Natsuo also brought some stuff for hair growth! Some vitamins and- Natsuo whats that spray called? Minoxy? Mi-minoxidil! Yes! He said that'll help you grow your hair in no time! Doesn't that sound nice? You'll have long hair like before!" Rei pushed back to look at you. You couldn't believe it.

"Are you- are you really that delusional?" Your voice was so soft, almost like you would break any moment now. "Are you so blind to see what you're doing to me?" Your eyes held so much pain and confusion. "Sweetie, don't worry- mommy will take such good care-" You pushed Rei away from you, your anger rolling back in full speed. "YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER!" You shrieked. "Y/n-" Shotou tried to interject. "I'm not a part of your fucking family."

Enji stepped towards you. "Calm down."

You looked at him. "You said that what happened was an accident. What will you do if another one happens? And you're not around this time to save me? Hmm? What will you do? Continue playing house with my dead body?!"

Rei's sobs shook her body. "Shut up. Think before you say stupid shit like that." Dabi spoke this time, moving to stand between you and his mother. "Or what? You're going to hurt me? More the reason why all of you, but especially you-" you pointed at Rei "deserve to be in that nuthouse-!"

You were on the floor before you could even process what had happened. Had you- had you fallen? But when the searing pain of the burn on your cheek came alive and you looked at his hand that had erupted in blue flames, you realised what had happened.

Dabi slapped you.

"Y/n!"

Your cheek felt like someone had placed a hot iron on it, the sting spreading to your entire cheek, but you were far too shocked to care about the pain.

Dabi slapped me.

Shotou, Natsuo and Fuyumi quickly rushed to your side, picking you up and out of the room, while Dabi stood there in stunned as his own hand throbbed. The image of his handprint branded on your scared face wasn't going to leave his mind anytime soon.

Enji hesitated, looking at his wife and son in disbelief, before leaving the room to look for you.

Rei walked towards Dabi and smacked his arm. "What did you do?!" She yelled at him. He opened his mouth to explain but nothing came out.

"She's your little sister, Touya! W-why would you do that?!" Rei scolded him.

He hurt you. Like Enji hurt Rei.

He hurt you.

Rei sighed before closing her eyes and engulfing Dabi in her arms. "Its okay. Its not your fault." She rubbed his back soothingly. "It was an accident, wasn't it?"

Dabi wrapped his arms around his mother, burying his face in her neck, before nodding.

"Yes. It was an accident."

So... how was it?

[thesevro]

So I read desert rose and loved it. It gave me an idea for an imagine where Sukuna and the reader kinda have a relationship like Hades and Persephone. They meet at first, not fond of each other, but they start to understand each other and slowly they fall in love. Not just any love but one that's so deep that it envelops them, a love so deep its embedded into their soul. You can add smut if you want, I don't mind. I just thought that this would be amazing!

thank you for the first request i’ve received here on tumblr!! 

this shit actually turned out longer than i thought it would. i got a little carried away. ahuhuhu~~ hope you enjoy this anon bby!! 

WARNINGS: mentions of rape, sukuna calls you a whore and a slut AWOOGA, explicit smut

---

“No man has ever survived that curse.”

Her laugh cuts the air. It is dangerous. Snorting and derisive. The absolute opposite of the slack-jawed shock on his tattooed countenance.

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not a man.”

Her hands spin in a small, tight circle, focusing the cursed energy in the tiny space of power she traces with her hands. She stares at the man with unblinking eyes. Bears insults down on him with the laughter in her eyes.

“You fucking bitch,” he seethes, hissing at the scorn curling her mouth. He does not need his hands to form his own curse. It only takes another vilifying look at her for one more curse to fly in her direction. He breathes an aggravated breath through his nose as one of her servants takes the shot instead, performing the same technique with their own hands.

“Ooh, that one was a little weaker, don’t you think?” she mocks, then turns to her servant with a pleased smile on her lips. “Good boy.”

The boy simpers at the praise, leaning into the touch the woman pets onto his head. Sukuna loses control at the casualness, the apathy. To have such inferior, lowly beings smile in his presence…  for them to have the fucking nerve to even meet his eyes…

He is the King of Curses. Whoever the fuck it is this woman may be, he knows he has to put her and her proletarian flunkeys in their damn places.

His four hands tremble as a wild rush of cursed energy pulses through his veins. A manic grin cuts his frown into a smile.

I’m going to fucking kill you.

But in the next moment, his hands begin to tremble for a wholly different reason. His blood goes cold.

“You know, you aren’t that bad-looking for someone with two faces and a mouth on their stomach.” The woman traces the frowning tincture of a smile on his stomach, arm raised into the air in order to reach it. She almost stands on her tip-toes. Even with her diminutive stature she seems to be the most powerful in the obliterated room. 

When did she—?

“If you accept defeat, your highness…” A sharp, sardonic quip comes to make him fraught with wrath, “Then I might just let you live and have you become one of my menials instead. You could do plenty with those four arms of yours.”

Her fingers have opened the mouth on his stomach. Now she only tries to prick the pads of her strong fingers on the razor-edged ridges of teeth there, awaiting his answer with easy patience. Her hand grows sticky with his slobber.

“She could kill you in seconds, King,” the boy from earlier speaks up. “Could just grab that tongue in your stomach and wrench it upward ‘till the tip of it comes out one o’ your eye sockets.”

“Oh, don’t spoil my fun Jackie,” she says, still playing with the mouth on his abdomen. “I was planning to keep it a surprise for our man here.”

“I’ll be part of your fucking band of delinquents,” he interrupts, locking eyes with the woman, head lowered. “But you will make me the superior of the rest of your blue-collared pack of idiots.”

“You’re going to have to work for that, Ryomen-chan.” She flashes a smile at him. Her hand slips further into the mouth on his abdomen. He knows what she’s doing. Tempting him into trying to bite her hand off, if only so she could acquire an excuse to kill him.

And no one. No one fucking gave her the authority to call him Ryomen-chan.

“I don’t fucking care,” he snaps back at her, grabbing her hand before quickly relaxing his grip. He falters ever so slightly as something in her eyes goes dark, then with a begrudging gentleness slips her hand out of the mouth. “I’m already part of your ragged band of lackeys, bitch. So fucking tell me what it is you me to do.”

---

He hates her with his entire being. With each day that passes he thinks of slitting her throat open and raping her as she dies. It is a train of thought that has been of much prominence since he was forced to join her group of brainless monkeys.

And he hates this, too, but he can’t say it’s all that bad. It’s much better than letting the bitch climb onto his shoulders and stand on his head to gain the elevated vantage she constantly insists is necessary to scout the area. When she has the ability to fucking fly. Fucking dumbass. 

So, yes. This isn’t… as demeaning as the rest of the orders she gives him.

“No, Ryomen-chan, you’re supposed to twist that strand over the middle one—oh, you’re hopeless.” 

Scratch that.

“That is the middle strand, bi—Ms. (Y/N),” he disguises the anger shaking in his voice with a call of her title, then shoves the strands of hair between his fingers to the front of her face. “Are you fucking blind?”

“As opposed to your deluded delusion, Ryomen-chan, this is the middle strand.” She holds a lock of her hair, plucking it from between his fingers. Something thumps in his chest as her fingers brush his palm. “Are you blind? Now that would be a horrible addition to your already damaged brain.”

“Let me fucking try again then. Give it here.”

Jeez. No one said styling a woman’s hair would be this… toilsome. 

“No, let me show you how to do it, Ryomen-chan. Sit down.” 

His knees bend as she shoves him down onto the plush pillow she uses when presenting herself as the Queen of Curses (a title he finds himself unable to contradict, fuck). His brows furrow and he turns back to protest but she only grips his chin in her fingers, her eyes meeting his, and snaps his head forward. 

“I said let me show you.” 

Something thuds in his chest again. He wills for it to shut the fuck up.

Her hand falls from his face, though her fingers stroke the bottom of his chin with the fleeting touch of danger before her hand moves to twine into his hair. He sits still, the breathless tightness in his chest soon giving way to ennui as he watches her braid his hair from the mirror. He finds himself observing the way her eyes glaze over with focus as she styles his hair. For the quickest second he wonders how hazy her eyes would go with him inside her.

“Alright, done. Did you take notes, Ryomen-chan? That was an important… lesson…” 

Her voice falters. He looks back at her and finds her eyes on his legs. Particularly on something protruding from between his thighs.

“Sukuna... I just braided your hair—”

“Not. Another. Word.” 

---

The first time he slides inside her, it’s like fucking himself into heaven.

He makes no sound as he fucks her, as she lets him fuck her, but everything in his head has blurred together to narrow his vision to only the sight of her beneath him.

He’s missed fucking women. Missed being inside them. He hates the fact that she is better than any bitch he has ever shoved his cock into.

He tries to keep his head in the crook of her neck. But then her legs hook together from around his waist, fingers curling into the hands he’s pinned to her wrists, and she’s moaning like the bitch in heat she really is. The curiosity to watch her face as he fucks her overwhelms him completely.

The touch she shares with his hands is more intimate than it should be. It’s as if his hands keep her grounded, keep her here with him as he makes her cum. 

Her back arches, and a third hand of his grips the small of her back to keep it arched, so that her stomach touches the mouth on his own abdomen.

For some fucking reason he wants to give her all the pleasure he can. Make her go cross-eyed. Fuck her 'till she goes stupid with sex.

He lets the mouth on his stomach fall open. The tongue there is long enough to slide between their bodies, wet enough to slither between them with ease. He smirks with the smile of a devil as the Queen of Curses, his only superior, cries out in pleasure as the tip of his tongue curls around the free space between their joined bodies. His tongue flicks her clit. Dips inside her to join the fullness of his cock. His eyes shut in lazy pleasure as she squeezes him tighter.

She has the body of a virgin. He can tell she’s only been touched once or twice in the past, judging from the way her dominance had fluctuated the moment she finished undressing him. Her touches were hesitant. Apprehensive. But for some reason she had also sought his pleasure, had taken his cock in her mouth and sucked not like an inexperienced little village girl but a masterful whore. 

He says it now, “The Queen of Curses, Ms. (Y/N), now the desperate bitch of her King.” A chuckle rumbles in his chest as she trembles in the wash of her fourth orgasm. He knows how many she’s had. He’s been counting; plans to give her ten. “A slut in the sheets, a queen in the streets. How delightful.”

And this, this makes the slut cum. 

And when she does, her authority returns. With a look of glaze-eyed intoxication in her eyes, she pushes his behemothic body off her, and rides him until he finally says her name. 

And at that point, he knows not whether he is her whore, or she is his. All he knows is that it’s fucking good to be inside her, and that she sounds and feels better than any other hole he's fucked.

The next time he fucks her, there are braids in her hair. 

