#trying to get less reliant on hair brushes

[tippenfunkaport]

My only thought when I started this was "hair cut swap" but then I was like, eh, might as well swap them entirely while I'm at it.

#glimmer #bow #glimbow #shera #spop #she ra #swap au #fanart #tippen attempts art #trying to get less reliant on hair brushes

[dmercer91]

can we get a part 2 of luke liking jacks best friend??? maybe where they end up together 🤭

got the girl, lh43

in which luke's behaviour finally clicks and you mess with him until he can admit his feelings out loud (2.0k)

soft, almost needy/naive luke is becoming my favourite cause i love me a boy that's deeply reliant on his snuggles despite being tall and man shaped. a little unproofread and a little silly in the middle, for flavour

when you woke up, you found yourself tucked under lukes arm, your face now a little hidden into his neck so that he could be far up enough on the bed that his legs didn't teeter the edge.

he was sound asleep, a little less of a morning person than you despite his hectic schedule during most of the year.

the summer was his time to sleep until ludicrous hours, and you took note throughout the years that he always took advantage.

he was always the last one of the brothers to hobble downstairs for breakfast, sleep frequently prominent in his eyes and his hair a tangled mess of his curls that were drying out due to the lake water and lack of caring for.

so you let him rest, carefully untangling yourself from his grasp and heading to wash your face, and brush your teeth. it would be a while before quinn was up, usually the most responsible brother who knew that if he got up early enough he could poach some of your breakfast and have a little while of peace in the gym or front yard.

you cleaned up some of the water bottles that had been left in the living room from the night prior, folding the throw blankets and fixing up the pillows before starting to cook your breakfast, deciding on a simple one for today; eggs, toast and some fruit.

what you didn't expect was to hear the creak of the stairs within a few seconds of you frying your eggs, your eyebrows furrowing as you examined the microwave for the time.

a little early for quinn, but you figured it was him anyways. "quinny?" you said, your voice travelling far enough to make it to the stairs but not to make its way upstairs and wake anyone.

when he didn't answer, you turned your head and saw that it was luke, rubbing exhaust from his eyes and sleepily making his way over to you.

you smiled, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into him, and sharp whine echoing into your ear as he saw that you were cooking breakfast.

"it's so early.. come back to bed w' me," he pleaded, tugging you away from the oven and pawing at the knobs of the stove, trying to turn it off.

you giggled, adjusting his arms on you and turning back to your pan, shaking your head.

"i'm making my breakfast, lukey. i can make you some, hm?" he shook his head, tucking his face into your neck as if the natural morning light was too harsh on his eyes.

his arms unravelled from your waist, hands planting on your hips and soothing up and down, pulling your shirt up on your waist a little with each passing.

you bit your lip, his actions from now and last night finally coming together in your brain.

snuggling up with you, staring at you instead of watching a movie he picked out, agreeing to spend the night with you, calling you baby by accident. you weren't sure how you hadn't picked up on it before.

everything was confirmed for you when the stairs croaked once again, now under the feet of the eldest hughes brother. when he saw you, luke still trying to pry your attention away from anything that wasn't him, his face lit with an amused smile.

he knew

you started to ponder on if jack knew, or even trevor and alex. if everyone was painfully aware of luke's eyes always being trained on you and decided to keep it from you.

you blinked back into reality, turning off the stove and plating your eggs. "lu?" you mumbled, offhandedly like you had a question you'd been meaning to ask him for some time, even though it only just come to you.

he hummed, hopeful eyes peeking up at you and his hands coming to a halt. "how about you go get ready and ill make you some breakfast, n' we can have it out on the boat," you murmured, cupping his head in your hand and playing with his curls.

you were gonna see how long it took until he broke, admitted how he'd been feeling.

you watched as his eyes dilated, scanning down to your lips with a deer in headlights-esque look of infatuation. he licked his lips, eyes darting back up to yours as soon as he caught his own staring.

he then nodded, blinking away the evident look of euphoria on his face at the feeling of your hands in his hair.

"oh," he murmured, still nodding along to your question. it was like he was under a spell. "okay," he finished, your hand retreating from his curls and pressing to his chest.

