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five-rivers · 3 years

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Three Twilights

Can be considered a loose sequel to Deep Sea Diver (same vibes).

Warnings: Soft body horror, Danny totally ignoring objectively horrifying things

“I was thinking,” started Maddie over breakfast, “we could start observations of that island that came into view last week, the blue one.”

Danny shook his head. “You’ll have to use the Speeder, then,” he said. “I’ve got an errand to run.”

There was a pause as both of Danny’s parents looked at him, confused. He didn’t blame them. Danny rarely went out as a human anymore, and certainly not for anything like errands. Looking like he was still fourteen after all this time made doing anything even remotely official difficult.

But this wasn’t a human errand. “Yeah,” said Danny. “In the Ghost Zone. I’ve got to go to Three Twilights.”

“Where?” asked Jack.

“It’s, um, a city,” said Danny. “Well, three cities, I suppose, depending on how you want to group them. One Realm. On the shores of the Celestial Sea. I’m sure I’ve put it in your files.” Probably a direct copy from his files from before he came clean to them, but still. He stirred his cereal counterclockwise, letting his ice powers chill the milk.

“Yes,” said Maddie, “but there are a lot of places in there. I’m not sure we’ve had a chance to properly look at them all, much less memorize them.”

“Okay, yeah,” said Danny. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What kind of errand are you running, Danno?”

“I’m picking something up for a friend. A book,” he clarified. “They lent it to someone there, but they need it back.”

“A book,” said Maddie. “For the Library of Tongues?”

“No, they’ve got a contract service for overdue loans.”

“Contract service?” asked Jack.

“Yeah. Moonlighting bounty hunters mostly.”

“For a library?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Danny, shrugging. “They’re really serious about their work.”

“If it isn’t for them, who is it for?” asked Maddie. “The princess? Wulf?” Wulf had actually been over a few times, and his parents had… Well, saying they got along would be an overstatement, they didn’t really have anything in common beyond ripping portals in the fabric of the universe, but everyone had been civil. “The boy at the school?”

“No,” said Danny. “Wulf would just get it himself.”

“Who, then?” pressed Maddie.

Danny put a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, delaying. Maddie hadn’t eaten anything since Danny had mentioned the errand. The errand was, in fact, for Clockwork. Danny was always more than happy to do anything for Clockwork. The older ghost had saved him too many times for him to be otherwise. But Jack and Maddie were wary of Clockwork. Danny didn’t get it, but talking about it hadn’t been productive so far.

He didn’t want to lie to his parents. Not ever again.

“It’s for Clockwork,” he said.

Ah, yes, there were those suspicious looks. The ones Danny could have interpreted even without being able to almost literally taste emotions.

“I see,” said Maddie.

“Anyway,” said Danny, quickly, “if I haven’t shown you Three Twilights yet, it’s really cool. I don’t want to take the full rig, but maybe the little ectocam would be okay? The one that I can clip on.”

“Why not the normal camera with an ectofilter?” asked Jack. “That has more features, and it’s easier for us to get data from.”

“Three Twilights. It’s dark there,” said Danny. “It might work in Civila, but not so much in Naŭtika and Astronomia, and I sort of want to go down to the beach and see if I can find any star pearls, and that’s really dark, so if you want to see anything properly, it’ll have to be the sonar setup, which I’m not doing, the noises that thing makes are offensive, or the ectocam.”

“And the Fenton Phones?” asked Maddie.

“Sure,” said Danny. “But I always bring those.”

“Yes,” said Maddie, after a moment. “You do.”

“Great. It’s settled, then.”

Most of the journey to Three Twilights could be made by air. Or, rather, what passed for air in the Infinite Realms. But when the rocky edge of an island came into view, Danny touched down. Further in was a blue wood, and Danny walked under its inviting branches.

The atmosphere started sunny, summery. The leaves and needles of the trees were the color of a clear blue sky. But as he got deeper, the leaves were touched with sunset colors: golds, reds, oranges, purples, and pinks. They fell to the ground, crunching beneath Danny’s feet. The sunset grew longer, deeper. The leaves on the trees grew sparser, revealing patches of sky.

By the time only bare branches framed the sky, it was a dusky, dim, purple. A few lonely stars twinkled in the sky.

He passed out of the forest. The city of Civila rose above him. Windows glowed in the near dark like eyes.

Danny had changed, too. His aura had dimmed. The whites of his suit were now dark gray, and patterns swirled on its surface like camouflage, like wind-twisted clouds, like nebulae.

Shadows bled around the corners of the city buildings like ink in water. Will-o-the-wisps bobbed, casting pools of illumination in lieu of streetlamps. Ghosts walked up and down the streets, or floated only a few meters up.

The buildings glittered. Everything was dark, vibrant, colors. A sharp, sweet scent filled the air, something dark and rich beneath it.

The canals in the center of the street were filled with flashing fish. Or perhaps serpents. Or perhaps worms. Between how fast they moved and the dimness of the light, it was difficult to tell.

Danny could feel his irises contracting, shrinking down to needle-thin rings. His teeth were sharp. He matched the other ghosts around him. This was how the Civila liked it, how things were in this part of Three Twilights.

Everything in order. Everything peaceful. Everything civil.

Danny walked through the market square, and bought some charcoal-colored cherry pastries from a vendor who looked like someone’s nightmare demon with a chip of ghost ice.

Much to his parents’ protests. They didn’t care for him eating ghost food.

There were seven bridges to Naŭtika, which was built half underwater and half on boats that floated both on the water and in the air. As the dark waters of the inlet lapped at his feet, Danny felt the changes ripple across his skin. To a human, he would look pure black, except for the faintest glimmer of rim lighting and the stars of his eyes. He and the other ghosts moved silently, cutting through the waters like shadows.

To Danny’s ghostly senses, the place was alive with emotion and force, energy loud and crackling against his senses.

“We’re solely on the ectocam, now,” said Maddie. “You were right about that.”

“Mhm,” said Danny, half distracted by a whispered sea-shanty backed by a choir of not-voices and not-sound that wove together with the mastery of a hundred years of practice.

He glided up a rope net, and began to navigate the ropes to the taller ships. The very tallest, the ones that scraped the ever-darkening sky and blotted out uneven sections of stars, moored the glass-like ships that floated above. He’d need to reach them, to get to Astronomia.

“What’s that?” asked Maddie, breaking his concentration on his path.

“What’s what?” asked Danny, whisper soft, drawing some looks. He turned, slowly, on the spot, planks barely creaking under his steps. A gentle wind ruffled his hair.

“There,” said Maddie. “By the ghost that’s registering red.”

It had taken Danny a long time to learn what color on the ectocam’s artificial sensor signified what, but he had, if only to reduce the guessing when they played this game.

“Star pearls,” said Danny, eyeing the ropes of stone that glimmered brighter than his eyes currently did. They were one of the only reliable forms of light, out on the Celestial Sea, although they were valued for other things, too.

“They’re putting out a massive amount of energy,” said Maddie.

“You mentioned them before,” said Jack. “You wanted to look for some?”

“On the shore,” said Danny. “Out past Astronomia.” He wanted to find his own, rather than buy them.

Partially because they were expensive. He didn’t really want to think about how much unmelting ice he’d have to conjure up to equal one of them. They were usually bartered in exchange for… more significant things.

The ghost by the pearls beckoned him closer, clearly hoping to make a sale. Danny shook his head, broadcasting regret and admiration for his wares. Speech might be faster but, under these circumstances, it would not be polite.

When Danny left, the social rules of Three Twilights would only leave the faintest impression on his mind. But, for now, they were a heavy, but not uncomfortable weight. One he could shrug off if necessary, but which was currently useful.

“What are they?” asked Maddie, as Danny turned away.

“They happen when big enough things fall into stars,” said Danny. “They’re all the memories of what they used to be… and the imagination of what they could become, when the star dies. Well, that’s what they’re supposed to be. I don’t think anyone really knows for sure.”

“And you can just… find these? Lying around?”

“Not… not really,” said Danny, slowly drifting towards a crow’s nest. “It’s like that one national park. That one where you can collect diamonds? You never really find anything good, but you can look.”

“I see,” said Maddie. “So, you don’t expect to find one?”

“Yes and no,” said Danny. “If I don’t expect to find one, I probably won’t. Unless the sea is feeling ironic, which it usually is, apparently. I mean, it’s an ocean and the stars. And prophecy is, like, ninety percent irony, but mostly for an outside observer. Which honestly makes sense, I think. An observer, not an Observant. Those are different things.”

The kind of silence on the other side of the line was the one that emerged when Danny used too much ghost logic.

“Anyway,” he continued as he scaled the crow’s nest and started traversing the glass ropes and chains to the all-but-invisible glass ships, “no, I don’t really expect to.”

The path to Astronomia was a staircase carved from moonstone harvested in October, when the moon was full and orange-red. It burned Danny’s eyes to look at and feet to walk upon. Like many ghosts who fixated on things like astronomy, he adapted quickly and thoroughly to the spiritual dark.

This darkest twilight was built of delicate bubbles, whorls, and arches of glass, any of which could cradle a ghost, all of which could be phased through with impunity. There were no true roads here, but certain places were easier to travel through. Addresses were carved in the glass in glimmering, holographic sigils made from glass-caught starlight that humans would never be able to read, but Danny could understand with a glance. It was not silent in Astronomia, the high wind sung through the glass like the immense instrument it was, playing ethereal and eternal music that mirrored heaven.

As always, Danny was enraptured. Perhaps the stars here were not true stars, only their memory and imagination (or simulacra made from stripped ghost cores, he remembered with a shudder), but he felt so close here.

“Danny? Are you still with us?”

Danny started to reply, but realized he had forgotten, once again, that he had no mouth here.

A phantabulist played a story for a group of not-quite-children, characters made of carefully constructed light chasing each other about with vigour. Danny stopped for a while to watch the story, a parable about spiders and fish. They were common here, storytellers who plied their craft this way. The stories could be pressed into glass prisms and orbs that served as books and viewed even in other environs of the Ghost Zone.

He moved on, passing through a glass bubble full of ghosts that snatched at and stroked him as he passed by, leaving stars and dark clouds to swirl across his skin. His suit had long since smoothed over and sunk in. His skin was a thin surface, a membrane holding in liquid night. He was like smoke, like vapour, thin and easily overlooked.

The places he passed were homes, places of business, warehouses, and hotels, organized without any apparent reason. A phantabularium glowed like a struck match, snatches of story visible inside its walls. He walked by.

Eventually, he reached the palace at the city center.

The ghost who lived there was old. Older, perhaps, than Pandora. She filled the vessels of her palace in placid pools connected by crystalized threads and looping tubes. Seven round-bottom flasks, radiating outward, like the spheres of heaven. The music here was almost deafening.

This was Urania, Muse of Astronomy. Astronomia was her city, and subordinate to her will before all else.

Danny resisted the urge to kneel. He was not here as a supplicant, and they both knew it.

The lowest pool bubbled, and slowly a glass prism, a dodecahedron, floated to the top. Danny took it with careful hands and left Urania’s direct presence as quickly as possible.

Being near her was always difficult. She was the Muse of Astronomy, and she felt he did not indulge his second Obsession as much as was proper.

Indeed, she thought it should be his first.

(The starlight inside him pulsed. He was never sure how much influence Urania could exert on him when he visited Three Twilights, never sure how much the relationship between his passions shifted when he was here. He loved it here too much to stay away forever.)

Astronomia did not end all at once. Instead, as one walked farther from the palace, the delicate, clear glass was replaced by black sand. When Danny had feet again, and could feel the grains beneath them, he knew he was no longer in Astronomia, but on the Shores of Night. The Isles of the Moon were faintly visible in the distance, sea-spray framing them in silvery halos.

He felt human here. His breath moved in his lungs, and his skin rose in goosebumps, the sleeves of his t-shirt fluttering in the wind. The sea and the sky were the same, and twice as beautiful for it.

“Sorry for going silent on you there,” said Danny. “I keep forgetting I don’t have a mouth there.”

“How do you forget that?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know.” Danny shrugged, even though he knew Jack couldn’t see him. “Do you think the ectocam might be able to spot buried star pearls?”

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #ectober 2021 #ectober #ectoberhaunt treat #danny totally ignoring objectively horribly things #worldbuilding

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sailorhyunjinz · 3 years

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~ 𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 ~

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; chan x fem!reader, bonnie&clyde!au, criminal!au, 60′s!au, bank robbery, heavy use of tobacco, explicit language,weaponry, mentions of infidelity, manipulation, mentions of murder, mentions of reader being smaller than chan, mentions of religious beliefs, authorities, american style!au, death, implied su-cide.

𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; SMUT!! sex against a wall (lmao good warning there cherry), dom!chan x sub!fem!reader, angry sex, dry humping, degradation, blowjob, face fucking, rough sex, dacryphilia, choking, possessiveness, implied corruption kink, creampie, unprotected sex (be careful plz), piv, clitorial stimulation, orgasm (m/f), cum.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 ; 5.9 k

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦 ; this was heavily inspired by both well bonnie and clyde but also “the serpent” because holy fuck i loved that serie so much

also warning right; this is purely fiction and not meant to romanticise crime and i think it’s pretty obvious that i don’t know shit about how to rob a bank neither do i know anything about weapons,,, so take this with a grain of salt.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 18

It was love. Love had led you down this path and shattered the one you cared the most about, the one that held your hand, the one that promised to die for you. Silence filled your mind as you stroked his cold cheek, his eyes closed.

Your partner in crime.

Bang Chan.

“Tonight, coming up on channel 4, the continuation of the Lagoons.”

You turned the knob on the car radio, the windows on the silver vauxhall viva rolled down, your hair fluttering in the light breeze that accompanied the summer heat. The voice on the radio got distorted as you shifted channels, the antenna on the car barely being able to pick up signal from how far out in the desolate area the two of you were.

“Who the fuck watches the lagoons?” you said, furrowing your eyebrows, searching for some funky tunes as Chan was driving, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He laughed, the cigarette smoke whiffing over to you, burning at the tip and hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

“Where we heading, sweet cakes?” he asked, cocking his eyebrows and checking himself out in the rearview mirror. You scoffed, adjusting the silk scarf around your head and reaching into the glove compartment of the light colored interior of the car, grabbing the half empty cigarette box.

“Don’t call me that, I’m married” you say, the flicker of the metal zippo echoing, a purple flame igniting and burning the white end of the cigarette in your mouth, the orange part quickly stained by your lipstick. Chan smirked, casting a glance at you as you puffed, putting the lighter on the dashboard and leaning back against the leather seats, exhaling the smoke through the window as you observed the mountains that passed you, sweltering heat making your vision blur.

“And still you fuck me. What’s he good for? Cheating on you? You should just throw that ring away, I’ll buy you a new one”

The ring.

You and your ex-husband never officially divorced. You just packed up your things and left one night when he was out drinking, probably snogging a woman younger his age. The emerald ring that he once put on your finger held no meaning, it was simply for aesthetic now. Memorabilia from when life was worse, reminding you to always strive for something better. It was ironic, the way the sun shined on the emerald green symbolizes wealth and toxic jealousy. You couldn’t help but to feel jealous of the many young women he spent his nights with. You thought you had moved on but maybe you hadn’t since you refused to let go of the ring. Thank god you didn’t have his child or else you’d be tied down for life. You escaped at the right time.