[whaleofatjme1920]

In a Mirror Image (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

🌸 In a Mirror Image

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, language, cheating (both physical but it's not like, in your face, and emotional)]

Part 1

The flowers that grow like weeds in your lungs bloom thicker and thicker every day. Your vision clouds with blue more often than not, and you can’t think about anything but the blossoms and blood that paint the bathroom with a hue you’re already much too used to. It’s a painful existence, and it’s getting worse. One of the most wretched parts? You’re deteriorating so fast that your vision no longer services you. You are blind, unrendered to see. You still choose to live in a delusion, and you are amongst the only who choose not to acknowledge it.

By now, everyone knows but only one other than you refuses to acknowledge it.

You hear Hoodie arguing with Jack more often than not. It seems the blond haired proxy is angry over what Jack has done to you and because he knows what Hanahaki does to those it takes root in.

“You’ll fucking kill her,” Hoodie seethes as he gets in Jack’s face for the fourth time this weekend. “Look at her-”

“I am!” Jack shot back, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Who are you to come in here and speculate on something that you’re not a part of?” He growls. Normally, Jack likes talking to Hoodie, but not when Hoodie’s on a mission to prove Jack a sinner.

“I wasn’t even aware you still had one,” Hoodie retorts through grit teeth. “I can’t believe you. Look at the flowers Ja-” and before he can continue tearing into Jack, he hears your bedroom door open.

While you still share the room with Jack, neither of you are in it at the same time. You’ve taken residence up on the living room couch with Kate and Jack more often than not stays with Leia. The room you share is usually empty, much like your heart.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Hoodie suddenly greets you as you tiredly walk into the kitchen where the two men had previously been in a standoff. “Did you sleep okay?” He asks, voice so much softer and gentler with you than what he had just been using.

You shake your head as you take a seat at the table. “I can’t sleep,” you say.

Hoodie’s brows furrow in sympathy before they knit in frustration when Jack sits next to you. He watches as Jack snakes his arm around you before he presses an empty kiss to the side of your head.

“No?” Jack says in a sickly saccharine tone. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Does that sound good to you?”

You nod slightly, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “That sounds good,” you murmur back.

“Anything for you,” he hums as he pulls you in closer to his side.

“You disgust me,” Hoodie hisses to Jack as he gets up and pushes in his chair roughly, making the table bounce. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jack for a second as he leaves, roughly slamming the front door behind him.

“What was that about?” You ask, feigning innocence. You refuse to open your eyes to the situation you are in.

“He’s having a bad day,” Jack answers. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he hums as he presses another kiss to the side of your head.

The butterflies in your stomach are dead, but the flowers blood evermore.

“You’re still sleeping out here?” Kate hums as she takes a seat next to you on the couch. She looks exhausted and she’s covered in blood. Her mask is cracked too.

“I guess,” you yawn as you shift slightly from your not so comfortable position. “How has your day been?” You ask as you reach for a glass of water only to see it’s not there.

“Let me,” Kate says as she gets up once more. She knows you’re getting worse. After getting you a bottle of water from the fridge, she comes back to your side. “I’ve had a busy day. Met with an independent named Nyein. They remind me of a big cat,” she finally answers as she opens the water bottle for you.

You take it and begin to slowly sip from it - it stops the flowers from blooming ever so slightly. Your airway opens just a little bit. “Do they now?”

Kate nods as she flips mindlessly through the channels. “They said they’re falling in love with a human. Bad business,” Kate winces, her dark eyes watching you carefully. “I hope they don’t…”

“It’s bad business,” you suddenly say as you feel petals fill your mouth. You cough slightly and the small little forget-me-nots fall into your lap, thankfully free of blood this time. You take one of the flowers into your fingertips and observe it gently. “I hope they’re okay.”

Kate puts her hand on your thigh, lightly squeezing before finally settling on the early evening news. “You wanna burn these blue fuckers?” She asks as the flowers in your lap remain stagnant save for the buds that unfurl at an alarmingly fast pace.

You feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. “Yes.”

Morbid, your flowers have been springing up everywhere. They’ve infested the temporary house. So, you and Kate went around the place, plucking every single one before starting a bonfire in the backyard.

Toby, who considers himself a bit of a pyromaniac, was immediately summoned by the fire the two of you had cast in the backyard. He’d been out on a grocery run, and honestly, he had wanted to get out of the house.

The dynamics of the house had become uncomfortable to him. What with Leia and Jack sneaking off together and you coughing up a full greenhouse, he has been stressed. Toby can’t stand Jack and Hoodie arguing all the time as it reminds him of the life he tried to escape, and Masky can offer so much but ever since he renounced his love for Jay by force… It’s been hard. Toby knows it’s been hard for everyone involved.

He crosses through the house, sneers at Leia’s room, and then exits through the back to the scent of fire. He sees Kate’s arm around you as the fire blazes slightly blue.

“W-What are you g-gals up to?” He asks, coming to your other side so you remain in the middle.

“Burning stuff,” Kate nonchalantly replies. “You care to chuck anything in?”

Toby glances at you as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. “If I d-d-did, I’d be u-under c-charge for killing a-a-another under the O-Operator’s care,” he muses. He’s referring to Jack, of course. He takes in the scent of burning plant matter and blood and frowns when he remembers it’s yours. His hand reaches yours and squeezes gently.

You squeeze back.

Your experiences with Leia are lukewarm at best, and cold at worst. She’s something, she really is something. There’s moments when no one is in the temp house with you except for her alongside you, and those moments are tense, sharp, like a knife and burn colder than the depths of the sea.

The most memorable conversation you’ve ever had was the one that triggered a domino effect that would lead to a black hole in your chest.

“You’re still up?” Leia’s honeyed voice questions softly as she takes a seat across from you on the back porch at the glass table.

You find it more stifling inside so you choose to spend your time out. The weather is warm, afterall. The sun shines and fluffy clouds the size of whales swim overhead. You have a glass of pink lemonade made from a pouch Hoodie and Kate had picked up earlier. You find that the tang is enough to keep the flowers down.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” You say in passing before you sip from the glass. You enjoy watching the rabbits in the backyard. They hop around without a care in the world.

She begins to thread her fingers through her long silver hair, braiding it. “I just think you should be resting,” she says. “You look so tired these days-”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Touched a nerve,” she sighs. “You know you’re getting worse, right?”

You shoot her a glare, but you know she’s right. You’ve actually been holding out surprisingly longer than most people with Hanahaki Disease. Most people succumb to it within a few weeks of coughing, but you’ve managed to hold out for damn near an entire year. That’s almost unheard of. You’ve been hacking up flowers, their stems, roots and blood ever since Leia came into your life.

Everyone tells you that you’re getting worse, but you should have been dead months ago.

“Stop it,” you growl.

“You’re killing yourself,” she continues. “You could just… Let it all go, y’know?” She hums as she continues to fishtail her silver strands. “Renounce your feelings for him and save yourself.”

You grip your glass and set it back down roughly on the table. “That is literally none of your concern,” you repeat, eyes narrowing at the blue eyed beauty across from you. “Acting like you care-”

“I do, though,” she cuts you off. “I know that the Slender Man has big plans for you, but with you wasting away like this… You’ll never live long enough to see them through.” She flashes you a look of concern, but you can tell it’s fake. It shines like pyrite.

“What, so you can take my place just like that?” You bite back. “You can’t even wait until I’m fucking dead?”

Leia giggles and you hate to admit that it sounds pretty. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Daddy always did say I got what I wanted.” Her eyes drift off and you’re able to see she’s no longer thinking about you, but someone who once loved her. She finishes the braid. “Happy six years to you and Jack. Give him all my regards, won’t you?” She stands up, eyes the rabbits feasting on the clover in the grass, before she plucks your half empty glass from in front of you.

“Leia-!”

“It’s not like you need it,” she chuckles.

“It’s a special day,” you said to Masky, a small smile on your face. “It’s our six year anniversary.” Your posture changes to attention as he closes the door softly behind him. He still smells like cigarettes, but it’s a pleasant scent you’ve found comfort in where others find it a nuisance.

Masky put a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. “You need me to draw a portal or something for you?” He holds his arms open to you as you fall into them, part because you’re so weak and secondly because he knows you need the affection - even if he can’t feel it.

You feel light come to your eyes as you nod after leaving a note for Jack in your shared room on his nightstand.

‘Dear Jack, happy six years! I’d wait for you to get back, but I have a surprise for you at the field you gifted to me for our first anniversary. I await you with happiness. Love, R.’

Masky drew the portal in the living room, a mess of swirling cloud-like silvers and blacks before he laid eyes upon the place you once shared only with Jack. “It’s super pretty,” he says, dark eyes scanning over all the wildflowers. There’s weeds on the path, like no one has cared for it in a while. ‘How poetic,’ he thinks. ‘It’s an allegory for your decayed relationship with Jack.’

“No it’s not,” you giggle as you bring Masky down one of the weed and chicory covered paths to the gazebo. “But it’s special to me,” you hum as you take a seat.

Masky follows beside you. He doesn’t take a seat, mostly feeling it wrong to impose on a space that is Jack’s despite his respect for him falling so far from what it used to be, but takes in the scent of dying flowers all the same. It’s summer, and instead of the sun warming the soft petals, it’s burning them. When you cough up more flowers while waiting for the man who still holds your heart (and refuses to return it) you’re less than pleased to see that they blend in with the untamed mosaic.

“Are you still tired?” Masky asks softly as he lights up a cigarette. “You can rest, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You glance over to Masky before you rest your head in your hands, wondering where your lover is. You listen to the wind as it blows through the leaves. You listen to Masky’s hum, and eventually, you fall asleep.

You wake back up sometime during the night in your bed and not in a position you normally sleep in. It looks like whoever delivered you back here was extra careful with handling you. You only wake up because Jack has accidentally turned on the light.

“Shit, my bad,” he apologizes, quickly plunging the room back into darkness. “Did I wake you?” He knows he did.

“No,” you lie. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” That was the most rest you’ve had in months. “Where have you been?” You ask quietly, still choosing to remain buried in the sheets.

Jack slides into bed next to you and gets comfortable. He smells like perfume you don’t wear. Through the faint light of the hallway that peeks under your door, you can see he’s got dark marks on his neck and jaw. “Leia wanted to show me her childhood home. Place isn’t run by Zalgo anymore, so we took a trip out there.”

“Did you now?” You hum as you feel tears prick your eyes.

Jack can see you in the dark. His vision at night far surpasses a human’s. He just chooses not to acknowledge it. Jack knows that his relationship with you is gone, and that you’ve been coughing up flowers for the past year. He knows, and it hurts him. Hurts him deeply that he’s the one causing you such pain, but at the same time, he’s a coward. He chooses not to let you go cleanly because his relationship with Leia is so finite.

He knows she only wants him because at the time he was unattainable. Now that she has him, it is only a matter of time until she does to him what he’s done to you. He understands that fully, but he refuses to leave the safety net that is you because he is selfish. His feelings for you aren’t nonexistent, but it’s that kind of fondness one has after the deed has been done, a love based on past memory and sentiment rather than what will and can be. It has reached his threshold, and you both are too caught up in security rather than what is healthy.

“I did,” he says as his mind rushes a mile a minute. “What did you do today?”