"i'll meet you out there, alright? gotta change once i'm done making your food," you instructed, earning one last nod of confirmation before he finally tore his body away from yours and lugged himself back upstairs and towards his own room.

"don't tell me you're gonna do this until he tells you himself," quinn's voice came from behind you once luke's bedroom door was shut and he couldn't hear the conversation.

"what's the fun in telling him i know? and plus, you can't tell me you didn't love watching that," you gestured to where luke had been standing, calling back to the blindingly obvious pining that the older brother had watched from the stairs.

he nodded a little, smile cracking at his lips as he took the plate of food you had already made for yourself.

you glared at him, mixing together another couple eggs into your bowl now that yours were gone.

"what! they would've been cold by the time you got to the boat anyways," he defended, shovelling a fork full of eggs into his mouth and sitting down at the island.

"y/n?" he asked, swallowing his bite.

you hummed, looking back at him as you poured the eggs into the pan. "you won't just lead him on, will you? like, you feel the same," he asked quietly, eyes avoiding yours after a quick second of eye contact.

your lips pulled back into a smile at his attempt at nonchalant protectiveness over his youngest brother, and you shook your head. "silly question. remember the girl who's face i shoved into a pile of snow? when we were kids?" you recalled, and quinn chuckled.

"yeah. i guess he's kinda always been yours," he stated, much more comfortable now that he knew two of his favourite people would soon stop dancing around each others requited feelings.

when the stairs could be heard again, you were expecting luke, but instead you saw your best friend, gloomy as he stared at you.

"you watched top gun without me, and you had our movie night with my little brother," he pouted, going up to you and ruffling your hair, tugging you into a side hug.

"even?" he asked, looking down at you hopefully.

"you threw me into the pool while i was wearing white. and zegras was there. even," you stuck your hand out, watching as he bashfully took it up to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

"not my brightest impulse decision, i have to admit," he sighed, reaching over your head for a plate and stealing the toast that had come out of the toaster, then some eggs.

you gave him the same glare you'd sent quinn, earning a similarly mischievous grin.

"why'd you make so much if s' not for me?" he wiggled his eyebrows, eyeing luke's bedroom door.

you rolled your eyes, a response you seemed to have needed to resort to one too many times this morning. for future reference, you'd keep in mind that one brother at a time for this hour of the morning was more than enough.

"her and lukey have a breakfast boat date," quinn teased, the two of them looking at each other with excited looks, both with hints of relief that something finally stirred between you and luke.

"at long last was getting a little long, munchkin. good for you," he kissed your forehead, sitting next to quinn at the counter.

"you're both just.. so insufferable" you grumbled, now having to finish off the carton of eggs you'd been using since two plate fulls had been stolen from you.

you popped more toast into the toaster, frowning at the empty plate of strawberries you’d cut up and grabbing the container of unsliced ones to make up some more.

switching focus back to the eggs, you scrambled them up and shook the pan around, ensuring a more even cook.

then, thing one and thing two came jogging downstairs in a full fledged conversation at the top of their lungs

“no, no. i totally kicked your a- ooh, fruit,“ he went to grab a piece of strawberry, earning a slap on the hand.

you spun around, spatula drawn like a sword at his face

“zegras, if you touch my food, this spatula is going down your throat.” his eyes went wide for a second, index finger pointing to your utensil and slowly lowering it down

“i liked you better yesterday,” he grinned, winking and grabbing an apple from the fridge, tossing one to alex. “touchy, this morning.” he grumbled under his breath as you glared at jack

“come on, man. you’re gonna get my top gun privileges revoked. again,” jack got up to put his plate away, shoving trevor’s shoulder on the way by.

“i like that that’s what you’re worried about, that’s really cool of you, j.” you rolled your eyes once more, finally greeting alex with a ruffle of his hair.

then finally, after the string of hockey boys coming down to steal your breakfast, each adorned with bottomless pits for stomachs- luke made his way back to the kitchen. he was now in a hoodie and swim shorts, his hair wet from his shower.