You didn’t answer Chan, simply staring out at the window. The car zoomed past with speed, there was no time for resting since you two were the infamous criminals that could be captured at any moment, it was still a miracle you were alive and well despite how many times you’ve been in open fire with the authorities. The two of you always managed and had each other in the end and the plethora of guns that were loaded in the trunk could buy you freedom for a little while. A gritty highway that never seemed to end, the tumbleweeds rolling about in the distance, he searched for a place you could rest since dusk would soon arrive. Life as a runaway couple had it’s ups and downs but the worst part of it was not knowing if you would survive another day, cops could just arrest you, rip you from your lover and lock you up like you were once before, writing love letters to Chan on a filthy piece of paper until you were bailed out by none other than your mother that you abandoned for him. They didn’t understand. He might be a criminal, stealing cars with his older brother since he admired his fancy lifestyle with hookers, expensive liquor and gold. He was so close until he stumbled up to you through a mutual friend and fell head over heels, he was too much of a hopeless romantic for him to be able to lead such a lifestyle.

A big sign was ahead of you, a small red building inching closer to the two of you. Sure, it wasn’t the safest place, anyone could call the authorities on you but luckily telecommunications weren’t that advanced out here, most of the news being the ones you heard from between others lips. You two were simply a married couple whatever new village you infiltrated or at least that’s what people thought, the two of you were simply well-off, being able to afford the most expensive cigars and perfumes. The cigarette had burned down, almost meeting your plush lips that were covered in the latest lipstick. You threw it out the window, Chan had done the same moments prior.

“What you say, hm? How about here for tonight?” he asked in a low voice, his hair slicked to the side, his jaw clenching as he rested his head on the headrest, looking at you with a quick glance with a smile. He always smiled when he gazed at you, it was almost a reflex. He was too smitten with love. You nodded, grabbing your oval sunglasses from the seat in between you and Chan, putting them on and observing yourself in the exterior mirror. Now you were ready for greetings with strangers, hiding behind your dark tinted shades.

The young man swerves onto the dusty driveway, the dust billowing from behind the car as stones flew everywhere, the car coming to a hasty halt. Your back bounced against the seat, removing your safety belt and opening the car door, stepping out with your shining red heels. The hotel seemed kinda small, perfect place for two sought-after criminals to hide. The building was a cherry red, tacky curtain in mustard yellow covering the chipped white window frames that held up the grimy glass panes. It lied in a remote place, being the only building as far as the eyes could see, beside the hotel there was a kiosk where one could buy the most basic necessities like bread, milk and cigarettes. As you were looking around the place, standing with your feet wide and your hand on your hip, Chan was busy unpacking the car. Not the weapons that were nicely hidden beneath a blanket but your two small briefcases containing nothing more than a couple of expensive clothes, makeup, a small notebook of your poems, a camera and photos of relatives. As you observed the mountainous landscape and dry land where cactuses made their home a small old man hurried out, dressed in a half-dingy suit and vest, the colorful tie being the main focus.

“Welcome welcome!” he says in a scurried voice. “Please, let me!” The old man shuffled over to Chan, grabbing the briefcases out of his grasp to which Chan bowed subtly in thankfulness. You and him followed the man inside through a lime green door and were greeted by the lobby that had a dark oak check-in counter, decorated with small trinkets of older times, a golden clock and small piles of paper. The man put down the bags in front of the desk, you casting a glance at Chan that was looking at the keys and the tags attached on the walls on small hooks.

“How long will you be staying for?” the man asked to which Chan hummed, looking at you before clearing his throat and answering - “Just one night”

“alrighty hmmm,,, then I’m guessing a double bed would suit your fancy? You do make a lovely couple indeed” he said with a smile, showing off his yellow stained teeth, years of coffee and tobacco. You smiled, clenching your jaw in frustration.

“Thank you, which room exactly?” you said quickly, wanting the old man to hurry his actions. He looked back, exposing his half-balding grey head of hair and stretched for a pair of keys at the top, the keys jingling as he put them on the desk.

“Room 4, it’s just here by the side. That will be 30 dollars” he said, writing something down on a piece of paper. Chan opened one of the luggages, quickly pulling out the needed amount and tips out from one of many wads of cash that were neatly tucked away between clothes and other products. He put the green bills on the desk to which the old man heightened his eyebrows, the generous tip falling to his liking.

“Keep the change” Chan said with a smile, picking up the briefcases and heading to the room. You smiled at the old man as well, picking up the keys and turning to head over to your lover.

You put the keys in the lock of the brittle wooden door, a small golden plate saying ‘4′ with a clear font. As the door opened you were met by a rather rustic room, the walls colored light blue and the bed frame the same wood as the door, murky white duvet covers on the bed. Luckily it was just one night.

Chan started packing up your belongings, mainly picking up a map of the area that he bought at a supermarket hours prior. He unfolded the bunt of paper, laying it flat on a vanity that had a round mirror attached in front. He placed his index finger harshly on a certain point on the map, his fingers clad in all kinds of rings with jewels.

“Here we are, Johnsons motel, right?” You nodded at his question, him continuing talking in a firm voice. “So if we take this route tomorrow at around 9 am we should be there by 10:50 am which is perfect, we c-” You interrupted him mid sentence.

“Chan, you told me we weren’t gonna do this until next week, we have money!” you yelled, only then remembering that the walls are thin in such a matured building. He sighed, turning to gaze at you with dark eyes. He hated it when you contradicted him, it was almost like he was addicted to making you his slave and sure, he did take care of you whenever you were hurt due to his actions but he liked having you totally dependent on him, risking your life for him. The veins running down his arms got bolder, he moved the arm that was holding him up from the vanity instead standing right in front of you with a wide stance, his eyebrows heightened.

“What did you say?”

Your back hit the tasteless blue wallpaper as Chan walked towards you, trapping you between the wall and his muscular figure. A harsh gulp descended down your esophagus as you gazed intently into his hooded eyes, yours twinkling with mere innocence though you were far from innocent in the eyes of the public. He looked you up and down, almost swearing with his eyes, gliding his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“I said why can’t we just wait with that for a bit? We robbed multiple stores last week and we have money? I don’t see why you need to hurry so, like fuck s-”

“So you think money grows on trees? We do this together y/n and I could just leave you whenever, I’d just laugh seeing your ass trying to survive”

He leaned closer to your ear, his body pressed against yours. His hot breath lingered near you, tickling the shell of your ear.

“Or better yet I could kill you, no one needs a criminal”

His voice vibrated through you, the deep tone scaring you but oddly turning you on, the heat pooling around your core, your panties sticking to the thin fabric of your panties. You burst into laughter, catching him off guard.

“You motherfucker” you said through your teeth, smiling brightly at him.

“I don’t like this attitude you’re giving me y/n, I’m not joking with you” he said with a devilish smirk, moving away from your ear and staring into your soul. It was almost as if he stared through you, his jaw moving as he clenched it.

“Does it look like I’m joking?” your facial expressions turned serious in seconds, the smile wiping off your face. You looked him dead in the eyes, not even flinching when he smashed the rough palm of his hand on the wall next to your head, the loud sound echoing in the cool room, the slight humming of the air conditioner above the bed.

“No and you won’t be after I fuck you”

You wanted to rile him up even more, get him so angry that he had no other choice but to pin you against the wall and stuff his cock so far down your leaking cunt that you’d alert the other guests around the motel, hearing how good Chan fucks you.

“Hah,,, is that your only threat?” you chuckled mockingly, running your pointer finger up his toned chest, lifting up his head by his chin and flicking your finger off it, striking a jeering smile at him. His knee traveled up your leg, jabbing at your wet clothed entrance to which you accidentally moan, the gain of friction finally arriving when your core was burning with pure arousal as Chan spoke. With a gleaming look in your eyes you rubbed against his knee, his slightly cold hands wrapping around your neck, feeling your larynx bob when you swallow your spit, not breaking eye contact for a second. His lips landed on yours, pushing his knee against your sex causing you to moan into the kiss as you rolled your hips on the flat surface of his dress pants. Your lips pursed, teasingly biting his bottom lip as a sign that you needed him, his tongue slipping into your mouth and danced around with yours in a sloppy battle. Your hands fumbled with the big metal buckle of his belt, undoing it in desperation and unzipping the black pants that covered his bottom half. Chan grunted as you palmed him through his boxers, his erection begging to be freed from it’s clothed prison, you squeezed his member, massaging it in your hands to make his knees weak, make him beg for you but this time you would be begging for him as he placed removed his knee from your dripping cunt causing you to whine from the loss of contact.

“C-chan, please I need you” you pleaded in a thin voice, lifting your head up as his kiss diverted to your neck, his rough lips leaving kiss after kiss on the sensitive skin, moving down to your exposed collarbones.

“You’ll only get what you want if you do whatever I ask you to”

You nodded eagerly, putting your hands down his boxers and stroking his cock, Chan groaning against the skin of your neck near your ear, your earrings rattling.

“Yes, I’ll do anything! J-just fuck me already” you whimpered, your hot cheek against the wall.

“Then you follow your little ass to the bank tomorrow and do what you are told, understood?” His voice was deep, humming as he nibbled on your ear, giving it small kitten licks.

“And if I don’t?” You challenged him for a last time, stopping your slow strokes down the shaft of his twitching dick and removing your hands from his underwear and instead wrapping your arms around his waist. He scoffs, pulling back and looking you in the eyes, slowly putting his hand around your throat and tightening.

“I’ll choke you to death, you know I’ll get away with it” he said with a lifeless smirk. You nodded in pure fear, your eyes twinkling in the minimal light that came from the sun setting outside the dusty windows. Suddenly his hands grasp a handful of your hair, gripping it by the roots and shoving you down on your knees that land on the frangible floorboards with a thump. He harshly lets go of your hair in order to pull down his pants and underwear, his hard veiny cock springing free mere inches from your saliva coated lips. Chan gave his cock a couple of strokes before rubbing the crimson tip against your lips, hissing when you poke your tongue out, him smearing his precum against the surface of your wet tongue. You pursed your lips around him, slowly working your way down his shaft, taking a breath of air every time you pull away, licking the underside of his dick with fat stripes all the way from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue off. His big hands grabbed either side of your head, him thrusting inside your throat, not caring if you gagged, that just made him even more viscous, hearing your desperate moaning and seeing the spit run down your chin and neck covered in his marks. Your head bumped against the wall with every thrust, your nose pressing up against his abdomen as he was balls deep inside your mouth. Your eyes burned, tears teasing at your tear duct, a cold salty stream rolling down your cheek as he stopped, pulling out your mouth, you coughing violently. He swiped his thumb over your cheek, wiping the tear with one finger before grabbing you by the neck, lifting your head up and looking into your eyes as he inserted his dick in your mouth once again, your thick saliva making his cock glisten. His silent groans only made you helplessly rub your thighs together, eager to have him inside of you. Every moan that slipped from between his swollen lips made the blood rush south, not to mention his fierce eyes that were glued on you as he coldly fucked your skull, no hint of compassion. He stretched out your throat, the clear outline of his cock making its appearance on your esophagus as he went deeper, groaning as you felt him twitch inside your mouth. As the familiar sensation of a knot in his stomach descended upon him he pulled out, rubbing the tip of his leaking cock against your glistening lips before he was quick with his movements.

It didn’t take much for Chan to throw you over his shoulder, legs thrashing and you squealing, telling him to put you down. He did but not in the way you expected, slamming you down on the plushy bed, a fine layer of dust swirling in the orange sunset that shined in. The impact caught you off guard, knocking the air out of your lungs. Chan climbed on top of you, his belt buckle touching your body as he hovered above you. You hastily shuffled upwards to the headboard, lifting your hips as you removed your brightly colored bell bottom pants revealing your panties that already had a wet stain decorating them, Chan chuckling as his thumb glided over the patch of wetness.

“You’re so needy baby, all worked up from giving me a blowjob, huh? I can slip my cock into you so easily” he purred at you, his fingers hooking at the elastic band of your underwear, slipping them down to your ankles, you shimmying your foot out of the fabric and letting the panties dangle from your other foot as your spread your legs, Chan being in between them. He danced his fingers up the wet folds that presented themselves in front of him, you squirming at the slightest touch.

“You think you have control, you think you can do anything without me? You’re wrong, without me you’re nothing” he growled at you, his fingers covered in your slick as he teased your clit, fingers rolling in circles as you clutched onto the covers, knuckles whitening. You hurried by taking off your top, throwing your bra somewhere in the same direction, exposing your hardened buds, Chan’s mouth watering. He did the same, momentarily losing contact with your wet cunt as he pulled off his shirt, his perfectly sculpted body surprising you every time, as if you hadn’t fucked him countless times before. Chan attached his lips to one of your nipples, the other one being fondled by his hand, the cold pure silver causing you to shiver. Your hands stroked his soft hair, twirling it between your fingers and softly whimpering. He left tiny marks all over your chest, his lips sucking and gently nibbling on your supple skin. When your entire chest was a mess of marks and spit he lifted your legs, leaning them against his wide sturdy shoulders as he teased your wet entrance, rubbing his tip against your folds causing your back to arch slightly, a long pitched mewl forcing its way out of your mouth. When he finally slipped his cock inside you he groaned at your tightness.

“fuck y/n, you’re so tight no matter how much I fuck you” he said, leaning over you so that your legs almost touch your chest, planting one hand beside your neck as the other one choked you, the restriction of air making you lightheaded but only adding to the pleasure that burned at your core as he relentlessly fucked into your squelching cunt. Your feet dangled near his shoulders lifelessly as the sheer momentum of his thrusts made you move upwards on the bed, the bed frame creaking due to the age it carried, you hoped no one noticed what scandalous activities was going on this room but it was probably already too late as your moans turned into high pitched cries. Your hands folded over Chan’s wrist as you tried to stabilize yourself, it took every ounce of strength to not close your quivering thighs. His thrusts got faster, rolling his hips against yours as the hand around your neck loosed, a harsh slap landing across your tear stained cheek, his thumb dipping inside your mouth, you latching on instantly.

“Look at you, thinking you’re so tough. You’re weak, remember that” he said with a lifted smirk, asserting his dominance through his dark gaze. You nodded, feeding his ego even more as the hand around your neck tightened, making you lightheaded with arousal, his cock ramming into your tight cunt that begged for release just like you. Chan loved seeing you like this. All fucked out with drool hanging from the corners of your lips, your eyes rolling back into your skull as he vigorously made your world shake, going hard enough to make the bed squeak loudly, the headboard bumping into the wall with every thrust. You couldn’t form a single sentence, blabbering incoherent sentences with his name stringed into it, in your mind you made perfect sense but your hesitant lips didn’t do the same.

“f-fuck!” you cried out, the even pace getting sloppier as the skin slapping sound grew louder, bouncing against the awfully colored walls of the shabby motel room. You squirmed around on the bed, flailing your arms as you desperately tried to grab onto either your lover or the flowery sheets, your efforts fruitless as you felt your orgasm approaching with wide strides as Chan started circling your swollen abused clit with the pad of the hand that wasn't forcefully holding onto your throat, making you swoon. You arched your back as you couldn’t hold on any longer, clenching around his cock with every ounce of perseverance. With weak legs you interlaced them, trapping him deeper inside you as the merciless fiddling with your bud made you let out a breathy broken moan, your tits bouncing with the movements. The male looked at the tears that rolled down your cheeks, adoring your bloodshot eyes. How he loved staring down at his prized possession. He had ruined a once innocent girl, made her his with the mere power of love and crime.

He lulled his head back as he was dangerously close to his climax, drawing in a harsh breath from between his clenched teeth, the air cooling down in his mouth before warming up in his tobacco-stained lungs. He was sent over the edge with a final thrust that made your body jolt in excitement, his thumb now simply resting on your clit as all thoughts were wiped clean from his mind, his hot seed spilling into your cunt, unknowingly making you cum as your abdomen contracted, your teary eyes squinting together, not in pain but in pleasure. His cum painted the quivering walls of your sex, draping his body over yours as he panted, staying inside you to ensure every drop of cum was where it supposed to be. His lips were coated with a fine layer of saliva, two lips meeting in a loveable kiss. It might seem odd to others. That you love a man that only brings you down or uses you, at least that’s what it looked like from a different perspective but you were infatuated, maybe even obsessed. He made you famous and he took you under his wing when you fled from your scumbag of a husband.