You wonder if you should answer that honestly or not. Would he even care? “I stayed here today, nothing special.” You feel the flowers unfurling in your lungs.

Jack hums once more, his back now facing you as he slowly succumbs to sleep.

You met Masky in the bathroom again, hacking your lungs and more of those fucking flowers up into the bathrub and the sink. Hell, you even got some in the toilet. Your body is growing weaker and weaker by the day. The fact you’ve held out for a year is astronomical, but you know you’ll be being taken from it eventually. No one survives Hanahaki when their lover’s feelings aren’t returned. It either gets returned, or you lose them all entirely.

He almost lost you. You broke the mirror when your body went limp as the vines and flowers crawled out from your lungs, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. If it was an art installation piece, Masky might’ve thought it beautiful, but the fact you went cold and limp and the flowers were blooming at a rapid pace - one he thought he couldn’t keep up with.

Masky, despite not being able to really feel anything, panicked as he took you into his arms. Did he genuinely care for you? No, but he cared to whatever extent the surgery left him with. He fretted because you are under his direct care. He cared so deeply because he too had seen many good proxies and independents lost to it. He cared because a part of him remembered what it was like to have daisies and rhododendrons fill his lungs. Normally, you only have one type of flower to clutter your lungs. Science says “just because.” An old wives’ tale says “love truly lost.” In his case? Jay’s death. Nothing was the same after that.

Masky took no hesitation in scooping you up into his arms and running out of the house to the forest to be closer to his boss’s energy. The Operator could fix this should he will it. He didn’t care that the lights in the house went on from his concerned proxies - the ones who had been sick over what befell you since you came into their care. He didn’t dare let you go as he trampled through the brush in the dead of night, using only the moon.

“Sir!” He calls out frantically. “Sir! I need your help!” He can hear your heart get slower and slower.

And just like that, the devoted father came to his child’s cry.

“My child,” he greets, instantly swooping down to look at your pained, flowery visage. “Did I not tell you to handle this?” He chides softly as he takes you into his arms. The sound of static only grows louder and louder.

“I thought she could,” he says, his tone clearly apologetic. “Please, just… Just fix this for me.” He watches the Operator closely as the tall man holds you in his arms.

While you are not exactly his child directly, you are also still under his care. Leia did not lie that the Operator sees good things for you. Without any other words, the tall man is gone, giving you to gods know who to perform a surgery that should be considered the only humane way out.

He returns to the house where Hoodie, Kate and Toby eagerly awaited him, clamoring around him and pecking like hens wondering where you are. He says that you’re in the hands of a god.

You floated in the ether, your body a galaxy. You watched as your chest was torn open - looked like by the hands of an independent that had talons to rival an eagle.

‘There’s so much,’ she says, her mouth turning into a frown as she worked on carefully removing the clusters of flowers. ‘How is she not dead?’

The Slender Man continues to observe, not offering the doctor any words.

The spirals and swirls inside of you continue to swirl before the flowers get torn out, one by one. The roots that cling to your lungs are stubborn, but with every single one removed, the lights of a different universe go out. Snuffed. Lost. The cavity in your chest grows wider until it births a black hole.

‘How much longer?’ The Slender Man asks, watching as the independent calls in another to help her rid your body of weeds.

She shakes her head as she continues to root them out. They bloom under her touch. ‘I have no idea - she must’ve felt so strongly-’

‘They just keep coming up, Sir,’ the other interjects, her four eyes scanning you rapidly.

The black hole begins to suck up the stars and nebulas that comprise your system. It feasts on you, making every part of what made you you, disappear in its depths. It grows larger as it consumes you. It grows heavier. It grows more powerful.

‘We’re almost there,’ the taloned independent says, her wings fluttering softly to emphasize her point. ‘I’ve never seen it this bad before.’

‘Fix this,’ the Slender Man seethes, his patience wearing thin. He knows your body will not be able to handle this much longer.

The black hole reaches its mass, and slowly, it begins to consume you. It overtakes you, bathes you, and leaves nothing left when it has taken all that it can. Your body is empty. You are a shell. Glimpses of blue, grey and reddish brown flash in your mind’s eye and through the eye of the black hole, but you cannot place the feelings you used to associate with them. You remember, but you do not feel.

The last of the flowers are pulled. The taloned independent is exhausted, and her partner is just as tired. ‘Good fucking lord,’ she breathes out, exhausted from the late night gardening session. ‘In all my years I have never seen that awful disease take hold of an individual that bad,’ she notes. Her bird-like eyes watch over your open chest to make sure they’ve fully cleared it out.

A single forget-me-not sprouts, and the Slender Man is the one who plucks it. Just like that, the flowers, their roots, all evidence you’d ever had life inside of you, is gone. Withered and wilted away.

The black hole takes all that you have to offer, and you are back to consciousness, no longer floating, no longer a home to the vibrancy of the universe.

What came after was a bit of a blur. The Slender Man had brought you back to the safe house you had called your home for the past year surprised to see that some of his favored children were still away, waiting for you as the light of the sun rose over the grass. It was a new dawn.

“How is she?” Hoodie asked, immediately springing up.

“Fixed,” was all the Slender Man said, his gaze shifting from you to your group’s leader. “Masky, I’m entrusting you to watch over her as you have been through something similar.”

“Of course,” the dark eyed man says as he takes you gingerly into his arms. “I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else.”

“One last thing,” the tall man in a suit hums. “I am taking Eyeless Jack from this house. Leia will stay with him.”

“It’s probably for the best. We trust your judgment,” Masky replies.

The Slender Man’s head gently cups Masky’s cheek before he leaves them with the sound of static that dissipates as fast as it appeared.

You spent the first few days after your surgery under bed rest. The Slender Man had healed you but he still worried for the state of your lungs. You needed the rest, and you were pleased to have it. Other than that, you felt… nothing. You were numb. Fleeting feelings of happiness or thankfulness, maybe something melancholic would slip through but ultimately, you were nowhere near your old self.

Jack was not allowed anywhere near you. That was one of the first instructions given to him when the Slender Man had popped into his head. While he did not have an opinion on Jack’s unfaithful behavior, he was more displeased with the fact he’d kickstarted the disease in you. The Slender Man thought that if he started it in Leia, then perhaps everything would turn out alright.

So, he sent the two out with a different group - which mostly meant Jeff, someone the Slender Man knew detested behavior that Jack had committed.

It was not easy for Jack to share the same space with Jeff after word had gotten out about you.

“You’re my best friend,” Jeff had sighed one late afternoon, refusing to even acknowledge Leia in the room. “But that? That was fucked up.”

Jack hummed and kept his gaze on Leia, who looked at him with nothing short of adoration. “Sure.”

Jeff sighed once more and stood up. “You don’t feel an inch bad, do you?”

“No.”

“You’re a shitty guy but you’re an even shittier liar.” Jeff broke the door with how hard he’d slammed it on his way out.

Jack really wasn’t the same, that much was apparent. He’d slowly been becoming more withdrawn and quicker to agitation. Of course, he’d take it out on whoever was around to deal with it. Leia included - it just came in a different form. One in which she’d never complained. But when things were rough between them, things were rough.

Jeff could hardly stand the two most days, so when he’d sneak out, it was with his dog to come pay a visit with you. And he hated how dull you had become.

“Masky used to be a lot more personable,” Jeff would say. “Life of the party when we could get him out of his pseudo-philosophical bullshit. Then he hurled flowers and we knew something was wrong.” Jeff’s hand rubs your back gently as a sign of friendship.

“And then?”

“Then he got that stupid surgery and now he’s just existing. No further purpose, just existing because some pale guy says so for his benefit.” Jeff huffed and looked up at the setting sun.

You found your gaze following his.

“What you’re doing right now,” he began. “It’s no way to live.”

“Would you have rather I’d succumbed to it?” You asked, not adding any inflection to whether you’re happy or sad, hurt or even offended.

“In all honesty?” Jeff tore his eyes from the pink and blue sky. “Yeah. This,” he gestured to you. “This isn’t you.”

Everything you’re supposed to feel feels dampened. Instead, you nodded. “Note taken.”

Jeff frowned.

The first time Jack was able to see you after your surgery was nearing halfway to what would have been seven months. It’d been a rough time without him seeing you, mostly because the guilt had been devouring every humanity he had left. Nothing could fill the void.

Like the first time you had met him, it was an accident when you crossed paths once again. You had been clearing out a house one fine winter’s evening, doing what had been asked of you before you got the faintest scent of something familiar and something you once recognized as comforting. You furrow your brows, weapon at your hip as you slowly and quietly come down the stairs.

Your lips are pressed into a thin line as you peer into the living room. Snow falls outside the window.

“Reader?” A male voice asks, turning around from the hallway. “Is that you?”

You tilt your head slightly as you register the mask you’re looking at. Eyeless Jack, mostly just known as ‘EJ’ or ‘Jack’. You’ve never really spent any time with him though outside of little jobs, so you have no idea who this is or why he sounds so happy to see you.

“Uh, hi, EJ?” You say as you walk at a leisurely pace down the stairs.

Jack freezes momentarily as he comes to greet you in the living room. He’d almost forgotten that when the flowers are removed, so too are the memories alongside feelings.”It’s… It’s good to see you,” he says as he looks down at you, wondering if he should touch you or not.

“I guess it’s nice to see you too,” you say. “What are you doing in this area?” You inquire. You vaguely remember the Slender Man not wanting you two to be in the same area.

“Just out and about,” he answers as he scratches at the back of his neck. “Leia wanted to uh, hunt down some of her sisters - I - it doesn’t matter,” he suddenly finishes, feeling much too awkward to even look at you. He knows you don’t remember, but he certainly does. Looking at you… He has a fresh slate.

“That’s nice,” you say in a tone that’s clearly disinterested. You walk towards the living room windows and look into what is now a cold winter’s night. You can see the snow still falling. If you want to make it back to Masky before he gets worried, you’ll need to head out almost immediately. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Jack slowly comes to your side and puts his attention on you, watching as the snow continues to fall. “Yeah, the prettiest,” he says softly, desperately trying in vain to hold back on scooping you into his arms. There’s something scratching at the back of his throat.

You nod once again and zip up your coat. “They’re expecting me,” you say, gearing up to brave the snow.

“Do you need any-”

“No,” you cut him off. You’re not sure why it comes out so harshly, but you figure it must be a remnant of a memory you no longer have access to. “I can manage on my own.” You brush past him and open the front door, eyes momentarily clamping shut at how cold it is before you step onto the porch. The sound of the crunching snow is satisfying.

“Stay safe out there,” Jack says softly, not moving from his place as he continues to gaze out the window at the falling snow.

You turn your head briefly over your shoulder, “and you as well.”

Jack hears the door close and you walk off into the night, back to a group he was barred from. That tickling in the back of his throat grows more and more prevalent until he clears his throat. Feels like there’s something on his tongue. He coughs a few more times before holding his hands in front of his mouth, displeased to see the small blue petals he knows will bloom to full flowers in a time frame that is too long to be considered fair.