“could you finish up plating everything, lu? your brothers stole our original plates so i’m running a little behind,” you smiled sarcastically as the two eldest waved to you

luke chuckled, nodding and taking your place in front of the stove.

while you changed, he finished cutting up the fruit, he put whatever spreads you’d taken out on the toast, and he split the eggs.

when he was done, he turned to see his brothers, along with trevor, alex and cole- who came down as you went back up, staring at him.

he turned his shoulders inward, suddenly a little too self aware.

“.. what?” quinn grinned, cole coming to pat him on the back as he made his own meal.

“look who finally got the girl,” trevor teased, alex wiggling his eyebrows after taking a bite of his apple.

he furrowed his eyebrows, looking at jack who nodded in confirmation.

“i got the girl?” he asked softly, arms falling to his sides, slightly limp in his state of shock.

“yeah, you did.” you smiled from the entrance to the kitchen, coming up and massaging his shoulder a little.

“you are no fun,” you pointed at quinn, who raised his hands in defence.

“what? why?” luke asked, looking down at you with his head tilted adorably.

“i was gonna mess with you just a little longer. wanted you to admit it,” you grinned, hand on his abs

he smiled a little, pecking your lips.

you tugged at him, grabbing your plate and nodding to his.

“c’mon, now.” you pulled him towards to patio door.

the boys whistled after the two of you and you giggled, looking back to see jack with a proud, almost bashful smile. his favourite people, this’d mean a lot to him even if he never said it.

to save face, the last thing you heard from him on your way out of the back was ‘wear protection!’

you shook your head with a smile, turning to luke now that you couldn’t be seen.

“my lukey,” you murmured, cupping his face and kissing him softly, still more intense now that there wasn’t an audience.

he nodded into your kiss, returning the favour with a hint of desperation.

“my girl,”

#e’s fics #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #new jersey devils #hughes brothers

[hopepetal]

Part nine pog :D I have no strong feelings about this one but hey at least it's done hallelujah

We have some content warnings for this one! Graphic depictions of violence, murder, blood, kinda cannibalism ig?

Masterlist

@applestruda @stiffyck

Magic is a fickle thing.

When people are born, they all have life energy. This is what keeps them, well, alive. It is the beat of their heart, pumping blood through their veins. It is the inhale and exhale of air, the hum of the earth and the music of the stars. It is the feeling of peace one has when finally laying down in their soft bed after a long day. It is the joy in laughter, the tenderness in love, and the healing after heartbreak.

To say someone is born with magic would be, while widely socially acceptable, is factually incorrect. To be born with magic is to be born with a surplus of life energy that manifests itself in what everyone calls “magic”. Hence, magic is not something anyone is born with, but rather a side effect of life itself. Magic is energy, and a very demanding energy at that one. It must be used, for otherwise it will build and build until it breaks through whatever tried to hold it in.

For Scar, his magic was like water. The less he used it, the more he held it in and tried to control it, the hotter it got. Every time he suppressed the growing urge to transform, the pressure built. Soon, it was as though his magic was simmering under his skin, just about ready to boil over if he wasn’t careful. It was harder than he would’ve ever thought. Borrowed magic, contractual magic, or otherwise non-naturally received types of magic were much more heavily reliant on emotions than magic one got naturally, and the past few days had been… emotionally charged, to say the least.

Scar knew that Grian had noticed his condition. At this point, he couldn’t do anything about the white streak in his hair or the soft glow to his eyes. His fingers had begun to become pointed into claws that pierced through the palms of his hands whenever he clenched his fists, drawing blood. The avian was glancing over at him in concern, every so often leaning slightly closer and brushing his shoulder against Scar.

“I know,” Scar had whispered when Grian’s eyes flicked up to his white hair. He had shrugged, trying to keep a handle on the worry that was beginning to rise in his chest. He had never gone this long without using his magic before, ever since he got it he had always done his best to go along with his instincts and general “magic urges”. Cub had told him it would be bad if he fought his magic.

But going along with his instincts and letting his magic get the best of him was the whole reason he was in this mess. He hurt his friends. This was just the price he had to pay for his mistake.