Now Chan was the only thing that mattered.

He pulled out, falling down beside you, the weight of the bed shifting as his built back hit it. The cum dripped out of you slowly, hitting the sheets and staining them. You ruffled your hair before you stood up, cum running down your inner thigh as you made your way over to the shower. Chan instead crept down under the covers, staring up at the ceiling in a half lying position, casting glance at the dark oak bedside tables where a packet of cigarettes was left haphazardly along with your metal zippo, a gift from your dad that died in war. It was important to you, important enough to destroy you with smoke. Chan retrieved one of the deadly sticks from it’s pretty eye catching packaging and lit one end, inhaling the smoke. He put one hand beneath his head that was supported by the pillow as he other one momentarily removed the cigarette, flicking the ashes on the cold tile floor, the grey thick smoke spreading through the room, interlacing the bed sheets with it’s scent. The gentle tapping of the water on the bathroom floor calmed him, calmed him from knowing that tomorrow might be the last day he’s alive. Or maybe it’s you.

Here you were again, getting into the sparkling clean car that was loaded with nothing more than a multitude of weaponry that many times wasn’t used against civilians, just to give a gentle reminder that you don’t fuck with the two of you unless you wanna get a bullet burned through your skull. If they ask for it they are gonna get it.

Chan loaded the suitcases into the truck where a blanket covered the weapons, the pile of murder machines looking innocent like this. The sand of the desert was blowing in your face, your long skirt flowing in the wind. Just because you were a criminal didn’t mean you had to dress out of fashion, the style was a part of it. You gazed out into the valleys of dust, the lonesome tumbleweeds drifting with the wind like a blind rat following the smell of musky cheese, not aware that it’s heading to it’s own death.

“Ready, sugarplum?” Chan said, wrapping his hand around your head and leaning it against his sturdy shoulder.

“I was born ready” you whispered into the wuthering wind. He smiled but put on a serious face as you looked at him, before walking over to the passenger seat, opening the car door.

“Let’s do what we do best, darling.” you said with a bittersweet grin, sitting down and closing the door.

The bank wasn’t too far away, that being that it was still in the same state since many other robberies required long car rides that was either filled with funky tunes or more cigarettes than you can count. This one wasn’t any different. His two hands were gripping the steering wheel as he drove faster than the speed limit, praying to whatever nonexistent god he had in his head that the police wouldn’t flash their red and blue sirens behind the vehicle. He probably prayed to the money. He often said that money did things not even god was able to do and there was truth in Chan’s words or maybe the both of you were too infatuated with the idea of money that you would go to any lengths just to get it. Just to smell the fresh dollar bills in your hands. The car was in complete silence, only the growling of the engine being heard. It was always scary heading to a new place, you never knew what would happen there. Maybe it’s the last time you witness your lover behind the steering wheel, the last time you feel the wind fluttering through you hair due to the rolled down window. Maybe it was the last time you would see the emerald green jewel reflecting it’s light as the sun bounced off the glossy surface of the stone. You denied your longing for your husband, beside all the cheating and drugs you were ready to stay with him but there was one thing that Chan could do better; love.

You could tell how tense Chan was. The way he anxiously checked the rearview mirror and forcefully looked straight at the neverending road in the middle of nowhere. It was pretty apparent that this lifestyle was driving him mad, making all his nerves stand on the edge of his skin, paranoid to the bone. But there was no end in sight unless someone else put that end there. He was never gonna stop, go as far as he could and shoot for the stars. It was people like him, greedy people that life usually steered the wrong way and well,,, you were one of those as well, greedy for luxury even though the life you were living now was anything far from that. You turned to Chan, his one hand rested in his lap and you slowly reached over to grab it, rubbing your thumb over knuckles. His eyes momentarily diverted from the road to you, looking at your eyes that were focused on his slightly rough hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, Chan parked into the parking lot of the bank, the building being just as remotely placed as the motel. Perfect. The car was strategically placed near the road for easy escape if there would even be any required. As you stepped out of the car you opened the trunk, uncovering the multitude of weapons that lay beneath the blanket and passed Chan his favorite rifle, the M1918 Browning Rifle. You simply stuck to a revolver since you could hide it in your holster for when you needed two hands to grab the money and shove it into the burlap bag.

There wasn’t much thought needed for the robberies that happened this far away from the city, the local police station was a good drive away so neither you or Chan worried too much but it was still a risk. The big wooden doors were slammed open by him, a shot up into the ceiling shattered a lamp and next second your ears were filled by the terrified screams of men, women and children. You didn’t hesitate your movements as you went up to the multiple receptionist desks where the women in neat uniforms were all kneeling on the floor.

“Get the fuck up!” you yelled, jumping on the desk and pointing your gun at one of the girls, she looked rather young and innocent with her dark shaking pupils that wandered with pure fear. You yelled at her to open all the vaults, to which she complied not having any other choice than to get shot. Her hands quivered as she put the money in the bag, filling it up with valuable green bills that would promise you dreams. You glanced back at Chan that was pointing the rifle at the people that lied down on their stomachs with their hands on their head, the sound of a child's tears not even bothering him or his conscience. You held the gun to her head, lonesome tears streaming down her face as her legs were barely able to hold her up. A smile cracked on your crimson painted lips as the bag filled up, the feeling of adrenaline rushing through your blood making you fly on the clouds, you could do whatever you wanted in this moment. You were free.

Just as you were about to turn around, signaling to Chan that the mission was done you heard another gunshot that was foreign from the usual sounds of the weapons you carried. It didn’t sound like it came from inside the building. The second after you heard a window shatter, glass flying over the civilians that screamed in fear once again and then you heard a thump, a loud one. You looked over your shoulder and there he was, your lover with a bullet through his back, the puddle of sangria red blood spreading over the bright vinyl flooring. This was the sight you feared the most in the world and here it was, right in front of your naked eyes. You dropped the revolver you held in your dominant hand and rushed over to him as you heard a male voice over a megaphone from outside the building.

“Civilians, exit the building immediately”

The crowd of people squeezed through the doors, fleeing to whatever corner they could or hiding behind the countless cop cars that flashed their colorful sirens. You dragged Chan’s head into your lap as you fell down in defeat, looking at his closed eyes and his face that turned a pale blue with hints of grey, he was cold to the touch and his blood stained your clothes as well as the floor, the dark red marks on the floor that lead to his body as you dragged him closer to you, cupping his cheek. Frigid tears rolled down your cheeks and accumulated on your chin before dripping down onto his face, coloring his lips with a clear sheen.

He wasn’t gone, he simply couldn’t be. He was your Chan, the Chan that always got away no matter what. Nothing could stop the two of you, not a stupid bullet through his back. You shaked him as you sobbed loudly, your lips quivering as black streaks of mascara covered the supple valleys of your cheeks.

“Chan! Chan, fuck!! Wake up!!” you yelled as you shook him vigorously but his lifeless body was limp in your arms, no sign of life to be seen. You hugged him closer, not feeling his heartbeat or lungs filling with air from this cursed place. He wasn’t gone, he was still here and he would wake up one day, you told yourself these lies because they are easier to believe than the cold hard truth. Your blood boiled with pure rage. Somebody had stopped your dream life, that someone being the law itself but no matter who it was it still stopped you and you never took no for an answer. Your empty lost gaze diverted to the loaded gun that lied only footsteps away from your cowered body.

“Exit the building, leave the weapons” you heard the voice call out from outside, the megaphone crackling and distorting the voice.

What was better?

Dying in the hands of the authorities or dying in Chan’s arms?

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arcadejohn127-9 · 3 years

Note

Feel free to ignore this one. How would the brothers handle an mc with colored/dyed hair when their roots grow out and/or they decided to change the color?

The brothers with a MC who likes to add colour to their hair

Lucifer:

"you've been in the bathroom for over an hour now, what are you doing?"

He knocked on the door, wanting to respect your privacy but this is the third time someone has complained the shared bathroom was being hogged

He had to step in before mammon busted down the door in fear you've gotten hurt

"I'm just doing my hair! It'll only take a little bit more!"

"you don't have to change your hair everytime you get bored-"

He dragged out a sigh whilst he talked but paused when he saw you finally come out the bathroom

"it's blue! Like your sin!"

Lucifer.exe has stopped working

he quickly hide his face with his hand, pretending to be tired of you but was actually blushing

"Yes, very nice now go, people need to use the bathroom."

You just laughed, grabbing the hand that was hiding his face

You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before going on your way

Lucifer hopes you'll be keeping the colour

Mammon

"Mammy, check it! We match!"

He turned around wondering what you meant but there you were - now with white and gold in your hair

He immediately jumped up

"You trying to kill me?! You seriously changed your hair to match me?!- it's good, it's whatever."

He pushed his lip out, turning his head away from your gaze

"glad you like it, I'm thinking of keeping it like this."

AMBULANCE! HE'S BEEN SHOT! HIS HEART HAS BEEN HIT TWICE!

HE'S GOING INTO DOPEY LOVE SHOCK!

"it suit you, who doesn't want to match with the great mammon?! It'll let people know you're my human."

"Or you're my demon."

HE'S BEEN SHOT THREE TIMES- OH LORD THERE'S NO MERCY

Please - he's so flustered right now

He's very happy you wanted to match with him, might just get you a similar/the same jacket to him

Levithan:

You came out of of his bathroom, revealing your new hair

It was bright orange with a purple gradient

Levithan blushed, in awe at your new hair

"Maybe I should cut my hair too, then we both can look like anime characters."

You fiddled with your hair, walking over to sit with him

"both? I don't look like an anime cha-"

"You got the same hair as a hentai protagonist, how have you never noticed?"

He completely froze

He immediately began looking up images of those types of protagonists

Pulling out a mirror he had in his desk

He began screaming

"it shows people you're a real weeb, maybe we should dye your hair black so it fully matches-"

"N-NO!"

You were completely loosing it

Laughing non stop as he tugged at his fringe, completely defeated by this new discovery

You decided to be nice, taking one of the clips out of your hair and put it in his, moving his fringe out of his face

"there, that's better."

His face was completely red, hiding in the back of his hand as he nodded in thanks

Satan:

"So~ did I get the shade right? wait-"

You put his tail right beside your hair, eyeing to see if it matched

"yes! We got a match!"

Your hair was a toxic green, matching the very tip of his tail

He had a light blush, watching you play with his tail from the corner of his eye

"Is there a reason made your hair match?"

"because I like you AND I wanted to change up my look!"

He nodded, his tail curling

He kept his eyes trained onto his book

Not wanting to be caught flustered by such a small thing

"You like it~ perhaps I should keep my hair like this."

"do whatever you wish, it's your hair."

You leaned against him, grabbing his horn and gave his head a little shake

He just raised a brow at you

Finally, he looked at you

"I'm definitely keeping it, I like it when you're flustered."

He couldn't fire back, just sighing and let you do your own thing

Asmodeus:

He let you use his bathroom, all for seeing what colour you'll go for next

When you finally came out of the bathroom and revealed the final product

He immediately shuffled across his bed and admired your new look

"You look great! I'm loving the colour~"

Of course he did, it's pink

"I heard from Solomon you've dyed your hair a neon pink."

He didn't expect you to know that!

"He told you what?! That was supposed to be a secret!"

"hey but now I match your colour! Everything works out!"

Still moped that Solomon told you about his tragic hair dye phase

But he couldn't lie, he loved how the pink looked on you

He immediately wanted to take pictures of you and show off how you two matched

"Next time you see Solomon, tell him he'll throw him like last time~ please and thank you~!"

Beezlebub:

When he couldn't find you

He asked around and found out you were hogging the bathroom

Immediately went to the bathroom to ask if you okay

"do you need a hot water bottle? I heard they're good for stomach pains."

"I'm fine Beel-"

"Asmo said you've been in there for hours, are you sure?"

"I'm doing my hair, that's all!"

There was an pause, he quickly smiled, glad you weren't sick

Not long after you came out, showing off the new coloured hair

"Do you like it? I based it off your sin colour."

It was an almost vibrant red, he smiled even more with a blush on his face

"you look really cool."

He loved your hair, whenever you guys go out he tries to wear something red to match you even more

Belphegor:

He was 'napping' aka sleeping for another 3 hours after being asleep for 12 hours

Which gave you plenty of time to recolour your hair and even decide what colour you'll got for next

You already had an idea so all you had to do was go through with it

"I'm purple now, does it suit me?"

It was abit late to ask but either way you were going to keep it until you could change it again

Belphie looked up from his pillow

He immediately smiled

"you match with me, how cute."

He'll tease you for matching but the true is he's super embarassed

His fringe can't hide that blush!

He'll get happy whenever he looks at your hair

Will brag to EVERYONE about how you did your hair just to match him

#obey me #obey me shall we date #gamingclubpresident #obey me mammon #aracadejohn217 9 #obey me mc #obey me asmodeus #obey me beezlebub #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #obey me belphegor #obey me imagine #obey me headcanon

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glowingbadger · 3 years

Note

May I request Sylvain with an S/O who has two Crests, but is cheerful and energetic most of the time? They don't let what happened in the last affect their present self, but they do spend time researching Crests for their own reasons. During the war, they get cold and distant, mostly to protect themselves from the pain of loosing anyone else they cared about. With persistence, they do warm up and return to that cheerful self.~🌺

Hope you don't mind if this is still written in the second person perspective- I find it's easiest to engage the audience that way~

Sylvain x OC/Reader - Fluff

Sylvain knows what it's like when a person's light fades. He's been told that, before he came along, his brother was a bright and energetic child- though all of that had been smothered in resentment by the time Sylvain came to know him. Then there was Felix, who had been so sweet in their childhood, but whose eyes had sharpened and clouded over with anger and regret. Others came to mind- comrades and schoolmates whose hearts would never be as light as they'd been when their greatest concern was homework or a date. But then there was you.

Five years later and five years beaten down by battle after battle, endless marching and hours spent tallying deaths as marks on a leger, Sylvain recognized with dread in his heart that the prior spark had dimmed from your eyes. He's seen this before, but it's never hurt quite this badly.

Today, you're in the library, as usual. It would have been a nostalgic sight- these shelves were the walls of your second home back in your school days. But back then, you were surrounded by friends. You studied together, traded ideas, complained about being bored or tired together. Sylvain had watched as slowly, day by day, you'd closed yourself to your companions, and fewer and fewer people shared your time among those same books and tomes. But when he seeks you out today, he's resolute in his heart that he won't be turned away as well.

"Hey there, Y/N."

He's got his usual charming grin firmly in place as he tugs a chair up next to you and plops down. You barely raise an eyebrow as you side eye him and say,

"Uhm... hey, I guess. Did you want something?"

"Yeah, actually," he says, scooting his chair a bit closer to you, "I want the rest of your afternoon, if it's available."

You finally look over at him, but it's to make your distaste as evident as possible. You sigh and turn back to your book- one on hypothetical crest theory that you've already read, but that you felt warranted a second look.

"Your usual nonsense, then." you finally mutter. Sylvain remembers then how you used to play along with him- how you used to laugh and try to come up with a pickup line more saccharine and over-the-top than any of his. His smile wavers just a bit, only to become warmer and more tender. He says your name softly this time, and with a tone of earnestness you're not accustomed to from him.

"Just tonight," he says, reaching out a hand to brush your hair behind your ear, prompting you to finally turn to face him in full, "And if you like, after tonight, you'll never have to see or hear from me again. But tonight's special- and I'd like to show you."

Sylvain can't begin to parse what may be going through your mind in the pause that follows his words. Then, you sigh heavily and move to stand up,

"I was in the middle of this book, not that you care." you grumble, though you're already closing it, turning to follow Sylvain's lead. His grin widens and he simply says,

"Bring it with you then. Come on."