[a-supernatural-writer]

Playing With Their Hair

Poly Lost Boys, Michael and Star x Gender neutral reader

Came up with this while chatting with @aliypop. Thank you for giving me this idea, I had so much fun with this!

I love playing with hair/having my hair played with so here's an imagine where the reader like playing with their partners' hair and they receive some loving back.

Warnings?: there's like a few curse words...?

Playing with your multiple partners' hair was something that you did absentmindedly. Whether it be while you were doing a task that kept you in one spot, cuddling with them, being near them or even to just get your mind off things.

Though some of your partners allowed it more than others. Dwayne was at the top of your list of people that loved it when you played with his hair. He loved it when you would run your fingers through it and scratch his scalp. At times you would catch him almost falling asleep.

He also liked it when you would braid his hair. Sometimes when he would wake up in your nest he would find small random braids in his hair and thought it was absolutely adorable. He wore them the entire night and didn’t take them out until you did so yourself.

There were a handful of times that you’ve given him an actual french braid. You would smile when you would take it out the next day, his usual straight hair now a little wavy.

Dwayne would also reciprocate the action. If you were laying down with him or just leaning against him, he would play with your hair as well. If it was long enough, he would braid your hair as well. He’s the only one who kills it at braiding. If your hair was short, he would just run his fingers through it, scratching your scalp to lull you to sleep.

Beads were also a big thing between the two of you. If you wanted to give him a few braids, you sometimes wanted to add a couple of beads as you braided. He would do the same with you, picking out your favorite colors and wearing a smile the entire night when you wouldn’t take them out.

Paul enjoys it as well, I mean, have you seen his hair? The boy runs his hands through his hair to get that teased look. He loves it when you tease it yourself, trying to fix it from laying down in your nest or even just from causing chaos.

This boy purrs when you run his fingers through his hair. He’s like a big cat… or a golden retriever that loves the attention. He will lay practically on top of you as you play with his hair. You wanna put in a few braids? Sure! Just please take them out before he goes to sleep. He’ll wear them out no problem but he doesn’t want them for too long.

Paul mostly enjoys you just running your fingers through it. He will play with your hair, no questions asked. If he does, expect him to stare at your face like a love-sick puppy when he does. He loves you to death and just watching you be so relaxed by his touch could make his dead heart beat one more time.

Plus, he fidgets a lot so letting him play with your hair was a BIG thing. He would try his best to give you braids but would fail and you were lucky that he didn’t tie your hair into a knot if it was long enough. If it was short, he would still have fun just playing with the small strands of hair.

Michael 100% down with you touching his hair which made you very happy. Have you seen his curls?!?! They are so soft!! Probably has the softest hair out of the entire bunch. You love running your fingers through his hair and you are not the only one. Everyone seems to love the softness, everyone somehow and someway has run their fingers through his hair.

He loves affection and playing with his hair not only calmed you, but it also calmed him. Multiple times he has fallen asleep in your lap and you definitely aren’t complaining about it.

Since his hair isn’t necessarily long, you can braid it, but it isn’t going to be the best. You are incredibly lucky if you can get a couple braids. You mostly just play with the curls, pulling them and watching them spring back into place which always makes you giggle and make little sound effects with them. (Side note: I have really curly hair and so many people did this to me.)

He is the only one, apart from Star and Marko that you can put anything in his hair. Sometimes you’ll put in random clips, pulling some of the hair back into a new hairstyle. The clips would range from simple bobby pins to colorful metal snap clips to more fancier ones with tiny jewels on them. A pretty boy deserves pretty clips.

When he plays with your hair, he’s so gentle. Treating you like glass and mostly is pushing you hair out of your face so he could stare at it. Your heart clenches when he looks at you lovingly and running his fingers through your hair.

Star is on the same level as Paul. She melts from your touch. Her favorite thing to do is hug you as you play with her hair. You detangle her long curls, giving her braids like the others and even adding in small beads like Dwayne, but that’s very rarely.

You are convinced that her hair is the longest. Followed by Marko, Dwayne and then Paul. David’s is just a tiny bit longer than Michael’s, so you have so much fun with Star’s hair the most.

Even when you weren’t playing with it while relaxing, you were trying out new hairstyles out on her. You’ve both gone through multiple different looks for her. Experimenting to see what worked and what didn’t. Star could never see what you’ve done but you always explained it to her the best you could or even showed her pictures of what it looks like from magazines.

Star does the same for you. She’ll style it and play with it depending on what length or even what type of hair you had. She always tried her best, giving you looks that she knows you would love. Heck, she’ll even help you dye it or cut it to your wishes if you ask her too. To be honest, Star is the only one you’ll allow to cut or do anything drastic to your hair.

Marko is weird about his hair. He takes care of his luscious golden curls like it’s his baby. It’s on the same level of his jacket. Nobody can really touch or play with it. But if he’s in the mood or gets a little jealous that everyone else's hair is getting love, he wants it too!

Without a word, Marko will just either plop down in front of you or sit on your lap, pulling out the hair tie that keeps his hair back and just mumble that he wants you to play with it. How could you resist? Answer: you couldn’t.

His long beautiful curls were like Michael’s but had a bit more of a bounce to them. You would detangle them, he would love it when you scratched his scalp, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch.

Good luck doing anything to his hair because curly hair is very tricky to work with. The curls get caught easily on each other. You think you have it down? Nope. Nice try. Marko’s hair: 1 You: 0

Marko’s hair is the second softest. Again, he takes care of his curls, he takes pride in them and he will never cut it. Maybe trim it to keep it healthy, but nothing more than an inch off. He’ll lose it.

He LOVES playing with your hair though. Anytime the two of you are together, his hands are playing with anything he can get his hands on. He will even take tips from Star on how to take care of your hair. There are some nights that Marko will take Star’s place and try a style that he thinks will look good on you. You know he was happy with his work because he was smiling all night long.

Now David… David’s hair is a no. Don’t touch it in front of the others, don’t even think about it. He’s like Marko. His mullet is a part of him and he doesn’t like people fucking with it. But that’s when he’s around the others. In private, just the two of you, it’s a whole different story.

Even in private though, he’s still a little protective of it. Very rarely will he just let you "play" with it. It’s only if he’s in a really good mood or he’s stressed. If he’s stressed, it’s probably one of the best things you can do for him. He especially likes it when you scratch the lower back of his head, right where it connects with his neck. Don’t ask why, it just feels good.

Another thing that he really likes is when you push back any stray hairs of his. Your fingers would brush against his face, hitting a little bit of his scruff as you pushed back a stray hair behind his ear. If you do that, dear lord, have mercy on your soul because he likes it way too much.

Other than that, you aren’t touching it unless you two are doing some kinky shit, which is the only other time he’ll let you touch it. Just pulling his hair at the base, the same place he likes scratched, and that’s when I wish you all the luck in the world. He isn’t letting you go at all that night.

David really only plays with your hair if he’s thinking about something. He’ll usually be laying with you in your nest, smoking a cigarette in one hand while petting your hair with the other, deep in thought. He doesn’t say anything as he does so and that’s okay. He’s content and so are you.

Also, don’t let anybody else know, but how the hell do you think his hair is platinum blonde, almost white? You are the only one to bleach and dye his hair. He will never live down the teasing from the others if they saw him with the foil in his locks. The only one he would allow to see was Dwayne. Before you came along, he was the one helping.

Apart from that, there are multiple times when a handful of you have braid trains. And that includes Michael, you and Dwayne; in the specific order. Michael learns from both you and Dwayne on how to braid hair.

Occasionally, Marko might join, letting Dwayne braid his hair. You’re a little jealous cause somehow Dwayne has magic fingers and is able to braid Marko’s hair with no problem.

Of course, like David, all of them either like pulling your hair or getting theirs pulled in a certain way. More or less, it’s David, Dwayne, and Marko that prefer pulling yours. Paul and Michael like it when you do it to them and Star… this girl is a wild card, you never know with her.

Either way, playing with their hair or them playing with yours is, in a way, therapeutic for all of you and it brings you all even closer together.

[tennessoui]

18 obikin!! Amnesia fics are super fun 🍆

18. One of them wakes up with amnesia (Option A because two people sent in this prompt number and I liked both ideas I saw for it enough to not want to pick) this involves an Obi-Wan that got deaged as well as lost his memories so he's Phantom Menace Obi-Wan. no i will not be explaining. hand wavey drabble fic writing.

--

The man has not stopped staring, but something in his intense gaze makes Obi-Wan feel safe. Almost. Well. On edge, yes, but. Protected. He has the strange feeling that he’d rather be under this man’s stare than anywhere else in the entire galaxy.

But he knows he’s never seen this man before in his life, the same way that he knows he’s twenty-five and that Qui-Gon Jinn is his Master, that he’s a Jedi knight-in-training, that he hates teas with mint leaves in them, that he’ll never say no to a drink with Quinlan, that--well.

He supposes none of that stuff could be true anymore. Vokra Che, who’s a grown and certified healer master now, had told him what had happened. An older version of himself had touched something he wasn’t supposed to. The closest translation they could find to the runes on the object was that it would transform the user back to their most balanced state. Obi-Wan’s had, apparently, been at the age of twenty-five. He hadn’t recognized the name Anakin Skywalker. He had never been to Naboo.

He throws the rest of his drink back and waves to the bartender to pour him another. He’d gone straight here from the Halls of Healing. He’d had a shadow the entire way, but the man has yet to try to talk to him at all. It’s infuriating.

His Padawan braid swings into his field of vision for a second. He tosses it over his shoulder. He’d been told. Qui-Gon had died. Obi-Wan wants to not think about it at all.

There’s a brush of a Force presence that’s both familiar and completely foreign next to him. The man has finally moved to his side. Obi-Wan’s jaw ticks at his continued reticence, the way he’s observing him but not talking to him. It just simply won’t do, but Obi-Wan isn’t feeling his kindest. He doesn’t want whatever this man is offering him with his silent, dour stares and his suffocating Force signature that keeps trying to tangle itself with Obi-Wan’s own. It’s rude is what it is.

He waves down the bartender and orders a drink for the man. “If you got mint, put it in,” he tells the woman who raises an eyebrow but shrugs, one pair of her arms busy with the drink. When she gives it to him he slides it to the man next to him without even looking at him.

“What--” the man asks. “I don’t--”

“You do tonight,” Obi-Wan says bracingly, throwing back half of his own drink. “We’ve both just lost our Masters, haven’t we?”

The man beside him flinches as if Obi-Wan had skewered him with his lightsaber.

“You are him, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan lolls his head to the side to look at the man threw half-closed eyes. “My padawan.”

“Anakin,” the man says so quietly it’s almost lost to the noise of the bar. “I’m Anakin Skywalker, yeah.”

Obi-Wan takes a drink reflexively, humming in disbelief. “You don’t look like it,” he says consideringly. At Anakin’s confused look, he elaborates. “You don’t look like you could have ever been a Padawan.”