Grian and Scar were walking along in silence for the most part now, with Opal and Fern both in front of them, talking too softly to be understood by the two walking behind them. Every so often Opal or Fern would look back to check on their captives, but for the most part Grian and Scar were left unsupervised. 

Which gave Grian the time he needed to cut through the ropes tying his hands together behind his back. Brushing his shoulder against Scar to get the other man’s attention, he grinned and held up the cut ropes with one hand and used the other to press a finger against his lips in a silent shushing motion. He shuffled over to be right against Scar, starting to work on the other man’s bonds. 

Opal and Fern seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion, meaning they weren’t paying any attention to the two knights walking behind them. Scar felt the ropes around his wrists loosening, then finally dropping. He fought the urge to shake his arms out to get the blood flowing again, settling with rubbing his hands together and interlacing his fingers behind his back. His eyes met Grian’s and he tried to silently ask what the plan was. Met with nothing but a shrug, Scar had to hold back a groan. 

Oh boy. They were both going to die. 

So focused on the fact that they didn’t have a plan, Scar didn’t notice that Fern and Opal had stopped walking. He slammed right into Fern, which caused him to yelp and stumble back. The two turned around as Grian cursed and drew the small dagger he had been hiding, flaring his wings out in an instinctual defense mechanism to make himself look larger than he actually was. In doing so, he pushed Scar behind him and obscured the other knight from their captors. 

There was no time for talking then. Fern and Opal instantly drew their weapons and attacked, and Grian was barely able to keep up. It was over too quickly for Scar to do anything- one moment Grian was standing and shouting insults at their captors, and the next he was pinned to the ground on his stomach and Fern’s sword was at Scar’s throat. 

Scar put his hands up, smiling nervously. “Hey, hey now, there’s no need for that!” His eyes flicked over to Grian, who was struggling against Opal as she put a knee on his back between his wings. “Hey, be careful!” 

Fern pressed their sword against Scar’s throat, just hard enough to draw blood. “Shut up,” she snapped, before glancing back to Opal. “You got more rope?”

“Yeah,” Opal grunted, still trying to keep Grian down, “but not enough for these stupid-” She squawked when one of Grian’s wings, which she had been so desperately trying to pin down, smacked her in the face- “these stupid wings! Void, will you stop?!” 

“Let us go!” Grian shouted, trying to kick at Opal, his wings still beating the ground as he attempted to get her off of him. “You’ll regret this, just you wait!”

Opal let out a frustrated growl, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, glancing over at Fern. Her eyes were dark, and Scar felt anxiety rise in his chest as she spoke. “You have a health pot in your bag, right?” 

Fern frowned, keeping her sword at Scar’s neck as she nodded. “Yeah, I have a few. Always do. Why-”

Opal interrupted Fern as she stomped down on one of Grian’s wings, earning a shriek from the avian as the limb was pinned down. “I’m cutting off these stupid wings.” With that, she raised her sword to do the deed.

Over the course of four or five days- really, who was counting anymore- Scar had been suppressing his vex magic. It showed in his too-sharp nails, his eyes that had turned an icy blue, and his fading hair color. It showed in the slight tremors in his hands, the bags under his eyes, the pain that just kept building and building in his chest as he tried to hide an essential part of himself.

Magic does not fade. Once in existence, it will continue to circulate until it is used. When a person uses external magic without a spell focus or an idea of what they’re doing, they are simply putting their magic back out into the world, allowing it to become ambient magic. When a spell is chanted, or used with intent, the magic forms into something real. Of course, this is only for those who use external magic- for Scar, a user of internal magic like transformation, things are a bit different.

For internal magic, the basics are the same. It does not fade. But unlike with external magic, internal magic does not have anywhere to go. It cannot become ambient magic and rejoin a cycle through the world like external magic. It can only build up until eventually, it forces itself to be used.

Scar’s vex magic, being internal, was influenced by emotion. Not so much where he would get scared and his hair would turn white, but when he felt a strong enough emotion, he would change much more easily than normal. For example, a strong feeling of rage would leave him with glowing eyes and white hair for a while, until he could get himself calm at least. And that was just on a normal day.