You truly had no desire to be Sylvain's prospect for the evening. There were a thousand more productive ways to use your time. But when he leaned close to you in the library that day, with that boyish smile that brought out the creases at the corners of his eyes, something long dormant had begun to stir in your heart. Not that you couldn't at least try to convince yourself otherwise. After all, you're an expert in the practice of stifling your hopes and expectations, and by the time it becomes clear your shared horse is headed towards the nearby shoreline, you'd successfully calmed your fluttering heart.

If it's a "long walk on the beach" he wants, then fine- you'll turn him away as you had many others, and he'll set his sights on his next conquest. You could return to your research and your solitude with little disruption.

You both leave your shoes where your horse is tethered inland, where grass begins to make way for sand. It's late afternoon now, tending toward evening, so the sand is warm but not uncomfortable on your bare soles. Sylvain checks on you regardless, and you wave away his concerns.

He'd said he had something to show you, but all you can see in any direction is sand, ocean and sky. As if you didn't know those existed. Maybe you should give him some pointers for his next date.

Still, you're relieved that he doesn't seem to be in a particularly chatty mood. Ordinarily, you would have expected him to be showering you in sweet talk and flattery. Instead, you walk side by side in relative silence, trading brief words here and there, but nothing of any substance. Until you finally say,

"Listen Sylvain, what is it you wanted to show me?"

He stops walking, and his hand at your arm prompts you to stop as well. When you turn to face him, you're struck by how the light of the gradually setting sun dances around his mess of orange hair like a halo. No wonder he chose this location- he wears the scenery like it's been tailored to him.

"When was the last time you took a second to look at all of this? I mean, really look." he says, gesturing around the two of you. You open your mouth, but realize you have no reply, and shut it. "Sylvain steps towards you, "I mean, look at this!" he turns out toward the sea, where the sun is delicately perched on the horizon, "Can you even believe this many colors exist in one view?"

"It... it is nice," you murmur, shifting awkwardly beside him.

"I chose tonight for a reason, remember? It's because of those clouds," he nods up towards the sky, and you follow his gaze, "The sunset is always most beautiful when the light reflects off of the clouds. I wanted you to see that."

He's right, of course. As the sun dips lower beyond the sea, a glorious spectrum of color glows before you- reds and yellows at the horizon, blues and purples and refracted orange along the clouds. A warmth grows in your chest that you haven't felt in a long time. Perhaps you have been inside the Monastery a bit too much lately. Sylvain says your name once more, prompting you to turn towards him again.

"I know our lives right now are... complicated. They're messy and brutal, and... we've both lost a lot." his hand raises tentatively, and when you don't move away, his fingertips brush your cheek, "But I need you to know that even with everything that's been lost- there's still beauty when you look for it. All of this is still here. I'm still here," he pauses, and his gaze falters for just a moment, "if- if you want me here is what I, uh... yeah."

You bring your hand to rest on Sylvain's where it cups your face, and though still a bit awkward and a bit shy, you smile up at him.

"Thanks, Sylvain," you say, the slightest tremble evident in your voice, "thank you for... everything."

He exhales and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

"There it is. That smile of yours." he murmurs softly, "You can't imagine how much I've missed it."

#sylvain jose gautier #sylvain x reader #sylvain x oc #fire emblem #feh #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem fluff

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calebdumes · 3 years

Note

so being the captain of your own ship sounds stressful, right? someone should treat Hera to a day of pampering... (surprise romantic spa trip? a sweet homemade experience by the whole crew? you decide!)

keeping the Ghost in shape is hard work! good thing Kanan is a pro in stress relief.

fandom: star wars rebels

relationship: kanan jarrus/hera syndulla

rating: mature

word count: 2.8k

Hera woke with a list of things to do already forming in her mind. The pleasant dreams that had taken her through the nighttime hours had been replaced with tasks that needed to be completed. The Phantom was due for a diagnostic, she needed to finish her modifications to the sublights if she ever wanted to take the Ghost out again, and they were starting to run low on supplies. She breathed out harshly from her nose, somehow she’d have to find time to make a trip into town between her repairs.

And if she was in town, she might as well stop in and give Old Jho a visit. Fighting for the rebellion was good work - important work - but it didn’t pay much and their small purse of credits was slowly dwindling.

With a sigh, Hera blinked open her eyes to the darkness of her cabin. Kanan was a warm weight across her chest as he did his best impersonation of a human blanket. For just a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of imagining a sleepy morning in bed. If only she could close her eyes and let Kanan’s gentle breathing lull her back to sleep, held in place by his comforting weight. What she would give to be woken hours later with his kisses trailing down her neck, across the tops of her breasts, his hands running down her sides as she let his wandering mouth travel lower and lower.

Hera shook the sticky sweet heat from her mind; she had too much to do to let that daydream become a reality. She tried to wiggle out from underneath Kanan but as soon as she began to move, his arms tightened around her.

“No.” he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

“I have things to do Kanan.” she whispered, scrubbing her fingers through the long strands of his hair. He shivered but didn’t loosen his grip.

“Too early.” was his response.

“I’ve got a lot to do today, love.”

She felt Kanan’s lips brush against the side of her neck as he replied, “Sleep now. Work later.”

Hera sighed again when it became clear Kanan wasn’t going to move. She managed to free an arm and reached blindly for her datapad on the floor. The blue-ish glow from the screen lit up her face as she rested it on the top of Kanan’s head. If he wasn’t going to let her get up then he couldn’t object to her using his body as a prop for her pad. He didn’t seem bothered by it if his snores were any indication.

She read through the local Holonet, clicking her tongue at the new regulations the Empire was putting on trade in Capital City. It didn’t seem like they were even trying to hide their blatant greed anymore. Either that, or they believed that their grip on Lothal was so tight that no-one would dare speak out against them.

Hera smirked at that thought. Maybe it was time they took a trip to Capital City and livened things up a bit. She would have to get out of bed first.

Kanan slept for another hour until he finally pushed himself up, blinking at her owlishly and his hair a mess from where her fingers had run through it. He smiled at her, warm and soft, before jumping from the cot and throwing on some clothes.

“Stay here for a second.” He told her before slipping from the cabin. Hera rolled her eyes and stood, stretching her arms up over head and feeling her spine pop. She rolled her shoulders and fanned her toes out on the cool durasteel floor. Her lower back twinged a little from her time with the engines yesterday and she knew the dull pain would only get worse after another day of work but, the Ghost wasn’t going to fix itself.

Slowly she began pulling on her day clothes, forgoing her typical flight suit for a dingy pair of grease stained slacks and a thin strapped top - it tended to get hot in the engine room and her flight suit would only make it worse. Just as she was pulling on her head wrap, the door to her cabin opened revealing Ezra and a plate piled high with waffles.

“Mornin’ Hera.” Ezra said, letting himself into her room. “I made breakfast.”

Hera blinked at the stacks of waffles dripping with bright purple syrup, the cloyingly sweet scent assaulting her nose. “I see that. Why?”

“Kanan said so.” There was a loud cough from out in the hallway. Ezra grimaced and shifted on his feet. “Uh, I mean, because I wanted to.”

Hera arched a disbelieving brow. “Uh huh, sure you did. What’s the real reason?”

“Well, Kanan did say so but he had a good point.” he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “You always make sure there’s food for us, we thought we’d make food for you. So,” Ezra waved at the plate of waffles. “Breakfast.”

Hera looked at the waffles and then back at the young teen. It was a sweet sentiment, even if it wasn’t needed - keeping the stores full for her crew was one of her duties as captain but Ezra’s show of appreciation made her heart melt just a little.

“Well thank you kind sir.” She said taking the plate from him.

“Anytime Captain.” Ezra smiled before retreating. Kanan filed into the room moments later.

“So, you told him to do it?”

“I didn’t tell him so much as gently suggested he bring you breakfast.” Kanan said as he flopped down on the bed.

“You know you don’t have to do that.” she sat down next to him.

Kanan took a waffle off of her plate and popped it in his mouth, licking the sugary syrup from his fingers. “I know but we wanted to.” he replied through his mouthful of food. “You do a lot for us, it’s past time we did something for you.”

There was a suspicious look on his face that put Hera on guard. “I know that look.” she said, setting the plate down on the bed. “What do you have planned?”

“A day of rest and relaxation.” he winked.

“Kanan…”

“Hera…” he mimicked.

“I have too much to do, I can’t just do...nothing.”

Kanan stole another waffle. “You wouldn’t be doing nothing, you would be relaxing. Besides, we can handle whatever you need to do.”

“Yeah but-” Hera began but Kanan leaned over and kissed her on the mouth, cutting off her protest. He tasted like Jogans and spice. Hera’s eyes slipped closed as he deepened the kiss, one hand cupping her jaw.

“Let us take care of things today, okay?” He asked as he broke away, resting his forehead against hers. Hera searched his face, drinking in his strange teal eyes. It had been a while since she had taken a day off but there was so much to do, she couldn’t possibly leave it all for her crew. “We can handle it.” Kanan said, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s what you hired me for in the first place, remember?”

Hera rolled her head against his and let her shoulder drop in defeat. “Fine.” she conceded. “But call me if you need any help.”

Kanan kissed her cheek before standing. “We’ll be fine. You just relax.”

“Have Chopper help you with the sublights, he has the schematics. And we need more soap, oh and see if Jho has a job for us or Vizago if necessary.”

“Hera.” Kanan smiled from the doorway. “Relax.” he gave her a jaunty two finger salute before the cabin doors slid shut, leaving Hera alone in her room.

She looked around the cabin suddenly feeling at a loss. What was she going to do now?

A gentle knock on her cabin pulled Hera from her third nap of the day. The holobook she had been reading tumbled to the floor as she sat up stretching. She smiled to herself, the pain in her back was nearly nonexistent and she felt more refreshed than she had in a long, long time. Maybe Kanan was right and she was long overdue for a day off.

It had been hard at first, to let the others do the work she had planned while she did essentially nothing. Her fingers itched to do something, anything other than sitting alone in her room but she didn’t want Kanan to think that she didn’t trust him to take care of her ship. Out of all the beings in the galaxy, Kanan was the only person that she actually did trust. And not just with her ship. So Hera had gotten back under the covers and ate her breakfast in the silence of her cabin.

That hadn’t lasted long, the quiet became too loud so she escaped to the lounge. At least there she could keep an eye on the coming and goings of her crew. Only, the common space had been empty. Ezra and Zeb had gone to town to pick up supplies and Kanan had recruited Sabine to help him with the last of the engine modifications. It was clear she wasn’t going to be allowed to do anything productive so she curled up in the big wooden chair and let her mind drift until she fell asleep.

The rest of the day had passed in a sleepy haze as she meandered from the lounge to her cabin; napping when she felt like it, eating the snacks Kanan had prepared for her, and catching up on the holobooks she had been wanting to read. Once she allowed herself to relax, letting the others handle the work became much easier.

There was another knock on the door, a little more forceful this time, followed by a hesitant voice. “Hera? Are you awake?”

Hera tossed the sheets aside and padded over to the door, hitting the control and smiling as Sabine came into view.

“I’m awake.” She smiled at the young Mandalorian who returned it with a slight tilt of her lips. Her orange and blue hair was slightly mussed and Hera could see a streak of engine grease on her exposed arm but there was a sparkle of accomplishment in the depth of amber eyes. It was the same look Hera got when she finished working on her ship.

“Dinner’s ready if you want to eat.” Sabine said. “I made stew.”

Hera’s stomach rumbled loudly as if on cue. “I could eat.” she chuckled, following the teen down the hallway into the lounge. The rest of her crew was already seated around the beat up holotable, steaming bowls of stew and crusty bread before them. Hera took her seat next to Kanan and inhaled the spicy scent of cooked tip yip and Sabine’s potent blend of spices.

“Don’t worry.” Sabine said. “I didn’t make it as spicy this time.”

“Good.” Ezra breathed in a sigh of relief. “Cus’ I couldn’t taste anything for like a week last time.”

Zeb chuckled, scooping a heaping portion of the stew into his mouth. “You humans don’t know anything about real flavor.”

“And Lasats do?” Sabine challenged, sprinkling a dusting of seasoning over her bowl. “You just grill everything until it’s burnt. At least you can taste more than fire with my food.”

“Not that much more.” Kanan coughed, reaching for his water.

Sabine rolled her eyes and launched into a haughty argument on the nuances and meaning behind Mandalorian cooking. Hera was only partly paying attention, taking small bites of the rich and spicy stew. She could feel the burn of Sabine’s seasoning scorch down her throat, leaving her mouth tingling.

“How did the modifications go?” she asked in a hoarse voice, leaning into Kanan’s side. He smelled like sweat and oil but Hera wasn’t too bothered by it. It felt good to be pressed up against his side after spending the better part of the day alone. She felt the heat from his body seep into her bones, making her insides twist with desire.

“Wonderful.” He responded as he threw an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in, impossibly close. “How did your day off go?”

Hera pressed her lips to his cheek. “Wonderful.” she pitched her voice low so that he would be the only one to hear her say, “But there is one thing that’s missing.”

“Oh yeah?” Kanan smirked, his eyes trailing down her face to land on her lips. “And what’s that?”

Hera placed a hand on his knee, slowly dragging it up his thigh. “You.”

The reaction in Kanan was instant. His face flushed with heat and his pupils grew wide until there was only a small circle of teal left. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear cone and said, “Well, good thing I have something special planned for dessert.”

“I get that you two are like, gross in love or whatever.” Sabine’s voice cracked over Hera like ice, causing her to pull away from Kanan as if she had been shocked and the heat of embarrassment to color her cheeks. “But some of us are still eating so could you save all your gushy feelings until after dinner?”

“That’s the plan.” Kanan winked, unbothered about being called out. Ezra and Sabine both gagged.

Zeb smirked before draining his bowl and pushing up from the table. “I’m taking the kids into town tonight.” He said, walking into the galley. “Jho found us a job.”

“Do you need any back up?” Hera asked, secretly hoping that the Lasat would refuse.

“Nah, we’ve got it handled.” He brought his clawed hands down on Sabine and Ezra’s shoulders and pulled them to their feet. “We’ll let you get to your...night.”

Hera hid her face behind her hands.

“Wait, I’m not done eating!” Ezra complained as Zeb hustled him out of the lounge.

“You can get something at Jho’s.” Sabine countered. “Now let's go before they start making out at the table.”

“We wouldn’t do that!” Kanan yelled to their retreating backs. “At least not with an audience.” he said to her once they were alone.

Hera looked at him through her fingers. “You have no shame do you?”

He shrugged. “Not really.” Hera snorted, that was obvious. She picked up her spoon and dragged it through her stew but her mind was no longer on eating. Instead, she was intimately aware of every point of contact between her and Kanan, little points of starlight pulling her in. Her heart fluttered in her chest, her fingers tightening on Kanan’s thigh. He glanced down at her hand and then back to her face, biting his lower lip.

“C’mon.” Hera said, pushing her bowl away and standing. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, interlacing their fingers as she led him back to the cabin. As soon as the door slid closed, Hera turned and pulled Kanan down into a heated kiss, tasting the spice of the stew on his tongue.

His hands roamed over her body, pulling at the hem of her shirt while she unfastened his pants. Clothing fell to the floor as they made their way to the cot, breathy moans slipping between hurried kisses.

Hera fell back onto the bed as Kanan covered her neck with adoring kisses.

“Was this all part of your plan?” she said, her breath hitching as his thumbs brushed the tops of her hips.

“No actually.” Kanan chuckled, his face flushed. “I was just going to give you the day off. Getting the kids off the Ghost,” he kissed her lips. “Was all Zeb.”