The man pulls himself up, face darkening at the perceived slight. It’s almost too easy to rile him up, but now that he has, Obi-Wan finds he has no interest in fighting this man. Quite the opposite, really. That’s...something. He can’t tell if that emotion comes from him now or the older version of him.

Either way, Obi-Wan has no desire to stand in the way of whatever storm this Anakin is building up in his head, so he turns to face him completely and pushes both hands into his blond hair, raking down the scalp gently before collecting the strands into a poor imitation of the Padawan ponytail. “That’s better, I suppose. The hair threw me off.” He lets go slowly, making sure to tug at one of the strands at the last second.

Anakin has a very strange look on his face, but he’s definitely not angry anymore. He’s even shielding much more tightly now. Obi-Wan smirks into his glass as he takes a sip. He definitely remembers that trick.

“Do you know who cut it?” he asks, catching sight of the end of his braid again. The drinks are going to his head much more quickly than he had intended. Must be all the trauma his body has gone through in the past few days. “My braid.”

“I.” Anakin stutters, caught off guard. “You did.”

Obi-Wan feels like laughing but also a bit like crying. There’s a terrifying emotion rearing its head in his chest. It threatens to swallow him whole. “Well, I suppose I never liked to stand on ceremony.”

“You cut your braid in the fresher and then called me in and braided mine,” Anakin says distantly, as if caught up in the memory. “You wouldn’t let me hold it. I thought you were so mean. But I understood at my Knighting Ceremony. It was a part of me in my hand, a...starmap of all the places I’d been and the things I’d learned during my training. And there was only one person I wanted to give it to in the whole galaxy.”

“Did you?” He asks, taking a sip to hide how important the question is, how devastating the answer could be.

“Well. Yeah. But I guess I don’t know if you kept it,” Anakin cuts his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s and runs his fingers up the long stem of his drink.

Obi-Wan chokes on a laugh. “He definitely did.”

The other man’s face settles into a frown. “You don’t know that. You’re not him.”

“I’m enough of him. I’ve got--some feelings. In my head. Impressions.”

“Of me?”

“Of how he felt about you.”

Anakin’s eyes widen and then narrow with a sudden intensity that makes Obi-Wan want to shiver. It’s like being in the eye of a storm. His hold on the delicate glass in his hand becomes dangerously tight as he leans forward into Obi-Wan’s space, as if he can’t get close enough to him.

“What do you feel when you look at me?” he asks almost breathlessly. Obi-Wan blinks, trying to figure out if he’s being seduced or not. It’s sort of working. It’s all that focus, directly on him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind if that’s how the night ended. But sleeping with his former padawan who he can’t remember right now doesn’t seem like the best decision he could make.

But Anakin had liked it when Obi-Wan tugged at his hair. He’d arched closer to him. And now, the distance between them has been eaten away until they’re almost pressed chest to shoulder.

“Safe,” he decides to say, even though the word feels too small. “Sad,” which is mostly true but also an oversimplification. It’s a sort of nostalgia mixed with sadness, mixed with acceptance and resignation. “Warm,” because even after being denied entry to Obi-Wan’s mind, Anakin’s force presence has curled around Obi-Wan’s like some sort of krayt dragon, content to wait and guard and treasure. He leans forward, just until his mouth brushes against the skin of Anakin’s ear. “Coveted.”

Anakin definitely shifts at that, and when Obi-Wan pulls back enough to see his face, his pupils are blown wide.

Swallowing a grin, Obi-Wan swallows the rest of his drink in one go. “Drink up,” he tells Anakin in his most demanding tone, reaching into his pockets to pull out his older self’s credits to settle the tab. “I want to go.”

Anakin obeys immediately, making a face at the taste.

They’re out in the street within a few minutes, Anakin smacking his lips as if still trying to rid himself of the flavor. “I just don’t know why you had to order me that,” he complains, falling into step on Obi-Wan’s right.

Obi-Wan pauses and leans against the very unsanitary wall of the building, spreading his legs wide enough so that Anakin can come in between them. The man doesn’t seem to notice anything different, just steps a bit closer as a crowd of loud party-goers makes their way past them.

“I wanted to see if I liked mint,” Obi-Wan shrugs, raising his hand to rest on the skin of Anakin’s neck. He can feel the way his pulse is beating incredibly fast.

“Why would my drink help you with--”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. He commends his older self for being able to teach this idiot anything, even though he seems to have skipped over important lessons like Recognizing When You’re Being Flirted With.

Before Anakin can finish the thought, Obi-Wan twists his other hand in Anakin’s robes and pulls him forward until their lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “May I kiss you?” he asks because it’s only polite to.

Anakin’s eyes widen and then fall shut as he gives a little nod, finally stepping forward until their bodies are pressed completely together.

At least someone, although he doubts it was the older Obi-Wan, taught Anakin how to kiss. Obi-Wan’s toes curl in his boots as Anakin takes control of the action, moving his hands so one’s pressing against the wall behind them and one’s running up his scalp. Obi-Wan takes his time licking into Anakin’s mouth, allowing Anakin to explore him in return. One of them moans, which seems like as good a time as any to break the kiss.

“Well?” Anakin pants, diving in to place a short kiss onto Obi-Wan’s lips. “What do you think?”

The short answer is that Obi-Wan isn’t. He noses back towards Anakin’s mouth hopefully, sliding his hand down from his neck to rest on his hip.

“About mint,” Anakin elaborates when Obi-Wan doesn’t respond immediately.

“Inconclusive. Need more data,” Obi-Wan tries to kiss him but Anakin’s smiling too hard.

“Then next time you can get the awful drink, and you can get me the Alderaan Sunset,” Anakin is complaining, but he’s laughing too and that’s nice. Obi-Wan thinks that making Anakin Skywalker laugh is one of the best feelings in the galaxy, and he thinks his older self would agree, if the warmth sparking up in his very soul means anything at all.

[archerdaryl]

I’ll Be Delicate

The reader shows Daryl Dixon that there’s still peace to be found in this world with soft words and delicate fingers.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 2.1k (approximately) Tags: sweet and soft with some humour n gloom, sfw Notes: Anon requested a simple hair braiding fic and I had to be extra and turn it into an entire comfort fic. I’m not sorry. 

@bakedcrispss​ @phoenixblack89​ @btsiguess-kpop​

Lanterns burnt low and the smell of sage and tobacco lingered in the air throughout the small but comfortable basement on the far side of Alexandria. In the middle of the room was a large sofa, plush with semi-clean clothes stacked up on one half while a sleepy Belgian Malinois lay on the other, still and complaisant. 

Daryl Dixon, on the other hand, sat at his makeshift desk by the window. In one hand, a sharp dagger, the other an arrow he had been cutting away at for the past hour. His skin was pink and freckled and his hair damp, freshly showered after a gruelling day outside of the walls that ended in blood and tears. 

Losing someone in the community was never easy. He almost felt he should have been thankful it wasn’t somebody he was particularly close to, but that shit hardly mattered since he and Rick had to go back and let the poor bastard’s wife know he wasn’t coming home. 

He couldn’t bring himself to think about it now that he was back within the safety of Alexandria, not with all he had waiting for him there. He didn’t think he could cope with where his mind would take him, so instead he took to working with his hands — carving and cutting until his mind emptied and he didn’t have to think at all.

Eventually the stairs creaked and Daryl glowered to himself, figuring it would be Carol checking in on him again. He loved her, she was his best friend, but sometimes she just did too much. When the inevitable knock on wood came, he looked up ready to grunt in acknowledgment. Instead, his features softened, his chest heaving with relief.

It was you.

The corners of your mouth quirked into a sweet smile as you stepped through the doorway. He noticed it didn’t reach your eyes and he reached out to you, taking your hand and gently pulling you closer to him where he could wrap a muscular arm around the back of your thighs and look up at you with those crystalline blues. 

You placed your arm around his shoulder, fingers immediately finding their way to the hair at the nape of his neck. You played with it absentmindedly, your sole focus on the man before you, eyes so full of curiosity and care. 

“Now how is it you’re cleaner than I am?” 

Daryl smirked in response and squeezed you lightly. You were certainly grubbier than he was, but he didn’t care one bit considering grubby was his default state. The old shirt you were wearing was torn at your midriff and it took him a moment to realise it was one of his. He pulled at the tear carefully, thankful only to find a graze rather than something worse.

“Yer back early.” He finally acknowledged.

You hummed in response, fingers now tenderly raking through the archer’s hair to reveal more of the gruff face you liked so much. You took in his features, tracing every scar and drawing together every freckle. 

“Mich’ radioed through. Hilltop had one too many people to spare anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but didn’t question it. If Michonne wanted to grant him a little bit of peace after the day they’d had, who was he to say no? Besides, Hell itself would freeze over before he ever turned you away. 

“I like you like this.” You continued, “All soft and warm.”

“Yeah?”

A year or so ago he would have resented being called soft. It was a fighting word, something his idiot brother would use to provoke him into doing something reckless, but when it came from your lips it felt like he was being awarded a Purple Heart. 

Sure, you were talking about his shower fresh skin, but that didn't matter. You reminded him that he had been brave and let you in, that after years of being alone and afraid, he had earned the right to be soft. 

Pulling away from his grip, your hands came to your belt buckle. You unfastened it and slowly shimmied out of the dark blue jeans that were stained with speckles of old Walker blood. That old shirt of Daryl’s you’d been wearing, tucked in at the waist, fell free halfway down your thighs.

“Like a damn dress on you, girl.” 

You shot a playful scowl at him and sauntered towards the couch, moving the pile of clothes to another surface before collapsing onto the cushion with a grunt. Dog perked up and you scratched him behind the ears.

“Not like you to complain.” You sighed. 

Watching you like this, comfortable and free, Daryl felt something building in his chest. It wasn’t panic. Maybe it was fear? He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew he wanted to wrap himself up in you like you were wrapped up in his shirt. Anything to keep you close so he never had to worry about you not coming home.

“Weren’t complainin’.”

It was your turn to reach out to him, coax him over from his attempts of escape. You may have been exhausted, but losing anyone from the community was a nasty reminder of how fragile this life really was. 

Daryl stood and mosied over. Dog was comfortable right where he was next to you, though Daryl wouldn’t try to get rid of him even if he wanted to. You shuffled up a bit, angling yourself against the inner corner before tugging on his forearm — a silent plea to give into you and just be. He spent so much of his time looking out for you, making sure you were okay that it also became a way of making himself feel better. You loved him for it, but you desperately wanted to take care of him too.

He finally sat. It was a start. You kept your fingers on his skin, your thumb caressing it gently and he turned his head to watch your hand at work. His eyes soon drifted to your legs. They were bruised but still strong and inviting. You pulled at him again and he finally met your gaze. 

“I’m right here.” You assured him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

But you could. That was what was tearing him apart.

Daryl eventually nodded and shuffled up, taking your legs and placing them over his lap so that you were practically sitting on him but not quite. He loved the weight of you, loved you dressed in nothing but one of his old band shirts so that he could flex his hand against the warmth of your thighs. You were his anchor, keeping him from spiralling just by being right there in your arms. 

With one arm wrapped around his broad shoulders, you used your free hand to trace the far side of his jaw with your thumb. He leaned into your touch and you sweetly kissed his shoulder before pulling him in closer to you, the hand behind his head now weaving into his hair again.

“Think Dog is getting jealous.”

A soft snort escaped him then, “I’d be jealous too.”

“Don’t need to be. You got me.”

He adjusted his position, allowing himself to lean into you a little bit more. You continued to play with his hair, twirling it between your fingers. The tension in his body slowly began to melt away, evident from the long exhale that drew from his lips. 

“Still don’ know how the fuck tha’ happened.”

And that was the truth. To this day Daryl had no idea what you saw in him. You could tell him to his face -- in fact you had -- and he’d still question it. He’d grown up believing he was no good but even if that were the case then, again, who the fuck was he to deny you? 

“The world works in mysterious ways Daryl Dixon.” A smirk tugged at your lips, “That and I had to make the first move.”

“Shuddup.” He retorted quickly, “Woulda’ done it eventually.”

It was your turn to laugh. Looking back on your journey together, it was honestly miraculous you’d ended up where you were at all. He was oblivious when it came to women and you weren’t exactly someone that was easy to pin down. Your affection for him snuck up on you, but once it hit you it did so with full force and you weren’t going to risk not knowing.

“I almost wish I’d waited now.”

“‘M glad ya’ didn’t.“ He confessed, squeezing your thigh with his calloused hand, “‘M glad you’re here.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple then wiggled, adjusting your position so that you could angle yourself against him comfortably. You could use both of your hands to play with his hair now. He didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t like it, because he did. He liked all of the attention you gave him. 

“So, how would you have done it?”

“Dunno. Don’ matter now.” His brow quirked as he glanced at you, “I kissed ya first. Don’ that count for somethin’?”

Well, there was that. It was one of few times Daryl had truly caught you off guard. You were pissed off about something, wouldn’t stop going on and on at him even though it wasn’t his fault. 

“In my defence, you kissed me to shut me up.”

“Worked didn’ it?”

“Haven’t gotten rid of me since.” 

Delicate fingers had taken a few thin strands of his hair, tucking them one behind the other aimlessly to form a subtle braid as you both reminisced. You sometimes couldn’t believe how long his hair had gotten, but you quite liked it. You never took too much off when he let you cut it. 

“Wouldn’t ever.” He mumbled shyly, “Ain’t gon’ get luckier than this.”

“Not sure I’d call it luck. Been through too damn much for the world not to pay it forward.” You truly believed your words as they spilled from your lips, “We deserve a bit of good. You deserve it.”

Whether he agreed or not, he wasn’t sure how to respond. If it were true, he had already gotten that little bit of good by finding you. He would be perfectly happy if that was all the good he ever got in this new world of blood and rot. He didn’t need anything more. He couldn’t help but wonder if you felt the same. 

You were partially preoccupied, braiding his hair gently piece by piece and savouring the sweet moment between you both. His hand caressed your thigh, traced circles with his fingers while you leaned into each other’s touch. It set your skin aflame, poked coals in the pit in your stomach, but you pushed that feeling down until when or if he pulled you in.

Truthfully, you didn’t think much about the future anymore. You couldn’t afford to. It put you on edge, made you panic and do stupid things. It was easier to live in the moment and appreciate what you had, and waking up to Daryl everyday was more than you ever expected to have when you were first taken in at Alexandria. Hell, you felt lucky to make a few friends after being on your own for so long. 

You sighed happily as you combed out the loose braid with your fingers and began again, taking thicker pieces of clean dark hair. He smelled like your shampoo which tickled you a little, but you didn’t complain. It wasn’t like he was going to seek out his own. Piece by piece, the braid grew and you could feel him relax further, the circles he was drawing on your thigh growing slower. You bet that if you turned to look, his eyes had closed. 

“The hell you doin’ girl?” He finally mumbled. 

He always called you that. The way he said it made it feel like there was supposed to be a my in front of it. Sometimes if you were being especially irritating he’d slip a lil in there as if that was supposed to deter you, but it never did.

“Shhh. Stay still.” The response came with a soft chuckle. 

As you finished another braid, you admired your work with a grin. His eyes flit open as if he knew you were up to something, brows soon furrowing as he looked at you. It wasn’t long until they relaxed, that smile of yours turning him into putty in your hands. 

“Do I wanna know?”

“Do you wanna know I’ve been braiding your hair for the last… however long.” Your words were dry, bordering on teasing, “No, probably not.”

That infamous scowl of his tugged at his grizzly features, though there was no bark to his bite. You cupped his face, gently coaxing it towards you. 

“This suits you.”

He thought you suited him too. 

[punkrockmads]

Found Family

Abby Anderson x F! Reader Mini Series

FINAL CHAPTER

Song Used: Dear One, Mary Lambert

Chapter Fourteen; Dear One

*TWO YEARS OLD*

"I look ridiculous." I groan, adjusting the pale blue dress Kayla had helped me fix up a few weeks ago.

"You look beautiful." Kayla assures, running her hands down the lacy sides to smooth them out. I look at myself in the mirror. I have to admit, the dress is very beautiful. A beautiful ruffled skirt and rose patterned lace sides and metal buttons along the back, all a soft periwinkle color. I even let Kayla put a small braid in my hair on the right side, tucking it as well as the rest of my hair behind my ear. Kayla stands beside me, pulling me into a hug. "This dress really suits you." She says.

"I never thought I'd be getting married." I say with a nervous laugh. "I didn't think weddings were still a thing after the outbreak."

"Yet here you are." Kayla smiles. "You're about to marry the love of your life." I smile, feeling my hands shake.

"I'm nervous. Why am I nervous?!" I laugh. "I shouldn't be nervous!"

"Awww!" Kayla chuckles. "You're just excited! It's adorable!" She fixes her hair, loose strands of red falling out of her ponytail. The pink sundress she wears is the same style as the small white one she found for Evangeline.

"I can't wait to see Abby." I sigh, hugging Kayla. "Thank you for everything. You've planned an amazing wedding, Kayla."

"I'm your best friend!" Kayla smiles. "It's my job!" A knock at the office door pulls our attention toward it. Lev stands there wearing the same suit he wore when Evangeline was born. Kayla fixed it up so it would fit him better, seeing as it was too long in the first place.

"Y/N!" Lev smiles, running up and hugging me. "I'm here to walk you down the aisle!"

"Oh God it's already time?!" I feel my heart race in my chest, reaching into my pocket for the yellow paper I had written my vows on months ago. "Okay okay. Let me just go over these one more time."

"Nope!" Lev links his left arm with my right. "We're going now!" I turn around to look at Kayla. She gives me a warm smile, grabbing a bouquet Evangeline had helped her make.

"I'll see you out there!" Kayla whispers, hugging me tightly before walking out the door and around the corner.

"Lev." I mumble, staring straight ahead as I slowly walk with him out the door. "I'm terrified."

"Don't be." Lev says, squeezing my hand. "Remember, it's about you and Abby. Everyone who's here is here because they love you guys. They support you. You and Abby are the only people that matter right now, so just pretend it's only the two of you in this church."

"You're right." I nod, taking a deep breath. The music gets louder as we walk closer to the doors of the main room. She Keeps Me Warm by Mary Lambert. A song Abby and I have slow danced to a million times. "Thank you, Lev."

"You're welcome." Lev says as we stop right before the doors. "Ready?" I nod again, pushing the doors open and walking in with Lev. The flower petals Evangeline had thrown earlier litter the dark wooden floor. All of our friends and neighbors turn to watch. I can feel their stares, but the only stare that matters to me in this moment is Abby's. Her eyes are locked on mine, a huge smile on her face. I feel myself tear up, seeing how beautiful she looks. She decided to wear a suit that matches Lev's. It fits her perfectly, making her look like as incredible as a marble statue. A tear falls down my cheek as Lev lets go of my arm, standing me right in front of Abby. I take her hands in mine.

"You look beautiful." Abby whispers, tears sparkling in her eyes.

"You should see yourself." I whisper back, laughing quietly.

"Mommy!" A familiar squeaky voice calls from the front row. Evangeline wriggles her way out of the arms of Kayla's little sister, running towards me as the crowd laughs. I bend down and open my arms for her as she runs into them. I lift her up, holding her close as Abby and I pepper her face with kisses. "Can I stay?" Evangeline asks, wanting to stay close by her moms.

"Yes you can." I nod, smiling as I set her down by my feet. She sits cross legged beside me, watching as Abby and I listen to Kayla's mother, Eileen, speak a bit about the two of us. I can't tear my eyes away from Abby's, feeling so safe and at home here with her. The whole world seems to disappear when I look at her. I don't even notice Eileen say it's time for vows until Abby lets go of my hands, pulling a piece of notebook paper out of her pocket.

"Okay." Abby sighs, her hands shaking. "Y/N..." She looks at me with so much love and joy. "When we first met, you were floating down a river trying to figure out how the hell you were going to survive. And when I saved you, you threatened me. Even though you had no weapons and you looked like a half-dead drowned rat." Abby and I laugh at the memory. "That's when I realized 'Oh fuck, I'm falling in love!' Then you trusted me, you came home with me and let me give you safety and food and comfort. It kinda felt like bring a wild animal into my home for the first time."

Abby's chuckle is cut off by a sniffle. "When you woke up screaming one night after a nightmare and asked me to stay with you, I knew I wanted to protect you and do anything I possibly could to make you happy and give you the life you deserve just like you've done for me. You've been through so much and you're still the strongest woman I've ever known. You gave me your heart. You've shown me a love I never thought I deserved until I met you. Fuck, you even gave me my own family! I wanna spend the rest of my life loving you and treasuring every single moment I have with you and our family. I love you so much." Abby wipes her tears away as I reach into my pocket for my vows.

I wipe my own tears away as I look at my writing. "Well." I pause, chuckling a bit. "I mean how the hell am I gonna top that?" The guests and Abby laugh at me as I take a deep breath. "I'm not great with words or romance... or people, really. But, when I met you, I felt this comfort and love I had never felt before and it made me want to try to love people again. When I told you about my past, you didn't judge me. You supported me every step of the way and stepped in to raise Evangeline as our baby. You are my angel. You are my savior. I..." I sniffle, wiping away more tears. "I should probably get to the vows before I start sobbing." I laugh. "Abby and I fell in love with Mary Lambert's music after I forced her to listen to it with me and... one of her songs has always stuck with me and made me think of her. So... Abby, I'm gonna use it as my vows to you, if that's okay." Abby laughs quietly, nodding and urging me to continue.

I take a deep breath. "Where did you come from, bright star? What heaven did you leap from, dear love? How can I say your name without the sound of Autumn underneath my tongue? Without acknowledging the lovers who bent me in half? Bless them for bringing me to you. How can I say your name without also breathing the words 'My God, I found you!'" I pause, taking a deep breath as I feel tears pour down my cheeks. "How can I ever speak again with this mouth when it has found where it belongs? When you touch me, I am a bed of calla lillies. I will make a house for you and fill it with evergreens. I will paint sunsets on every wall so you can only see beautiful things." Abby watches me, sobbing quietly as her smile grows even bigger.