Hera knocked her closed fist gently under his jaw. “Lucky you.” she smirked up at him.

“Lucky me.” he smiled back.

She got a little lost, looking at the love and devotion shining in his eyes. Kanan loved her with no conditions, no expectations - it was pure and sweet and simple and it made Hera feel like she would come apart at the seams from the intensity of it.

He loved her and Hera loved him back just as fiercely. She grabbed hold of his face and pulled him into a crushing kiss, pouring every bit of herself into him.

“I love you.” she whispered, breaking them apart.

Kanan nipped at her lips, “I love you too.” he said and Hera could feel it vibrating in her bones, weaving the promise held in his words right into her very soul. She let him kiss her, feeling his skin against hers until her desire grew to great. Hera pushed on his shoulder and he went willingly, sinking between her legs with a smirk on his face.

As she came undone under his skillful ministrations, Hera thought to herself, maybe she should take the day off more often.

#pretchatta #asks #kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars: rebels #star wars #swr fanfic #mine #shleby writes #swr prompt fills #*pterodactyl screech*

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wallwriterstuff · 3 years

Text

All The Colours Of The Rainbow ||Alec Volturi x Reader||

Warnings: A very brief mention of low self-esteem, otherwise it is pure sweet fluff!

Words: 1461 (short but sweet)

Summary: A request for @harleyjackfrost Dying your hair is fun! The vibrancy of its colour in the drab old halls of Volterra just adds a splash of something bright to your day. For Alec...it’s a little more serious than just something fun to do.

Your hair attracted a lot of looks.

Some people looked at you in awe; you didn’t always dye your hair natural colours and the bright ones were popular with kids. Many a little finger had pointed your way, eyes wide and bright because you looked so cool and they wanted to be as cool as you when they were older. Some people looked at you with jealousy, because you had the courage to do what they felt they couldn’t - and looked damn good doing it. Some people looked at you with sympathy, thinking you were a bad egg maybe, the kind that had trouble at school and little in the way of prospects because of it. Occasionally, some people looked at you with disgust, though this was usually older folks who couldn’t understand why you were ruining your hair and trying so hard to be “cool” when you could be a respectable young person.

Only Alec ever looked at you like he did.

It was a bit of an indescribable look really. It was equal parts reverent and confused, disbelieving yet nonplussed, adoring and exasperated. Everything about his expression was completely at odds and yet it never failed to warm you from the inside when he looked at you like that. It was a look only Alec could ever pull off. He was used to your colourful hair, used to the smell of bleach in his room, and he was the first to ward off anyone with ill-intentions when they commented on the smell of the dye or looked like they were about to approach you and ask you to repent your sins and find Jesus. Yes, that did happen once.

“It smells again, Alec.”

“And it isn’t in your room, Felix.” Alec replied coolly. You glanced at the open bathroom door, grinning a bit as you turned back to the running water and stuck your head under the spray. You’d bleached it a few weeks back and had since added the colour, deciding to surprise Alec with something entirely new, something he would never have seen on you before. After moving to Volterra he had been thoroughly bemused by the sheer amount of hair products you had brought with you until you had explained how bleach could damage hair. Since you had turned your shelves in his bathroom were a lot less full, but your favourite conditioners and hair masks remained. Venom did wonders to protect your hair from bleach, but a little hair care was something you loved to indulge in every now and then, and even if he wouldn’t admit it you knew Alec enjoyed the nights you spent together in the bath, massaging his scalp with your little gizmos and rinsing through the brunette strands with your favourite conditioners and shampoos.

“It’s no longer in just your room either, it’s escaping into the hall, have some consideration for others Alec.” Felix huffed.

“I’m almost done Felix, I’ll spray something nice, promise!” you called out. The lumbering footsteps almost masked the light tap of Alec’s shoes heading your way, and you quickly zipped from the shower to the door to shut it in his face.

“Really?” Alec protested. You giggled a little as you continued to wash the dye out of your hair. It took a lot more than you were used to to get colours to stick given the venom had a tendency to try push it out, but sooner or the water was running clear once more, and the dye had absorbed into the strands for the limited time it would be allowed to remain there. Then it was go time. It didn’t take a genius to know Alec was outside of the door, his endless curiosity not allowing him to move from the wooden frame till he saw the results of your recent makeover.

It was bold…not something you had done before. Alec would be surprised you were sure but would he hate it? Like it? With a deep breath, you opened the door, finding him just the other side as predicted. Night had fallen while you washed away the dye and the stars were glittering outside your window, the lamps casting a soft amber glow about the room. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of you, clad in nothing more than one of his shirts and some fuzzy socks with your new, rainbow hair. You did a little twirl for him, hands reaching beneath your locks to fan them and splay them so he could see the different layers and sections shine in the low light.

“Well?” you asked, nervous that he had yet to say anything. Alec stepped forward to carefully lift a coloured strand from your head, looking at you in a way you weren’t used to. This wasn’t how Alec normally looked at you at all, no, it was almost like having one of the others look at you, the ones who never seemed to understand your choices or appreciate your creativity. Your face fell.

“It’s…it’s different.” He said finally.

“You don’t like it, do you?” you asked quietly, voice filled with disappointment. You had been excited about this! Alec leaned in to sniff lightly.

“It doesn’t smell like it usually does.” He continued his critique, seemingly unaware he was shattering your self-confidence with every word.

“I used a different dye.” You mumbled, casting your eyes towards the floor. Alec hummed, still picking up different coloured strands of hair.

“This red piece here, it reminds me of the first time you opened your eyes as a vampire,” he said, making your brow furrow, “And this…I see the yellow roses you were so enamoured with in the Garden’s when you first came to Volterra.” He continued. You couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“You got me a bouquet of those every fortnight till the vendor went out of business.” You recalled, lifting your eyes from the floor. Alec was smiling now to, his arm winding around your waist as he continued on.

“Pink…hmmm, pink was the colour of your hair when we first met. Pastel pink, something muted and soft, like the kind of pink you see when the sun begins to rise,” he remembered, “Green is your favourite colour as it reminds you of spring, the new beginnings it brings with it, but this particular shade is almost like lime, that awful drink you made me try perhaps? The fizzy one?” he wrinkled his nose as you giggled.

“Limeade.” You supplied, standing on your tiptoes to brush your nose against his. Alec smiled, replying to the sweet eskimo kiss and nodding in agreement.

“Orange was the only fruit I ever saw you eat, since you have an aversion to all things healthy.” He teased, squeezing your hips and slowly starting to make you sway with him to an invisible rhythm. You bit your lip, struggling to fight a full-blown grin now.

“Who needs health when you have vampire venom to cure your high cholesterol?” you questioned. His eyes rolled a bit but he never lost his smile, twirling you out and away before pulling you back to his chest and holding you close.

“Purple was the colour of the dress you wore the night of our first date,” he reminded you, “And we danced to that sweet melody the busker on the edge of the park played just for us.” You melted into his embrace, completely smitten with him like you had just fallen for the boy all over again. Alec dropped his cheek against the top of your head as your dancing came to a slow halt. With a happy sigh, you simply stood in his embrace, safe and secure, content.

“What about blue?” you wondered. It was the only colour left, the only one he hadn’t mentioned. Alec gently lifted your chin with his finger.

“I never want to see you blue.” He said simply, kissing you softly. For a moment you lost yourself in the feel of him, your heart overflowing with warmth and adoration. Every part of your being reached out for his, found its perfect other half and settled over and over, like waves ebbing and flowing at the shoreline. All was right in the world right then, all was calm and serene.

“I love you.” You murmured as you pulled apart. Alec smiled, a rare, genuine little smile he saved only for you.

“I love you to, and every colour of the rainbow that reminds me of all the little reasons why I fell in love with you.” He promised. It was perfect. It was sweet. It was a moment absolutely nothing could ruin.

Till he ruffled your hair with a smirk and darted off, knowing your retribution would be swift.

#twilight #tiwlight fanfiction #alec volturi #volturi #x reader #alec volturi x reader #I really liked this one

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p---ink · 4 years

Text

White.

Author’s Note: First Chris Oneshot. It was supposed to be a blurb/drabble, but I think its a bit too long for that now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this filth. Also you ever get that feeling, where you feel like you've came up with an idea in your head originally, but also feel like you may have seen it somewhere else? Yea that's how I feel about this piece. So if you've read something similar to this, please link it and let me know so I can edit or delete this post altogether.

Summary: Chris greets you after a long day at work, with some TLC.

Word Count: 2.9k.

Warning: Fluff and Smut. Oral (female receiving), fingering, Semi-mean Daddy Chris, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, and I think...maybe that’s it? Please let me know if I forgot something.

Disclaimer: Gif is not mine.

“The kids are asleep?” You whispered, when he held his finger to his lips upon your arrival.

“Yea, I just laid Ezra down. That is one rowdy little person.” He said chuckling, leaning down to plant a kiss on your mouth. He held you by your waist to pepper more along your face.

“Chris baby, you are a God-send.” You sighed, leaning in to his touch. “You will not believe the shitty day I had.”

“Hold that thought and take a seat, doll” he ordered, urging you towards the living room by your shoulders. “I’ll be right back.” He promised.

You sighed as you threw your work bag down on the love chair beside you, kicking your shoes off in the process. When you crossed the room to drop down on the sofa, the weight of today’s events crushed you instantaneously, as you waited for your husband to return.

You’ve been married for six years, and he’s been good to you for all of them. Great even. He always listened, and almost never complained. How could he when he was usually away, due to his job?

He was forever busy with filming, press tours and whatnot. It made him feel guilty to leave you and your sons so often. So any time he was at home for a break, he took full advantage. He spent time with his boys, and then the rest with you, spoiling you all with his love.

Preoccupied with your stress, you almost failed to notice Chris taking a seat in front of you. He took hold of one of your legs, and that’s when you noticed your spa-kit placed next to him.

“Baby, you don’t have to do this.” You cried, scrunching your face in relief when he rubbed your calf in just the right spot.

Chris flashed those pretty baby blues at you, along with that signature smug smirk. “You know I do. And you know I want to.” He said, before dousing his hands with oil.

As he firmly massaged the coconut into your skin, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. Taking a pillow into your arms to hug, and hide your giddy smile, you reply with, “What I did I do to deserve you?”

“Well I would tell you, but I don’t have enough time, because you’ve got to tell me about what’s got my girl so upset.” He informed you with a stern look that read who do I have to kill? “Before you do that,” he started, placing your newly moisturized leg down before grabbing the other, “Choose a color.”

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, peering over to take a look into the open basket. It had an assorted amount of different nail polishes and products for nail care. Your favorite color currently decorated the bottom of the basket, and it made you recall the time your oldest son Jeremy spilled its contents over while playing a game of “paint” about a week ago. That boy. You thought, shaking your head playfully. Well I guess I won’t be choosing that one.

After a moment of close examination, and scrutiny, you chose “White”, which made Chris immediately stop his measures against your legs, to peer up at you through hooded lids.

“So its one of those days, huh.” He smirked. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“What do you mean by that?” You questioned. You hadn’t known he preferred certain colors on you.

“I’ll tell you later, but first tell me about your day baby.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You were dying to get it all off your chest. You spilled out your hearts content, as your husband massaged your legs, then your feet, and in between your toes. As he delicately removed the old paint from your last session, and proceeded to paint your feet, you were almost finished relaying the message.

“…and its just like they treat me like I’m insane! But you know what? The way i’m always overlooked, and ignored, makes me feel like I am going insane. Every time I suggest an idea, its stupid. But let some asshat say the exact same thing, and they praise him like a god.” You complain, rolling your eyes, at your memories from your work day.

Chris offered you the occasional nod or two, humming softly at your cries of frustration when needed. And as much as he wanted to offer his two cents on the matter, he knew that what you wanted most was to be heard. You just wanted to be listened to. And while you wouldn’t of minded him beating their asses, he knew you needed his tenderness. His love. His care. And so that’s what he gave you.

“And you know why they do it right? It’s because I’m a woman! A black one at that. Lord Jesus, it pisses me off so much.” You sigh, finally bringing your eyes down to him, after they had been trained on the air and nothingness around you; you had a habit of re-living stories as you told them. “But honey, this has really helped out a lot.” You say, cupping his chin lovingly.

“You know I’ll do anything for you doll. And fuck those sons of bitches. They’re idiots if they can’t see how amazing you are. If you quit, like I suggested a while ago, that’ll really show ‘em.” Chris exclaimed, applying a second coat of white.

“Now you know I love what I do. I just wish I was more appreciated is all!”

He gave you a sympathetic look before saying, “well you know me and the boys appreciate you.”, running his fingers along the ridges of your toes to remove the misapplied dye on your skin.

“I know you do baby. I mean look at what you’re doing for me now.” You said, gesturing towards the care he took with your feet.

Chris just smiled in response. He only felt slightly defeated when you rejected his idea to stay at home. You told him many stories about the jerks you worked with. You were among one of the only women at your company, and you paid for that fact daily. You told him, how they would talk to you, and treat you, even though you had the same amount, if not more experience as they did. He didn’t want you to have to put up with that. He wanted you to kick your feet up and enjoy the life he would provide for you and the kids you both created. But, like the supportive husband he was, he honored your wishes to pursue your passions. He knew that was what made you happier at the moment. The time would come, where he could spoil you completely, though.

“Speaking of this,” You started, motioning towards your feet once more. “What’d you mean when you said “So it’s one of those days, huh”” You asked, putting on your best impression of him.

Chris put on a smile that could light up a room, as a deep throaty chuckle erupted from his chest, and vibrated through your body via your feet. “Is that what you think I sound like? No matter, I’ll tell you what I meant. I can predict exactly what it is you need, and how you feel, based on the nail polish color you choose.” He said confidently, picking up a clear polish to apply the final coat.

“Is that right?” You ask, failing to take him seriously, even when he flashed that cocky grin and brow twitch that he often used to back his claims. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Seriously. I can. Listen.” He informed you, opening the clear polish, and brushing the access paint along the insides of the bottle. “I can prove it.”

“Fine! Go ahead.” You state, becoming intrigued.

Delicately holding your left foot against his knee, he starts explaining his theory while applying polish. “You see, when you choose a pale blue or orange, I know you just wanna forget about things with a movie or a cuddle session. Forest green or black, when you feel like throwing a couple of shots back with your girls at a bar. Mauve and a nude of any kind are your favorites, and you request them when you need to feel in control, classy, or sophisticated. And you always choose a soft pink, or yellow, when you need a happy reminder, or a burst of energy and inspiration. Lavender, is a color I wish you’d choose more, since it represents your happiness. Gray, is a color I wish you’d choose less, since it means you’re sad. And then there’s plum purple and candy apple red, two colors I can’t get enough of. You want those, when you’re feeling sexy. See, baby I can read you like an open book.” He declared, moving on to your second foot. Feeling quite sure of himself.

You just stared at him in awe. Then you realized he didn’t mention, the one he just spent ten minutes applying. “You forgot about white.”

“Oh I didn’t forget angel.” He corrected, smirking as he finally finished painting both feet. “I’m just waiting on your toes to dry.” After he says this, he begins to sensually blow cool air on your toes.

“Chris! Tell me what it means!” You pout playfully, growing fed up with his secrecy. Also tickled from the air he blew.

“Fine. But be quiet, you don’t wanna wake those little demons.” He warned, fixing you with a stern look that made you erupt into quiet giggles. He always made you laugh with his juxtaposed funny-seriousness. He was seriously funny. “White is my absolute favorite. You wanna know why? Its simple, and doesn’t drown out your pretty personality. It goes with every outfit, purse, and hairstyle. You wear this color, when you’re frustrated. Exasperated. Annoyed. You choose white, when you need me to wrap those pretty little legs around my neck, so I can make you cum till kingdom come. Or until you see, ‘white’. Whichever comes first”. He finished, staring at you seriously all of the sudden. A thick silence had befallen the two of you, and you almost didn’t know how to escape it.