"How can I say 'love' without wanting to fold myself into you like a thousand paper cranes. Dear one, I was halved the moment I was born. The other piece of me is inside of your mouth. And I was found whole the moment you spoke." Every single eye in the room is teary, Abby full on sobbing as I pull her in for a tight hug. She hugs back, whispering 'I love you' over and over into my hair as she holds me in her arms.

"That was absolutely beautiful." Eileen says to us, wiping a few of her own tears away. "Now. If there are no objections, let's continue. Abigail, do you take Y/N to be your wife, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

Abby pulls away, locking eyes with me as she squeezes my hands. "I do." She nods, smiling at me. Her eyes shimmer, full of pure love.

"And Y/N..." Eileen pauses. "Do you take Abigail to be your wife, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

"Damn right, I do!" I grin, squeezing Abby's hands as I nod at her.

"By the power vested in me. I now pronounce you, Mrs. And Mrs. Anderson. You may kiss." I waste no time grabbing Abby by her shirt collar and pulling her in for a long, passionate kiss. She immediately kisses back, her arms wrapping around me as the guests cheer. We pull away once our lungs are screaming for air, pressing our foreheads together.

"Holy shit." I whisper, chuckling with Abby as I look into her beautiful hazel eyes.

"Holy shit." Abby repeats, laughing harder. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too." I reply, kissing her once more. We pull away in surprise when Lev yells.

"Party time!!" Lev cheers, waving his hands in the air. He runs towards us, wrapping his arms around both of us as I pick up a giggling Evangeline. Kayla follows close behind.

"Group hug!!" Kayla yells, squeezing us. I wrap an arm around Abby, resting my forehead against hers once more.

"I love you guys so much." I smile, finding comfort in the arms of my loved ones. Abby gently puts a hand on the back of my neck, gently guiding me up for one more kiss. I let my eyes fall shut.

"We finally made that last name official." Abby smiles against my lips once we pull away.

"Yeah." I hum. "We finally did."

END

[rodeo-boots]

Hi there! Im not sure if I've requested from you before have I?

So I was wondering if I could have a one-shot Sadie/F!ChubbyReader? Something sweet that gets steamy.

I was thinking that it could be the readers having a rough time because she thinks she's unworthy of love and the fact that she's into women makes it even harder.

Take your time, no need to rush~

Feel free to message me if you cant/won't do this I understand Xx

You hadn't requested from me before, btw. BUT I really loved writing this one for you! I hope it's what you've been looking for <3 (I also hope there are no more errors left, I only proofread this once)

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2679

Warnings: NSFW, Low Self-Esteem Reader (Body-Image issues)

AO3

––––––––––––––––––––––

It was one of the rare occasions when camp was quiet, most gang-members fast asleep as darkness spread over Clemens Point.

You had missed the silence, already used to the rambunctious songs, to the laughter and chatter of the others. Even if those good times never were to last.

These days, it was hard to achieve happiness, to feel even remotely safe, your travels East having shaken the entire group to the core.

And sometimes, you wished you had stayed in the West, had bought land and settled down like you've planned, even if that might not have changed a thing.

When it was quiet, like now, your mind often wandered, drifted along with the sounds of rippling water.

It was nice here, better than it had been up at Colter, but you still felt out of place. And no amount of fresh air or crisp water could change that.

With a sigh, you leaned further against the log behind you, your arms crossed in front of your chest where you sat.

At least in the darkness, no one had to stare at you. Had to see you.

You could just be, with no obligations to be appealing to anyone at all.

Never before had Dutch sent you out to distract any targets, to use your good looks on unsuspecting fools like the other women at camp often did. Because you had none. Or so you told yourself.

Of course it was harsh, of course you had other things to offer. But with a couple pounds too many, with chub around your cheeks and your hips, you didn't feel as attractive as you wished you would be.

You envied Abigail, Mary-Beth, Karen, Tilly... if not for their appearance then for their confidence. And Sadie? Sometimes you wished you could walk a day in her shoes, that you could stop caring about what other people thought and put on some pants.

Though you feared you'd only get stared at more like that.

Time went by without you noticing. Maybe you've nodded off somewhere down the line, the sight of the water gleaming beneath the moonlight oddly tranquil and soothing to you.

Your thoughts continued to roam, continued to shift and flow like the water in front of you.

Occasionally, you'd see a fish jump out of the lake, would hear a nocturnal bird taking flight within the nearby trees. And you yearned to be free like them; free of judgment, of society's standards, and your own low self-esteem.

You wondered if they perceived beauty like humans did, if they stared down at the two-legged, wingless creatures, saw long and flowing hair idly whipping in the breeze, or a freckled face and bright eyes and fell in love.

It would be a loss if they didn't, if they were unable to see what you did – and you decided that maybe, being a human might not be all that bad.

Sure, all you could do was behold the beauty around you. You knew you would never get a chance of something more; knew you couldn't compliment the way Sadie's yellow blouse flattered her figure and receive more than a simple "thank you".

It had always been like that – you, finding beauty in another woman, finding beauty in her voice, the sparkle in her eyes and the way she strutted and sauntered along the way. You knew you couldn't change that, knew that you would never be 'normal', but hell, you didn't want to be. If there even was such a thing as normal.

In the past, and even up to the current day, you've struggled with it. With your sexuality.

You had come to terms with it, of course, but you knew that you only stood out more with your chosen way of life. If your body wasn't enough to keep people away, your orientation might just be, and it worried you, what the others might think should you ever come out to them.

It hadn't been your intention to grow upset, your brain doing it to yourself no matter what you tried to do about it.

So you sat and stared out onto the lake, gaze blank as you simply beheld the beauty all around. Watching, and doing nothing, as always.

The sound of boots upon sand drew you out of your thoughts, your head turning to see a familiar figure approaching.

She was tall, slim, her hair braided beneath her hat. A few strands hung loose, though that only held it's special charm.

"What're you doin' out here?" Sadie asked, sitting down on the fallen tree behind you. She kept a bit of a polite distance, crossing her legs as her elbows rested upon her propped up knee.

You swallowed softly, looked back ahead and out onto the wide lake. "Just thinking," you explained, unable to come up with anything else that might explain you being restless and awake at this time of day.

The other woman hummed, her own gaze trailing over the water in front of her.

It appeared black in the dark of night, only little light reflexes showing the movement of the soft waves.

"Did someone say somethin' again?"

Her sudden words brought you back to reality, the silence between you having stretched for a couple minutes before. It wasn't rare that the less pleasant people at camp upset you over your insecurities, pointed out facets of yourself that didn't need to be addressed.

You shook your head, anyhow. Today, that hadn't been the case. Besides, you never knew Sadie paid any attention to the treatment you received. "It's me," you mumbled after a moment of consideration. "Me who made me feel like crap."

And while you huffed at the words you spoke, they were genuine. Oftentimes, it was you who made your life harder than it had to be.

Sadie pushed herself off the log, plopped down into the slightly moist sand by your side. You watched her from the corners of your eyes, unsure what she was intending to do.

But she didn't do anything, merely sat with you and stared out into the water, thinking about what you had said before.

"I did that a lot," she eventually spoke up, turning to face you. "Guess it ain't the same, but I– sat and thought a lot, too. That never seemed to help." She chuckled, but the sound was rather mirthless, her tone more serious than anything.

You had seen her in the past, had seen her sitting outside of camp, far from anyone else. She's had a broken heart to nurse, had a terrible loss to get over, and in the end she had come out stronger than ever.

"You don't gotta tell me, if you don't want. Maybe it'd make you feel better, though."

Inhaling, you thought about her words, wondered if you would even be able to put your innermost thoughts and feelings into words.

Never before had someone asked you to share them, no one ever having as much of an interest in you as that.

"It's nothing," you tried to deflect, tried to invalidate your troubles in order to not burden Sadie with them here and now.

The woman snorted, however, raised a brow as she looked at you. "Don't look like nothin' to me," she pointed out, not impolitely.

"How about this–" she sat up, her back against the log as she gestured for you to come closer, to lean back against her chest.

For a moment you could only stare in disbelief, though you took the chance now that it was offered to you. It had been a while since you've last been physically close to anyone, after all.

"Comfortable?" Sadie asked. You gave her a nod, your heart racing in your chest and beating within your ears.

Holy Shit. That hadn't been how you'd imagined this night would go.

Sadie wrapped her arms around you loosely, rested her chin atop your head. She seemed content herself, seemed like she had wanted to do that for a long while. The thought made your heart skip a beat.

"I know you think you're worse than you are," Sadie spoke up again, keeping her voice low while speaking to you. It was oddly soothing, her usual rough tone sounding more than just pleasant to your ears. "But you ain't bad. Truth be told, I admire you."

That made you pause, your breath catching in the back of your throat. "Me? For what?"

She chuckled kindly, brushing through your hair to tuck a few strands behind your ear. "For knowin' who you are, and what you want. For stayin' true to yourself no matter what anyone says."

Yet again, you hadn't expected her to be all that perceptive, hadn't expected her to know much about you at all. For as long as you've known her, your conversations had been brief, cut short by your occasional shyness and nervosity. Sadie seemed to have read you better than you ever could've thought.

"I..." you weren't sure what to say, or if you should say anything at all. The woman's arms around you were soothing, almost soporific, though the warmth pooling within you made it hard to consider dozing off.

"I always wanted t'know more about you," Sadie continued, nuzzling the top of your head, her lips brushing over your strands of hair. "Wanted to know more 'bout the beautiful woman who's stolen my heart."

You were sure this had to be a dream, that you had passed out after all and your mind was playing tricks on you by now.

But Sadie felt as real as could be, her hot breath in the nape of your neck, her arms around your waist, thighs left and right of your hips. Whatever you had thought of before, all your insecurities and doubts, it all seemed far away by now.

"Me– Me, too," you brought out, confessing to your feelings without directly doing so. Sadie was more bold and confident than you were, was more brave and straight-forward in your eyes. And just like she had said before, you admired her just as well. But most importantly, you were sure you loved her.

Feeling enlivened by her words, empowered by the warmth swelling within your heart, you turned around, straddled her lap and properly looked her in the face. "I think I love you," you properly confessed, cupping her freckled cheeks like you've wished to do for so long already.

She smiled up at you, keeping her hands on your waist for now as she leaned in, and captured your lips with her own.

The kiss didn't last as long as you've wanted it to, but upon pulling away, Sadie spoke up again; "I know I love you." Her smile grew, your forehead resting on hers when you returned the gesture.

Once your lips had met the first time, you couldn't stop yourself from going in for a second kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut, fingertips gliding along Sadie's sides and down to the hem of her shirt. Now that you knew of her feelings towards you, and were fully certain as those within yourself, you only wanted more.