After a moment, you break out into a smile, despite Chris’ unmoving features. “Are you sure that’s what I want? Or is it something you want?”

“It’s what you need.” He affirmed, finally matching your expression, only his smile held a lot more lust than yours. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’ll tell you something alright, Chris. I think you paint my nails entirely too much.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, moving to pack up the spa kit, before saying “So in other words I’m right.” He rises to his feet, peering down through his long lashes with a knowing grin, before turning to leave the room. But not without saying, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you what you need.” Leaving you an anxious mess.

You start squirming in your seat, waiting with anticipation for him to return. You try to sit in your sexiest pose, but it makes you feel awkward. Then you start to wonder if you should remove your underwear. But you know he likes doing that. You even wonder if you smell okay, after such a long day at work. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you barely register his presence when reenters the room. You slightly jump, when you feel his warm hands brush against the nape of your neck.

“Shit baby.” Chris laughs, as he rounds the couch. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize how bad. Let daddy, handle this for you.” He says kneeling back in front of you, knees tucked firmly under his person. He smoothes his hands over the expanse of your soft supple skin, leaving a burning trail of desire in his wake. When he hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties, your breath hitches as the cool air hits your moistened sex.

You lift your thighs and legs, so he can carefully remove the lace without ruining his handwork on your feet. When Chris surveys your dampened panties and inhales their scent, his grin grows wider. “You’re already this wet for me?”

He gives you no time to answer as he’s pulling you closer to his face, by your thighs. The sudden movement caused a whimper to escape your throat, soft sound making his cock harden. He’s working his kisses up against your thighs with a quickness, ready to produce more sounds like the last.

Your head’s position on the couch has you feeling a bit awkward, and you go to say “This is uncom—” but cut yourself off with a moan, as he dives his thick tongue between your petals, writing love notes against the skin.

“What’s that, doll?” Chris asks, hot breath dangerously close to your bud.

You just mewl in response, wetting his beard with your juices, as he eats you like you’re his last meal. “Right there baby.” You groan, grinding yourself against his mouth when his tongue darts against your nub.

“Right here?” He questions softly, repeating the same gestures, sending a jolt through your body that makes you buck against his face.

Your words leave your throat, as he sucks harshly against the problem areas, shocks of pleasure emitting through your person. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he adds his fingers. First two, but then three as he starts fucking your pussy.

“D-daddy!” You cry, voice coming out shaky as you writhe against his lips and fingers. His actions have you climbing up the couch.

Then he removes his lips, warning you to keep quiet. “My babies are upstairs, I’m gonna need you to keep your pretty mouth shut.” He commands, placing your soaked panties between your lips.

As he quickens the pace of his fingers, and makes his tongue dart from left to right relentlessly against your clit, you approach your first orgasm of the night, and he knows it too, when your hole clenches around his fingers.

He smiles, and tells you how proud of you he is, but he isn’t done with you yet.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Your muffled moans ring through your ears, as you clamp your teeth down around your underwear. Your jaw was becoming slack from keeping it open so long, and you were feeling sore.

Chris was still continuing his assault against your sex. He had long moved from his position on the floor, and now sat beside you on the couch.

He had your legs sprawled open, keeping them from closing with one hand gripped on your thigh, and the other rubbed fast and hard circles against your clit, while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“What number was that one, baby? Five, six? I lost count after the third time, when you squirted on daddy’s chest.” He growled, biting his lip, as he quickened his pace against your nub. “Do you think you can do that again?”

You moaned in protest, shaking your head from left to right, as you approached another orgasm. You couldn’t take anymore pleasure, your sensitive bud was going through too much.

“What’s that baby? I can’t hear you.” He teased, face as serious as it could be. He was testing you. You knew not to remove the underwear, or you’d be there all night. When you made no moves to pull them out, he did it for you, a string of spit connecting your lips to the fabric.

You immediately pleaded with him to ease up. “Daddy I don’t think I-I can take an-nymore.” You cried, now a blubbering mess.

“You don’t think you can take anymore?” Chris repeated, mocking you. “Well that’s too bad. Daddy thinks his princess looks too pretty when she’s cumming. So suck it up, because I’m not stopping until we have to replace this couch.”

You felt that familiar coil in your stomach again, threatening to snap, as you threw your head back. You were a sweating mess now. You had hair glued to your face, and neck, and your shirt was drenched, as it clung to your stomach. But still, it wasn’t quite as drenched as your pussy, thighs, and couch cushions were.

Chris was as hard as a rock, but you knew if you touched him, he’d get angry. He wanted to play with you, until you were begging him to stop.

“What happened today at work again baby? What was it Chad said to you? I bet if I have you fucked out like this every night, I’d be the only man on your mind.” He whispered against your ear.

Your stomach began spasming, as you clenched painfully around nothing. This would be your last one too, before your body gave up.

Tears streamed down your cheek, as you contorted your face into the sexiest expression Chris had ever seen. And then, just before your screams of pleasure could rip through your chest, he covered his mouth over yours, as you squirted all over his hands, your thighs, and stomach. When you finally opened your eyes, you could only see white, before your vision came back into focus.

Massaging the wet, between your folds, Chris bought his fingers up to your lips and said “open.” And you did, sucking all your juices from his digits without breaking eye contact. “Attagirl.” He praised, wiping your tears away. Feel better now?” He asked, small smirk playing on his lips.

You nod tiredly, throat dry from your previous activities.

He brushes your sweaty hair behind your ears before saying, “Good. Now, let’s paint those pretty pink walls white, too.”

#Chris Evans smut #Chris Evans fluff #chris evans x reader #black reader #Chris evans #marvel smut #marvel fluff #captain america #Steve rogers #ransom drysdale

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fandom-doppelgangers · 3 years

Text

Ice Cream Chills

Your eyes lifted from the sundae which your fingertips were pressed around. “Honestly, dude, I think it’s time you stopped acting like such a- a wimp!” Kawakami hissed irritably through his fanged teeth. Frustrated heat radiated off his body, his radiant orange eyes glowering in the nicely-lit ice cream parlor. It was Wednesday- the middle of the evening - with the setting sun highlighting the sky bright red and pinks. You frowned, glancing between the group of boys sitting at your booth. Kawakami’s statement earned a few uncomfortable glances, but no one looked as awkward as the boy being addressed. Tamaki Amajiki. You easily sympathized with his awkwardness, and sometimes your empathy led you to pitying him. But never felt as bad as you did now, cushioned in the corner of the plastic dinning booth, crammed between your male classmates. Your (E/C) orbs trailed around the parlor. It wasn’t much. Sleek white tile floors, white luminescent lights dotting the ceilings; against the left wall were several red cushioned diner booths, with old-fashioned metallic tables and stiff, straight backs. Of course there was a counter where you could not only order your desired ice cream, but also eye the delicious dessert as it slowly melted away, creamy liquid dripping down the sides of the containers, oozing into the stained serving space. The entire place smelled heavily of dairy products, chocolate, and underripe cherries. You surveyed the room for two people. Maybe Togata Mirio… or Nejire Hado. A muscular blonde boy, with pretty blue eyes and a warm smile, and a tall girl with bell-blue eyes and long luscious periwinkle hair. The trio, Amajiki, Mirio, and Hado, make up the big three. The three of them were more advanced than the rest of you hero-course third years. They excel above you all. Were you another of their admirers? No. But inwardly, you had to admit, the trio could be pretty cool. Amajiki looked up from his own bowl of ice cream, avoiding Kawakami’s judgmental glare. He seemed at loss for words; not knowing how to reply and obviously feeling the pressure of Kawakami’s words on his shoulders. “I- try not to be but it just… I can’t-“

“You can’t what? Help it? Honestly Suneater, I’m kinda growing tired of hearing that same excuse over and over again. You’re supposed to be better than us, right?” You let your eyes wander again, scanning anxiously for the other two members of the Big Three. Your nerves were twisting your gut, and your stomach felt empty with anxiety. You didn’t like where this was going. Once again, Amajiki seemed to have trouble coming up with a response. He kept his mouth shut, lowering his gaze. “Cool down, Kawakami… you can quit badgering him,“ one of the older boys, Hirano piped in. He looked half-serious with his playful pink eyes and ginger hair. Much to your dismay, Kawakami ignored this interruption.

“If you’re supposed to be better, than start… acting like it! Honestly, you’re acting like a freaking four year old! Get a grip! It’s embarrassing...”

As the only girl sitting at the booth, you began to feel even more uncomfortable. You tucked a stray strand of your (H/C) hair behind your ear, sucking in a breath. All the guys sitting with you had their gazes locked on Amajiki’s rigid figure. Amajiki’s indigo eyes, a perfect reflection of the night sky, stared down hard at his lap. From what you gathered… Mirio and Hado weren’t in the parlor with you guys. You could only assume they had gone to the café next door, sitting over steaming caffeinated drinks, holding the warm cups in between their cold and rosy hands. The group lapsed in uncomfortable silence for a while. No one moved, with the exception of the occasional shake or jerk from Amajiki. You chewed the inside of your lip, your blood boiling and anger swelling.

Popping your cherry in your mouth, you pushed out of your seat, and in a not-so-lady-like fashion jumped out of your seat by climbing over your booth. No way you were sliding your arse over your classmates legs. You stood off the the side from the table, stiff as a board. There was absolutely no reason for Kawakami to start on like that, right? You furrowed your brows in an angry, frustrated downward angle. Stuffing your hands in your hoodie pockets, turning your shadowed face to your male classmates, you scowled. “Not everyone is the same, Kawakami. I’d say he has a better grip on a lot of things than you do,” you said lowly, like a deep rumble of thunder emerged from your throat. You strode past the diner, tapping Amajiki’s shoulder gently. You weren’t going to wait for him, because thinking logically it might just damage his fragile nerves even more. You walked out of the parlor, through the wired-bell door with ease and into the chilly streets of Japan. The suburbs were lit with soft yellows and blinding white lights. You cuddled further into your soft hoodie, pulling at the collar to shield your chin from the wind. You narrowed your eyes, squeezing your hand into a fist. You dug your nails onto the palm of your hand, squeezing harder and harder until it stung too much. At the sound of a “ding”, you whirled around to face the door of the ice cream shop. Amajiki was stooped over, his usual slouched posture. His hands were in his pockets, and he seemed to be back to his normal, pessimistic self. You inwardly frowned at his behavior, but nonetheless bore a soft smile as he sluggishly approached you. “Thank you,” he mumbled, “Normally I don’t deal with that sort of thing… and when I do, Mirio always steps in.” You nodded slowly, ”I just hate that I had to ‘step in’ at all,” you replied. ”Speaking of Mirio, where is he?“

Amajiki lifted his gaze, making direct eye contact with you. It was for the first time, in that fleeting moment, that you got to appreciate the way the light shone across his dark indigo eyes. Never before had you seen such eyes… like dark pools of stars.

”He and Hado went off with the rest of the class. I have no idea where they are,” Amajiki replied. He averted his gaze to the ground, and you could visibly see the flushed expression spreading onto his teenage features. You shrugged, tentatively letting your smile broaden. “I guess we could find them together than? I might as well, uh,” your eyes scanned your foreign surroundings, “look around?” Amajiki didn’t oppose, he merely slouched ahead. You couldn’t recall a time you felt more eager to find your classmates. It was cold, and you struggled to keep up with Amajiki- surprisingly. He kept up a shockingly quick pace, which you were somewhat grateful for… you needed the exercise after that sundae. The two of you didn’t talk much. You just walked. He seemed to feel very awkward about walking alongside a female other than Nejire, so I guess you felt a bit flattered. “Manifest?” It was just a random thing you blurted out.

”Y-Yeah… it’s not the most convenient quirk.” You looked startled, instantly correcting yourself, “No, no! I think your quirk is really… cool. It’s convenient for hero work,” you stared down at your hands. “You have such great control of it, too. I just wish I could get a grip on myself and master my quirk the way you do.“

He peered over at you inquiringly. “You have a good grasp on your quirk just fine… you handle situations much better than I do. Just the thought of- speaking to someone so harshly, like you did…-“

You stopped hearing his footsteps echoing behind you, and you waited for him to finish his hanging sentence.

When you turned, he was stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, grabbing at his stomach. “-It makes me nauseous.” You blinked. “Well, er, thank you?“ You smiled gently at him, striding over and patting his back awkwardly. He didn’t seem to like it, so you stopped.

”Maybe you just need someone to teach you. Like toughness lessons or something?” “Mirio and Hado have already tried. Nothing really works. The anxiety just gets to me-“

You folded your arms against the sweeping breeze. It was colder than you had anticipated. Amaniki just sat there, hunched in the middle of the sidewalk. The streets were so empty tonight, anyway, that no one seemed to care. You chewed your cheek, sneaking your way behind your classmate. He didn’t notice you, so you stopped down, bending over him with a gentle smile.

”How long are you gonna sit there?” You inquired. The dark-haired boy didn’t reply, instead lowering his gaze even more. “Mph,” he groaned. You grinned teasingly, poking at his back. “Come on, big guy! We gotta get back to the dorms whether you like it or not,“ you stated firmly, although there was a softer hint in your tone. Amajiki glanced up at you. His dark purple eyes glowed innocently in the dim light of the moon. He didn’t say a word, just gazed mutely into your eyes. “I’ll carry you if I absolutely have to, but don’t make me,” you warned, stuffing your rosy hands into your pockets. Tamaki smiled slowly at you, tentatively. But it was natural. He stood up.

#Amajiki being awkward #Amajiki x reader #MHA #BNHA #bnha amajiki #fluff #Imagine?#Angst?#Angst #mha tamaki #tamaki amakiji #amajiki tamaki #yn

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Promise: Izzy Gallagher

CW: Neglectful/abusive parent, minor whump (emotional/neglect, nothing physical happens here), referenced implied shock collar (on adult), whumpee’s child, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, isolation as punishment, referenced food control

@eatyourdamnpears, you asked for this, remember that. Also, I promise I’m going somewhere with this, she’s gonna get her crowning moment of badass.

Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with their permission, his dialogue is theirs

“Your daughter has such lovely hair.”

The little girl sits tall in her mother’s lap, hands folded, breathing in silent shallow inhales and holding perfectly still as her mother’s cold hand turns her head to the side by a grip on her chin, to show off the style that had taken what felt like forever and ever to finish.

“Doesn’t she just? I mean, it’s clear where she gets it, don’t you think?” Her mother’s voice is bright and slightly brittle, a little less than thrilled with the compliment aimed at the girl and not the mother whose genetics provided the curl, the texture, the thickness.

“Oh, definitely. You made such beautiful children with your husband, Sav, and Isabella is such a lovely example.”

Savvie relaxes a little, but the little girl knows her mother’s mood isn’t entirely placated, her fingernails still press just a little too harshly into the little girl’s softly rounded face, still losing her toddler puppyfat, just starting to narrow to show an edge of her father’s looks married to her mother’s.

She keeps herself sitting straight, tries to pretend there is a metal stick up her back to hold her like this, and waits for the anger, the snapping words. Not until this woman leaves, though. Only when it’s just Savvie and Jax and the little girl and her brother that the worst parts happen.

Maybe the woman will stay a long time. They never do, but maybe this time.

“Was your hair like this when you were young?”

“Oh, yes.” Savvie twines one of the little girl’s curls around her finger, with pastel purple nail polish that glints in the light, and the little girl presses her top teeth down into the soft skin of her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Her hair spills in a waterfall of lush dark brown, the kind of hair that overwhelms a child, her mother's hair. It's already long enough to reach the middle of her back, carefully styled with the front and sides pulled back and twisted into a floral clip. My mother - your grandmother, darling, you never met her - brought this back from Italy when I was your age, her mother had said with sparkling eyes as she fixed the little girl's hair into place.

It hurts, the way her mother pulls on her hair when she styles it. Her scalp aches from the brushing with hard bristles, the scratch of nails at her scalp, the pulling and twisting and bobby pins and the clip. Her mother is impatient, unhappy with how she wriggles when she has to sit so long.

Her father, banished to the corner of the room while Savvie works, had jerked forwards when Savvie snapped at her for moving and said, Savvie, please, she can’t help it, she’s four-

Then Savvie had fixed him with a glare, and her father had gone still and made himself sit down, and the little girl had apologized so that he wouldn’t be disciplined because of her, and she had held so so still and kept her eyes locked on her father’s hands, curled into fists over his knees, the only sign of the anger he wasn’t allowed to feel.

The little girl is four years old, and already knows better than to let her mother see that anything she does hurts - except for discipline, which is supposed to.

When Savvie and her guest keep chatting about the little girl’s waves of curly brown hair, she doesn’t wriggle, or shift, or move at all. She only allows her head to be turned, sitting perfectly still in her lap, a slight, faint smile fixed on her face.

She has learned how her smile should look from her father, who knows just how to keep them as safe as he can.

When her chin is moved to the left, so that the woman might admire the beautiful floral clip that looks like stained-glass against a creamy white background, set off by the dark of her hair, she is made to look right at her father.

He’s busy getting the tiny cakes and sandwiches ready for her mother and her mother's friend to eat, pouring their champagne and orange juice into fancy tall glasses, settling a small orange slice just so along the rim. His hair is styled, too, with some kind of product in it to fall a little bit over his forehead and one eye, and he wears a dark blue turtleneck sweater - they call them jumpers where her dad is from, he tells her that during their times alone when they can share secrets, in the single room in the house where her mother never follows - and pressed slacks. Her mother picks their clothes for when people come, for her, and her father.

Her mother chooses everything, overwhelms her, is the terrifying center of all of her fears. Her mother is the storm that knocks down tree branches and the snow that makes the house creak as it piles up. She's the wind that sounds like ghosts whistling through the attic. Her mother is the sharp fangs and claws that reach out from her dark closet, from the space under her bed, while she is left alone all night with no one but her teddy bear to hold onto.

It’s only in her father that the little girl finds hope. And even he can't give her anything until Savvie's storms have passed.

She watches his hands move, scarred and roughly calloused hands that have laid gentle against her forehead to check for fevers and held her tight when she has bad dreams, to set each small bite-sized morsel just how Savvie will like it. He’s not really looking, though. His eyes are on her, on the little girl, and not her mother, or her mother’s fancy cakes.

Save me, the little girl tries to beg with just her eyes alone, without losing the small smile, but she knows he can’t do anything, not really. If he tries, especially in front of guests, her mother will demand he get down on his knees for discipline.

He’ll try to hide how much the big black necklace he has to wear hurts him when she presses the button to the remote she always wears around her wrist.

He won’t be able to hide how it hurts for long.

It’ll be her fault, too. If her mother has to punish him for wanting to help. The little girl is always told that it’s her fault after he is shaking on the ground, made to say she’s sorry. She dreams about her father in trouble, getting disciplined, because of her.

Because it happens all the time.

So she folds her hands together even more tightly, until it hurts, and keeps her smile perfectly in place, watching her father look back at her, both of them utterly helpless.

All he does is swallow beneath the big black necklace, and keep moving the little cakes onto the special fine china plates, scalloped edges with pretty gold paint flowers in their middles.

The little girl loves the way the fancy plates look, but she is not allowed to touch them. When her father sets the plates down, one in front of her mother and one in front of her mother’s guest, she knows better than to reach for a tiny cake herself.

"Bella, you should tell Miss Gladia thank you for saying such nice things, sweetheart." Her mother’s voice is sickly-sweet, fake with love she doesn’t really feel, and the little girl turns back to the guest who sits across the table and wonders what she said that was so nice.

She can’t let her mother find out she wasn’t listening, or she will be disciplined again, or her father will, and both of those possibilities are terrifying and bad and she has to be a better child, make it better, be perfect, be good. She has to be perfect all the time, forever, she can never ever stop or he will be hurt, because of her.

Again.

Her fingers tremble and she forces them to go still by closing them into tiny fists where they can’t be seen, just like her father does. Be perfect be perfect be perfect be perfect be-

“Thank you, Miss Gladia, that’s very kind,” She says in her high piping voice, widening her smile a little to show how grateful she is, pretending she has any idea what either of them said with all her hope and heart. Praying her mother believes that she means it.

She watches her father place the guest’s plate down across the little circular table, how he doesn’t look at her. It’s too dangerous, she knows that, for him to show that he loves her in front of her mother. Too dangerous, at least, when her mother is pretending to love her, too.

He can’t help, but he’s here, and that makes it a little bit better.

She can smell, just a little, the cologne her father has to wear when her mother says so, blending with her mother’s overwhelming perfume, making her head spin and her stomach flip. She doesn’t want to eat, but her mother rewards her for saying the right thing by finger-feeding her a bite of one of the tiny cakes.

She can’t say she doesn’t want them, she doesn’t dare. Instead, she opens her mouth and bites down, feeling the burst of sugar-sweet and slight press of teeth through thick frosting layered over in pastel pinks and creams, little sugar flower on top crunching between top and bottom teeth.

She tries to enjoy it, but everything just tastes like being afraid.

“Thank you, Mommy,” She says, and Savvie laughs like it’s so ridiculous that she’s so polite, but if she doesn’t say it now she’ll be in trouble later.

“Bella, what good manners you have,” Miss Gladia says, and the girl smiles like she’s embarrassed and looks down, shy, as she is fed another bite. Her hands hurt in her palms from her fingernails digging in. “You’re doing such a good job with her, Sav.”

“Oh, I hardly have to do a thing,” Savvie says brightly. “Bella really just came out like this, she hardly ever cried even as a baby.”

The little girl doesn’t tell them that she hates being called Bella, it doesn’t feel like her name at all. When she and her father are alone, he calls her Izzy, and she likes that best. Izzy is a safe name, Izzy is a girl who is safe in the bright room with her father telling her their secret stories about the life he lived before, a whole big world the little girl will never be allowed to see, making promises the little girl already knows he can’t keep.

Izzy is the safe girl - Bella is the girl who must walk on ice that cracks beneath her feet, knowing if it breaks she won’t be the one who falls in. Her father will.

“Oh, you must be so proud of her,” Miss Gladia says, and takes a drink of the fizzy orange juice that the little girl can’t have because it has champagne in it, which is a grown-up drink that spark and fizzes and pops when her father opens it in the kitchen, the cork bouncing off the ceiling or wall, and she and her father sometimes feel safe enough to laugh, there.

Sometimes. If her mother is far enough away in the house that she won’t hear them.

“Well, I am, of course,” Savvie says, waving one hand to dismiss the thought. She takes a drink of her own special grown-up orange juice and neither of them offers the little girl anything. Her plastic sippycup is somewhere else in the house. It ruins the look of the table, Savvie said earlier. She will be thirsty until she’s allowed to leave the room.

Her tongue sticks thick to the roof of her mouth from the sugar and dense cake. She feels the need to wriggle, to shift, growing inside of her and has to quash it down, breathing a little bit faster, trying to keep it so silent that her mother will be too distracted to notice. She tries to focus on her hands, the only part of her that is free to move, squeezing them tight and relaxing and then squeezing again.

“... or I would be,” Savvie corrects, one hand on the little girl’s back. It looks like affection - it’s a promise, a threat, a danger. The little girl straightens her spine even more, until her back hurts, and she doesn’t say a thing. “If she didn’t have the worst tin ear.”

“Oh, really?” Miss Gladia sighs and shakes her head. “That is disappointing, coming from such a musical family.”

“Must have gotten it from her father,” Savvie says, long-suffering, and the little girl feels the tiniest bloom of warmth inside of her, that there is any part of her that is her father’s, and not her mother’s. Any part at all. “When I was four I was already able to play anything easy, really, and practicing five days a week. My daughter can’t even do a scale. Believe me, I have tried. She’s honestly been a bit of a disappointment from day one. No amount of encouragement has helped.”

The little girl thinks of her mother screaming at her to try harder, her tiny fingers fumbling and dropping the violin, wailing with fear at the rage in her mother’s face.

“I mean, you’d think she is choosing to be bad at music on purpose, some days.”

She’s scared of music, now. She is choosing to be bad at it on purpose.

The little girl remembers the discipline after she dropped the violin (it was an accident, she didn’t mean to, only she was just scared). She’s too scared to even touch the violin now, or the big piano in another room, she shakes and cries and her mother finally stopped trying.

She can’t make herself safe - but she can hide this one small thing, and that’s a little bit safer, even if it’s not very much.

Remembering, she has to blink back the threat of tears. Tears are even worse than being ungrateful. She can’t let the guest see them, she can’t.

"Oh, sweetie, are you all right?"

The little girl's stomach drops, and she tries to will the tears in her eyes away, but it’s no use - her mother’s finger and thumb grip her chin tight enough to pinch as her head is turned for Savvie’s inspection, her bright eyes roaming over her daughter’s face, seeing the glimmer, the flush, the way she is biting on her lip to hide how they tremble.

“Are you crying, Bella?” Savvie asks, and her voice is mild, but the little girl can hear the threat there, anyway, the coldness underneath. So can her father - she can see him, in the corner of her eye, go suddenly still where he was moving to clear the serving trays away and back to the kitchen. “Why would you be crying, lovie?”

Love in all its forms is a bad word. Lovie is the name for when the little girl is bad, I love you is what her mother says before she makes her father scream his apologies and what she says while petting his hair afterward and making him let her hold him until his shaking stops. You’re so loved is what she whispers when her hands close tight around Izzy in what she thinks is a hug.

Now that the tears are here, they won’t be stopped, and she shudders as they run down still-chubby cheeks and drip to leave watermarks on her pretty silk dress. Her breath hitches in her desperate attempt to hold them back, and her hands are fisted into the silk until her palms burn with pain from her fingernails and still she can’t stop.

“I-I don’t know, M-Mommy, I thought-... ab-about something sc-scary is all, is-... I’m s-sorry, I thought about a movie, scar-... scary movie-”

She and her father have talked about what to say, practiced it - make it my fault, keep yourself safe - and the words fall off her tongue like she means them and for a second she thinks her mother will calm. The press of her hand on the little girl’s back lightens, and she smiles, and her eyes twinkle, so big and bright, and the black parts in the center are so small.

“Well, Daddy shouldn’t be letting you watch those, should he?” She asks, playfully teasing, and looks up to her friend. “Honestly, what was he thinking?”

“Who knows?” Miss Gladia laughs, and her voice is kind, but the little girl hates her for seeing her tears, for making her have to tell the lie.

Then her mother’s eyes fall to the spots on her dress caused by her tears, and the hand on her back is suddenly pressing hard again. “Bella, what did you do?” Savvie keeps her voice light, airy, hardly bothered, but it’s a trick and the little girl’s eyes go wide to her father, who stands silent, watching them. She wants to see that he will save her.

She knows already that he can’t.

“I’m sorry,” She tries again, sometimes if she can apologize fast enough the danger passes, like a cloud moving away from the sun. This time, though, her mother’s smile stays brittle and she is bundled into Savvie’s arms as she stands.

“I’ll just take her to change and have some time elsewhere while we finish our visit. Do you mind waiting here for just a second, Gladia?”

“Of course not, Sav. I’ve plenty of mimosas and I have a phone, I’ll be fine.” Miss Gladia laughs and waves them away, and Savvie holds the little girl so tightly she aches as she carries her out of the room.

Why doesn’t anyone ever notice that she’s scared of her mother? If they notice, why don’t they care? Her cousins aren’t scared of their parents, they fight and throw fits while the little girl sits silent, watching them.

The difference is only that her father has the big black necklace, and none of theirs do. It’s the difference between being safe to have feelings and having to watch each and every one to make sure it’s only ever perfect.

The little girl is good; she doesn’t start to cry again until they reach the second floor, where the bedrooms are, and she realizes what her punishment will be.

“Savvie-” She raises her head, eyes streaming tears, to see her father following on her mother’s heels, his eyes locked on her even as he says her mother’s name. “Savvie, don’t, it’s not her fault, I can-... I know how to f-fix it-”

“You can’t get a water stain out of silk. Honestly, crying in front of guests, Bella, what is wrong with you?” Savvie’s voice is sharp, now that Miss Gladia is out of earshot. “Jax, get something for her to wear when she comes out of time-out.”

The little girl panics, then, wriggling to try and escape her mother’s arms, only to feel them tighten around her until it feels like metal closing around over her ribs. Her voice goes even higher-pitched, airy and breathless. “No, no, don’t put me in time out, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t do it please!”

“Every single word you say will only make me put you in time out for longer, Bella,” Savvie snaps, and the little girl falls into a wail she muffles by burying her face in her mother’s neck, solid as stone, no comfort to be found. “Jax, I said get her a change of clothes ready.”

“Yes, Savvie, but-... another dress for company, or-”

“No.” Savvie stops in front of a door, and it’s not the little girl’s bedroom door. She raises her teary head to blink, confused. It’s painted pale blue gray instead of the pastel pink of her own door, and Savvie pulls an old-fashioned key from her pocket and unlocks it, swinging it open.

“No,” The little girl whimpers. “Please, no.”

It’s the monster room - a huge old room full of furniture covered in big draping canvas cloth that looks like each is hiding something terrible underneath, the room the little girl is most afraid of. Heavy drapes keep out all the light but the tiniest sliver that cuts across the floor, and dust floats through the air.

The monster room is the worst room in the whole house, and it’s the only room she’s too scared of to go in there herself, and her mother knows it. She knows it, but the little girl wasn’t perfect this time, and she has to be disciplined if she isn’t perfect.

The little girl feels a new fresh burst of tears, lower lip trembling, and pulls in a breath just as Savvie says, “If you start crying again, Bella, I’ll leave you here all night.”

The little girl’s sob catches in the middle of her throat and she fights to swallow it, snapping her mouth closed and forcing her hands over it to press so hard her teeth ache, trying to tell herself she has to be brave. Brave and strong and not make much noise while she is hurting, like her father does. She sniffs hard, audibly hard, and slowly nods to show she’s listening, she’s trying, she can be good. “Yes, Mommy,” She whispers, an echo of her father’s eternal Yes, Savvie, which sometimes stops the violence.

“Savvie,” her father says from behind her, a new urgency in his voice. “Savvie, she can’t be left alone, n-not all night, she needs to eat.”

“There’s a bathroom in there and she’s potty-trained. If she cared so much about eating, she wouldn’t have embarrassed me in front of a guest.” Savvie carries her inside and the little girl is tense in her arms, clinging tightly to her terrifying mother and staring with giant desperate panicked eyes over the woman’s shoulder at her father, who wants to but cannot help her. “She should know better than to cry in front of guests. She can cry in here all she wants, nobody will hear it.”

“I will.”

“I’m not worried about that, you have work to do.” She pries the little girl’s arms off of her and drops her, unceremoniously, onto the dusty off-white cloth pulled over the bed. The girl whimpers as she hits the rough canvas and pulls herself up to curl into the tiniest ball she can manage, feeling horribly small, afraid, and alone, even before they’re gone.

“Pl-please don’t leave me,” She tries, in her smallest voice. “Mommy, please.”

Her mother’s eyes are cold and unfeeling when she spares the little girl a single final glance. “Don’t get tears on silk and I won’t,” Savvie says, and then points back out the door. “Go, Jax. I’ll let you know when you can come get her back out. Have her clothes ready.”