She reacted in kind, teased your tongue with hers when her lips parted ever so slightly, a moan slipping into the kiss. You weren't sure if it had come from you or her, but that didn't matter much, not when your hands soon met bare skin, fingers gripping her sides while her own ran along your thighs.

"You wanna do this right here?" She asked, leaning back a little to capture your stare.

Slightly out of breath, you nodded. Hell, you didn't care where you'd do this, as long as you could feel her skin on yours.

Without missing a beat, Sadie worked on helping you out of your dress, glancing back, only to make sure camp was as quiet as it had been before.

Even if a few drunkards were still milling about, you couldn't care less, your fingers working on her buttons to relieve her off her top layer, before climbing off her lap to get her pants off her hips.

Naked, you laid back in the sand, invited her to follow you only for her lips to meet yours again. She placed her hat on top of your head, gave you a small smirk as her lips wandered lower, over your collarbone and down to your chest.

Moving boldly, her mouth latched onto one nipple right away, one hand kneading the other breast while she suckled and licked your sensitive bud.

Your breath hitched, spine curving to get closer to her heavenly mouth, your head already swimming without her having done too much just yet.

Soon enough, she had stimulated your other nipple to full hardness as well, laying down on her side next to you, and pulling you in for another kiss. "Let's keep this quiet," she muttered, her fingeres wandering once again until they reached your sex, a hum leaving her lips when she discovered the hot wetness there.

She caressed your folds, encouraged you to hitch one leg up and around her hip while coating her fingers within your slick. Slowly, her fingers circled your clit, made your hips jerk sporadically and your muscles tense here and there.

"Can I?" You had only pulled away from the kiss for a second, glancing at her while your fingers slid down her flat stomach.

"Be my guest," she grumbled, trailing lovebites along your collarbone and up to your shoulder, the small motions of her fingers on your clit steadily driving you insane.

To offer her the same kind of pleasure, your hand soon found the spot between her legs, met with an equal wetness as that between your own. You groaned, teasingly gliding your fingers through her folds before your thumb focused solely on her nub.

She gasped, almost sounding surprised, like she hadn't been touched there in a while, though that only spurred you on more. You wanted her to feel as good as possible, pulling away after another few moments only to propose another idea.

"I wanna taste you," you muttered, fingers disappearing from her soaked cunt as you laid back. Seemingly catching on right away, Sadie climbed on top, straddling your face while hers was right in front of your own crotch.

With the new position, you dove in without a moment's hesitation, held onto her hips and pulled her close as your tongue licked through her folds and up to her nub.

She moaned out, had to have bitten down on her lip to keep more sounds from surfacing before she leaned down herself, and focused on your clit right away.

Besides the sounds of your actions, the occasional slurping, squelching and your labored breaths, it was still mostly quiet, the area belonging solely to you in this moment.

You rolled your hips upwards, chased more of the heavenly feeling of her mouth on you as you felt yourself getting close.

Clearly, Sadie wasn't all that far, either, her abdominal muscles flexing while her thighs tried to squeeze your head, the motions of her tongue growing more desperate the closer she got to her climax.

It was over much too quickly, had been too long for you to hold back at all, your body tensing for a moment before releasing in a rush of endorphins that was better than anything you've had before.

You pulled back for air, slipped two fingers into Sadie's tight cunt to grant her a satisfying release as well, and watched, when she shook and trembled through her very own orgasm.

She rolled off of you after a moment, cursing under her breath as she did so.

It wasn't long before she crawled back up to you, however, before her lips met yours and you could taste yourselves upon each other's tongue.

"You fancy a midnight swim?" She asked when she pulled away, sitting back on her knees and helping you up when you agreed.

[sweeethinny]

Hi, Sweet! Ooh, thank you so much for sending me a prompt, I'm working on it! If you could please write "Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again" for any ship, my only request is that it's in some kind of AU. I love your AUs!

Sorry for the delay Mah, hope you like this Jily Muggle AU <3

Ps: for those who don't know, Valentine's Day is celebrated on the 12th of June in Brazil, and in June we have what we call the 'June Party', where it's time to exalt Brazilian folklore, and - for those who are Catholics - is the month of June Saints, the saints who baptized Jesus.

This month, there are parties where people go dressed as hillbillies, there is a lot of food, depending on the party, drinks, a lot of dancing, and it is for many the best time of year.

Couples tend to go matching, always wearing plaid clothes, with lace, ruffles and patches, and usually women braid their hair, paint their cheeks pink and men - for those who don't - paint a fake beard on their faces. They also wear a straw hat, and everything is very colorful.

A typical outfit for you, you understand more or less how it is <3 - HERE and HERE

I hope you all like it, I always like to insert a little of my culture in the fanfics <3

read bellow the cut <3

"Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again" He said, kneeling in front of her.

"Unfortunately," she said, but there was a smile on her face, a smile that James thought was adorable, and it matched her sun-rosy cheeks and the flaming strands of hair that fell over her face.

“I'll pretend to believe you.” He smiled, grimacing when she threw up again, what now felt like just water. "I'll never let you drink again."

"I never want to drink again," Lily laid her head on the toilet seat, her eyes almost closed and stared at James as if she was unable to focus her vision but was trying. The noise from the backyard party was still loud, but inside, the two of them on the bathroom floor, the silence was comforting.

"Famous last words." He shrugged, wanting to laugh but feeling sorry for her, who looked like she wanted to throw up some more. "Evans, you better pull yourself together, or I'll have to take you to the hospital, and I think it's the last place you want to go." James raised his eyebrows, wanting her to remember exactly where they were.

The idea at first was good; a weekend among friends at James' grandparents' farm, abusing every last drop of trust his parents had in him and Sirius. They promised they'd take care of the house, and it was going to be quiet, but now, when he looks out the window and sees Remus jumping off the roof into the pool, and Peter upside down trying to drink beer, he thinks things have lost a bit the control.

As long as nobody ended up in the hospital and nothing was broken, everything was perfect.

The nearest hospital was over two hours away, and none of them had the ability to drive for so long on a dirt road that it took a lot of concentration not to end up with a mired or overturned car.

"I'll be fine." She settled on the floor, leaning her back against the cool wall behind her and closing her eyes. It took James a lot of concentration to keep his eyes off her perfectly sculpted breasts, gorgeous in that black bikini. Her tanned skin made it difficult.

"Can you get up?" James asked, no longer able to stand being in such a small space with Lily so close to him, even though she had been vomiting less than a minute ago. She nodded and accepted his hand when he reached out.

James helped her wash her face and the back of her neck, trying not to think too much about how hot her skin was and how the scent of sunscreen and Lily blended together perfectly.

"Are you better, Evans?" Sirius appeared just as they walked out of the bathroom, cheeks rosy from the sun and alcohol, hair pulled back in a bun and bathing trunks falling over his hips. He had a smirk on his face, which James thought was the drinking's fault, but when Hestia walked out of the room Sirius had just left, her hair messier than before and her bikini smoothing, James understood what was happened. ‘Or do we need to call for help for you?'

"I'm great, Black." Lily tossed her hair back, as if she wanted to prove her point to him. “Dressing problems, Hess?” The girl was almost to the back door, ready to go unnoticed, but she stopped as soon as she heard her name.

Her cheeks caught fire, but her smile didn't waver.

"Yes, the knot was too tight." Hestia shrugged, pointing to the knot in her tanned back. "Sirius was helping me." James chuckled, noticing when Sirius nodded, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"I'm sure he helped." Lily looked at Sirius, then at Hestia, finally walking towards the door, her ass looking like the hottest thing in the world.

"Careful not to drool, Prongs." Sirius slapped the back of his head, looking like he wanted to wake him up from the perverted dream he was having, his drunken brain imagining everything he could do if Lily stopped looking at him just as a friend.

“You're imagining things, you idiot.” He defended himself, following the three of them outside.

The day was sunny, and even with a little wind, there was a mass of hot air that made them sweaty even when they were standing still. Everyone was sporting a tan/redness from their carelessness, and tomorrow probably wouldn't be so kind to them, but James knew that no one here was caring about tomorrow and the possible side effects of spending too much time in the sun.

It was Sirius who had come up with the idea, after looking tired of hearing complaints from Peter and Hestia about how hot it was and how they wanted to go swimming somewhere. James had blamed him for just organizing this because it was a reason for him to see Hestia in bikinis, because this wasn't the first summer Peter had complained about the heat, but it was the first that the girls had joined their group.

They had met in college, Lily was in the lab with Peter, and Marlene was in the same class as James, and when Remus asked Hestia to have lunch with them, somehow they had all become friends.

It was a unlikely group, James admitted that, but having Marlene, Lily and Hestia around always seemed to make their group much more alive and complete somehow, even though James had never thought they needed more members.

As he sat down on the lounge chair next to Lily, James wondered what she would do if he tried to flirt with her; would she repay or would she push him away and their group would break up? He'd seen how a little shocked she looked when he'd taken off his shirt, but maybe it was the tattoos that had caused it to her.

"I always thought you were too much of a mama's boy for that," she'd said, pointing to his chest, where a constellation was drawn.

Maybe that was just the shock, but James liked to think there was something else, and before she wanted to throw up her guts, he was thinking that Lily was returning the flirting start they were having, sitting by the pool while James gave her his seductive smile.

"Feeling better?" James looked over at her, lying on the lounger with her sunglasses on and her belly white with sunscreen.

"Yes now." Lily sighed. "Sorry I made you see me in that situation."

"Nothing." James shrugged. "I've gotten a lot worse, don't worry…" He took a deep breath, gathering his chest boldly and thanking that his mind was a little clouded by the beer. "Lily, are you going with anyone to Liz's party?"

Liz was a girl who studied with James, they were classmates in the Philosophy class, she was a Brazilian exchange student, and had said that she would have a party to celebrate Valentine's Day on the same date that was celebrated in Brazil, and that it was a party with the themed 'june party', which implied that they dressed in checkered clothes, or round and lace-filled dresses. She had also said that they should go as couples, but for singles, there would be something like a kissing chain or something, James hadn't quite understood.

From the photos she had shown, it looked interesting, and any opportunity to ask Lily out, James was taking it.

"I hadn't thought to go, until now." She turned her head toward him, and James cursed her sunglasses, preventing him from seeing those beautiful green eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date?

"Could be if you want," He smiled, hoping it was seductive enough.

"Are you asking me on a date after you saw me throw up?" This time Lily lifted her glasses, and her green eyes glared at him, her eyebrow raised and an adorable little smile on her lips.

"I said I've been worse." James bit his cheek, a little anxiously. 'Then? Do you want to be my partner? I can wear a dress if you like, I look really cute in lace.” He winked, just to make her laugh—and she did.

"I want," Lily put her glasses back on, and lay back down. 'Just because I want to see you wearing lace and ruffles… I promise to be a good gentleman and court you.' It was he who laughed now, thinking it was alcohol that made him feel silly like that, laughing at anything she said and with all those butterflies in the stomach.

"Fine, can't wait." He grinned from ear to ear, he would probably have his face torn open if he continued like this, but he was too happy to care.

He was going on a date with Lily Evans.