Her father looks at her, at the frightened child with her knees pulled up to her chin and ruffled ankle socks and patent leather shoes showing under the hem of her dress, tears making her face ruddy and shining, the wide eyes that beg him for some kind of saving, and then back at the woman who calls herself his wife. “Savvie, please, does she - does she have to be alone in here?”

“That’s the whole entire point, Jax. I said go.” Her mother’s voice switches from the cold hard edges to a sudden sweet softness, turning to slide arms around her father’s waist, leaning into him and nuzzling against his face, seeking a kiss. The genuine affection the girl is denied, her father receives, but he doesn’t relax. He allows it, that’s all. “She’ll be fine, sweetie. Besides, James’ll be up from his nap soon, don’t you want someone around to take care of him?”

The little girl isn’t old enough yet to understand that her mother is laying a new threat, to treat her little brother the same way she is treated. But she sees her father’s tension rise.

She can’t understand the unbearable, awful calculation he has to do, deciding which of them can handle her cruelty the best. It will be years before she can grasp how it must have felt for him, having to choose the infant who is utterly helpless over the daughter who has already learned to live in constant fear. She can’t understand, in this moment, that the torture that cuts deepest is how Savvie forces him to leave one to save the other, over and over again.

All she knows, then, is that he never seems to choose her. She can’t see that it’s not really a choice at all.

She only sees her father’s jaw set, his eyes lower, before he turns to her and says, gently, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Isabella,” and leaves, her mother right behind him. The key turns in the lock.

She is locked in the monster room, one tiny little girl, all alone.

She starts to cry in earnest once they are gone, wailing her fear and some small slim spark of anger that has yet to be extinguished. She screams and begs them to come back, promises to be so good, but no one comes back for her, and the shadows in the room have eyes.

This isn’t fair. She tried her hardest but she can’t be expected to never cry, and she leans over and smooths her skirt out and lets all her tears fall on the silk, ruining and ruining it.

She hates all her dresses, anyway. Dresses are stupid, another bad word she isn’t supposed to say, dresses are stupid and she hates them. They suck. They’re crap. They look stupid and she hopes all her dresses will get water stained and dirt-stained and gross.

The anger grows, a comforting flame to hold back the teeth and claws she is terrified of, and it takes over her tiny body.

She yanks the clip that holds her hair out and throws it as hard as she can, watches it bounce off the wall, throws her stupid shiny black shoes and balls up her socks to throw those and then she says every single curse word she’s ever heard her father say under his breath when her mother isn’t listening, and all the words he’s said in front of her, too.

She screams the words, until her throat aches, until her voice rasps, until her muscles are all standing out pressing on her bones, until she can’t hear her heart anymore, because the anger is bigger than her body, and her mother can’t hear her to punish her for feeling it.

Then, the anger is gone and she is still here, and she starts to cry again. The cloth sways like there are bodies underneath, whispering voices she can’t quite understand, and she is too scared to get down and feel the claws of something under the bed reaching out to pull her in.

Something creaks, like monster-steps, and she half-screams, but no one is coming. No one ever comes to help her, not until her mother thinks she’s sorry enough for whatever she’s done.

The little girl lays down on her side and makes herself very small and prays and prays and prays that she won’t be eaten by the monsters before time-out is over. Her body shakes with sobs and the canvas underneath her head grows damp with her tears.

Somewhere in her praying, she falls asleep.

The next thing she knows is drifting awake to find her father’s warm arms already holding her, her cheek resting on his shoulder, her forehead just touching the black nylon on the side of his neck. The sliver of light through the big dark drapes has gone golden and weak, as the sun starts to set. Her stomach feels empty and sick, and she sniffs as he walks back out into the hallway. “D-Dad-”

“It’s all right, Izzy,” He whispers, and she relaxes into the safe nickname. If he’s using it, it means Savvie isn’t here, or she’s far enough that she won’t overhear them. “It’s all right, it’s over.”

He doesn’t smell like cologne anymore. He must have scrubbed it off. He just smells like him, now, and the little girl, still half-asleep, smiles. She likes the way he smells, all on his own, just shampoo and laundry detergent and the only kind of love that’s safe.

“Sorry I was bad,” She mumbles, voice still slurred with sleepiness, and nuzzles into the big black necklace he wears around his neck, the one her mother uses to hurt him. She has never, in her whole life, seen him not wearing it. “I’m sorry, Dad. S-sorry I wasn’t good-”

“You’re perfect.”

Her father’s voice suddenly has an edge to it, a fierce insistence. His body shakes, muscles going tight and then relaxing. He must have made her mother mad, after she was locked in time out. Or maybe she had just wanted to hurt him for no reason - she does that sometimes, too. “D’you hear me, Izzy? You’re absolutely fucking perfect. She just can’t see it. She can’t-... see it. You did nothing wrong. I’ve got some-... some dinner for you, in your room, and James is in there with his blocks. Do you want to eat, play for a while before bed?”

Her stomach growls, answering for her, and she nods a little, sliding her arms up and around his neck. “Is-... is Mom gone?”

“She’s in her room. She won’t come and see you tonight.”

The little girl breathes a sigh of relief. She can just be Izzy, now, for the whole rest of the night until bedtime. If her mother doesn’t come see her, she can be safe, for just a little while, with her father and little brother, and she can pretend that’s all the family she has.

“I’ll be better next time, Dad, I promise.”

His voice is heavy with an emotion she isn’t old enough to understand as he answers, “You shouldn’t have to be, Izzy.”

“But I do have to be.” She sniffs a little, and flinches with instinctive fear at hearing herself make a sound her mother hates. Her father’s arms only tighten around her in response, and she reminds herself, heart pounding, that she’s safe, for now. “I try, Dad, I try to be a good kid, I do. I try so hard.”

“I know you do.” He kisses the top of her head, briefly coming to a standstill, his body still giving the occasional all-over shiver, what her mother calls ‘aftershocks’. “You try your hardest. But even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, not to me. You’re good all the time.”

“I’m good?”

“Yeah, Izzy. You’re…” Her father sighs, and holds her so tight she almost can’t breathe, but unlike when her mother does it, when her father does she feels, for just a second, like nothing in the whole world can hurt her at all.

Her smile, hidden still against his neck, is wider than it ever is with anyone else.

“You’re the best. And I’m going to get you and your brother out of here. I promise.”

She doesn’t hear how carefully he promises to save her and her brother, but never promises to save himself, too.

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

#whump #child whumpee #child of whumpee #intimate whumper #food as control #shock collar #izzy fucking gallagher #I promise I love you Jax #isolation #captivity #family whump #is that a thing?#I just really like Izzy okay she goes through some shit but her last two pieces are just #triumphs over the first ones #you know what I mean?#like these first few are sad but they get better and she gets stronger #she grows up into a tour de force #but I wanted to showcase what she overcomes to get there

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its-bound-to-get-loud · 3 years

Text

Michael Clifford hair timeline

As some of you might know, this blog started from the frustration of missing certain things in the 5SOS fandom. I’m a 1D fan, I’m used to seeing masterposts about anything and everything. That’s very much not the case in the 5SOS fandom. So I figured, if it’s not here, I might as well go and do it myself. A while back I came to the conclusion there doesn’t seem to be a proper detailed timeline of Michael’s hair journey. So of course, I decided to make one. I heavily underestimated the amount of time this would cost, but I (mostly) had fun making this. So, now I would like to present you with the finished result. It should have every hair color ever in here, but if I somehow missed something or got something wrong, please let me know. I’ve tried my best to be as thorough as possible, but I only became a fan in 2020 and basically had to work my way through 5SOS history for this.

I used Michael’s instagram as a guide and filled in the gaps with interviews, tour diaries, etc. Thankfully he documented most of his hair changes on instagram, which made my job a little easier. So let’s get going!

I have combined 4 pictures into a collage, to prevent having to post close to 50 pictures below each other. The order of every collage is left to right, top to bottom.

So we start with Michael’s natural hair color,. This is a picture I found on Google, I have no idea about the exact date. But this is his natural hair before he started dying it. The next picture is the very first time he dyed his hair, this was a red-ish brown. This picture was posted on January 2 2013. Then later on in the same month he decided to dye his hair darker, to a chocolate brown, which he posted a picture of on January 27. His first bold color happens about a month later. On March 30 2013 he posted this picture of himself with dark blue hair and some lighter blue highlights in his fringe.

The next change comes June 19 2013. When the blue has been mostly removed, you can tell there’s some blue left in the fringe from the highlights, and the rest of his hair still has a blue-green tinge to it. This picture is a screenshot from the 5SOS vs. food video, Michael did post a picture of it on instagram captioned: “when I went blonde for a day”, but the color of that one is quite saturated. So is a better representation. After that, we move on to galaxy hair! The first picture with this hair was posted on instagram on June 19 2013. I thought this was a separate color from the 3rd picture in this collage, but it’s possible it’s the light playing tricks. Picture 3 was posted on June 26, exactly a week after the previous one. On July 6 we move on to the next change, bleach blonde! I think this is the first time he bleached his whole hair. Since the previous color’s were all darker than his own hair, he wouldn’t necessarily have needed bleach. As seen in the first picture of this collage, his hair wasn’t bleached yet. Except for the highlighted fringe. I assume a color removing product was used to get most of the blue dye out, because he said he went blonde “for a day”, which doesn’t indicate fading to me.

The bleach blonde seem to stay for a while, because the next change is almost 3 months later. September 28 2013 brings the reveal of the smurf blue hair. This obviously fades over time, leaving a light, almost pastel blue color as seen in the screenshot I included from their Australia/New Zealand tour diary, opening for One Direction. As October 21 comes around we get a brand new color, bright pink! This faded into a pastel pink as can be seen in the screenshot from this thank you video, posted on November 24.

Up next is reverse skunk, as posted on instagram on November 26 2013. This seems to last a good while, because the next change doesn’t come until 2014, judging by this twitcam from January 18 where the reverse skunk hair is still present. February 10, is when this picture of the purple hair was posted. Moving on to March 21, we get dark red, or maybe dark brown with red highlights, it’s hard to pinpoint what exactly this color is. There is no instagram picture for this one, so I’ve used a screenshot from the 5SOS Livestream to show this one. While writing this I discovered in this video, posted on March 13. where his hair was also this color already. The 4th screenshot from the Don’t Stop video, to demonstrate how long their hair lasted. The video was released May 18 2014. So I’m assuming it was filmed somewhere in (late) April.

The next hair color in line is brown, the picture in this collage was posted to on May 18. However, going back through Michael’s instagram it seems like he already had this color at the start of the There’s No Place Like Home tour in Sydney, on April 30 2014. It’s likely he dyed it right before the start of tour. The next change comes a little quicker, the earliest I could pinpoint this brown/blonde combo is May 18 at the Billboard music awards 2014. I can’t pinpoint, when exactly he got it done, but I’m assuming it was close before the BBMA’s. Moving on, we’re getting to the iconic green hair era. Again it’s hard to pinpoint when he exactly got it. There’s only 1 picture of it on his instagram, which was uploaded in July. The picture I used is from the Capital Summertime Ball 2014, held on June 21. The website describes it as “his new green hair”. So I’m assuming this is where he debuted it. After green we get this mystery lilac type color. I only found it in this Target Prank video on the 5SOS Youtube channel. Since they are promoting 5SOS1, which was released June 27, 2014, the video can be narrowed down to late June, early July of 2014. That’s as close as I could get it. I even went back to check if maybe they pre-filmed this in february/march and this was the faded purple hair, but the timeline still holds up.

September 1 2014 is when we see a new hair color appear on instagram. For (what appears to be) the video of Good Girls Michael bleached his hair to a white blonde. A better picture is the screenshot from the Good Girls video I included. The next change we see is on September 4 at the 5SOS performance for the iTunes festival 2014. This means that either he bleached his hair a while before September 1 or it was just a transition before the red with the orange undertone. This color fades throughout September judging by the pictures on instagram. I probably should have included one in here, but you can easily find them if you look for them. However on September 29 it seems the color got a refresh, looking nice and bright again.

The first picture in this collage, posted December 17 2014, shows the hair fading again. Then on December 18, at the People Magazine Awards the hair seems refreshed again. It looks to me as if the color has a slightly less orange undertone as well. But that’s hard to determine from 1 picture. The next picture, posted February 4 2015 shows the red has once again faded. After the red he moves on to this purple color. The first time we see it on instagram is February 18 in a video from the studio. The picture used for illustration was posted on February 27.

A better view of the violet/purple hair can be seen in the screenshot from the Japan Tour Diaries part 1. In part 2 you can already see the color fading again. The next picture, posted February 28 2015 shows and even more drastic fade, where his hair has turned almost blonde again. Then around March 15 his hair goes fully white blonde again. At the start of the ROWYSO tour in Portugal, May 4, Michael’s hair is still blonde. However 2 days later in Spain, on May 6, he seems to be back to a violet/blue color, like he had previously.

Then May 24 2015 we move to the next change, (jet) black hair (sorry, it had to be done). On July 16 a touch of color is brought into the hair, with addition of a few colorful streaks in his fringe. right on time for the start of the next leg of the ROWYSO tour that starts in Las Vegas. On July 23 he seems to have added a feather extension in the mix. This may have just been a temporary thing, because I can’t find any further evidence of this beyond the 1 instagram picture. Then August 29 brings a drastic change. From black we move back to blonde.

The blonde seems to last for quite some time. Judging by this performance of Hey Everybody, his hair was still blonde on November 11 2015 (the video was uploaded on the day of the performance, I checked). But then November 22 brings us red hair at the American Music Awards. Judging by other pictures on his instagram this seems to be a more true (less orange) red than in 2014. The red slowly fades, first to a more orange toned color in Bali (picture posted January 2 2016). And eventually it fades all the way to blonde wint a soft hint of red/pink in the 3rd picture, posted January 25 2016. Shortly after he premieres a teal hair color at the G’day USA red carpet on January 28.

The teal color sticks around for a while, even during the first leg of the SLFL tour. The last I saw of it was on March 12 2016, at the Philippines show. Then in between the Asian and Euopean leg the color changes from teal to brown, as seen at the Sheffield SLFL show on April 5. Then in the break between their last Dublin show (April 27) and their Vienna show (May 12) he bleaches his hair again. After this the era of Michael frequently coloring his hair seems to be done. He stays blonde, at some point he grows it out until only the long parts of his hair are still blonde. As can be seen in this picture posted on October 16 2017. Then at the start of the Meet You There Tour in Japan (August 2 2018) the colored hair makes a brief return with this pink moment. It doesn’t seem to last long however, since I can’t find a lot about it after Japan. So it may have been a temporary thing.

October 9 2018 he posts the first picture in this collage. It’s very possible this is faded pink from the previous picture. Or maybe he dyed it a lighter shade later on. After this the colored hair stops, but we do occasionally get various shades of blonde. The second picture, from November 16 2018, shows a caramel tone to his hair. In the third picture, posted on October 21 2018, we see sort of a dirty blonde. We end this timeline the way we started, back to natural hair. because of quarantine the bleached blonde grew out and eventually disappeared once he cut it. So we have come full circle. We started with natural hair and we are ending it with natural hair. If we get any more changes in the future I will be sure to add them to the timeline.

Finally, a few facts, for fun.

In total, Michael has had 29 color changes in a span of roughly 8 years.*

He’s had the most colors in 2013 and 2014 (both years he’s had 8 different colors)

The orange red was the color he had the longest, 150 days to be precise (based on the information available).

* Not counting fades or the “blonde for a day. Since they are part of 1 color or were just used to transition to another color. Also not counting the various shades of bleached blonde in the last collage, since it’s hard to tell if they are actually different, or if it’s light. I did count the transition from blonde to natural.

#5 Seconds Of Summer #5SOS #Michael Clifford #hair timeline #Michael hair

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