Scar’s vex magic had been building up for the past few days. It was simmering under his skin, a raging tide ready to break free at any moment. 

And break free it did. 

Scar’s eyes burned blue as the color instantly fled from his hair, his skin changing to be the grey-blue of the vex. His nails sharpened into talons and a growl ripped from his throat as he grabbed the blade of the sword and yanked it away from Fern, not caring that his hand cut and bled. Fern let out a panicked shout as they stumbled back, giving Opal pause. She looked over just in time to see Scar lunge forward and tear through Fern’s chainmail chestplate, talons ripping through both armor and flesh.

Fern let out a choked wail as they fell back, blood pouring from the wound as she frantically tried to put pressure on her injury to stop the bleeding. Opal pulled her sword away from Grian and swung it at Scar, but it was too late. The vex was already right in front of her, and with a cruel snarl, he bit down on her throat before tearing away a huge chunk of her flesh. Choking on her own blood, Opal fell.

Scar let out a roar of anger, the sound haunting as it echoed throughout the forest. In the distance, a wolf howled in response. The sound of a goat horn cut through the screams of death and panic, and Scar whipped around to see Fern blowing into the horn. His anger surged, and as fast as lightning he was at Fern’s side, yanking her up by the collar of her shirt. “You,” he growled, his voice echoing with magic, “what have you done?” 

Fern spat in his face, and in return Scar tore out her throat. Throwing her body to the ground, Scar looked around, his brain screaming at him to find them all kill them they hurt you they hurt your friends- 

But so did you. 

A haunting wail rose from his throat as he sank to the forest floor, knees hitting the dirt with a painful thump as his magic continued to rage and swirl around him. The veritable hurricane of magic formed misty blue ribbons of smoke around him, miniature bolts of lightning at his fingertips as sparks of raw, burning magic flew from his glowing eyes. Blood dripped from his chin and talons as he screamed in agony, failure echoing in his voice. Hugging himself tightly, his talons dug into his skin, drawing small beads of blood that dribbled down contrasting blue skin in bright scarlet red.

The howl of a wolf sounded again, this time much closer. Scar could hear there was someone shouting- his name he thinks, but he can’t hear much over the magic roaring around him, whipping his magic-bleached hair in his face. His eyes were now glowing completely, shining like miniature suns as the magic just kept pouring out of him. The dam had burst, and it was impossible for him to stop it.

There were more people now, Scar could see a faint blur of red and white through the haze of magic. He let out an echoing cry, reaching out with bloodied hands toward whoever was there, his anger and fear giving way to a crushing loneliness and grief. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He had never meant to hurt anyone, really! He just messed up- he always did, why was anyone surprised- and… and he just…

“Scar! Scar, can you hear me? It’s okay, please. We’re here for you.” Grian. That was Grian, that was his friend… “Come on, please, it’s okay. We’re all here for you, and we’re not leaving you ever. No matter what. Promise.”

The magic died out as soon as it began, and Scar felt himself hit the ground. Darkness descended, and with one last sob, he let go of consciousness.

Impulse and Mumbo followed behind Pearl as she led them through the forest. They had left their horses back further in a secure location with plenty of food and water. They would be a lot more stealthy on foot, Pearl had explained, and the other two agreed. 

Impulse had frowned when Pearl said she’d be bringing Tilly. “I don’t see how the dog is crucial to the stealth mission, but…”

“Excuse you!” Pearl had exclaimed in mock offense, “Tilly is very important! Yes you are girl, oh yes you are!” And with that, they had set off, with the dog that Pearl kept insisting was a wild wolf.

They had been close to their destination when they heard screaming, and the sound of a goat horn. Tilly howled, and Pearl stiffened up, looking back at Mumbo and Impulse. “Something’s wrong.”

“You don’t have to tell us twice,” Mumbo muttered, and the three had taken off in the direction of the commotion. 

When they had gotten there, it took all Mumbo had to not freeze up in horror. Scar was in his vex form on his knees, magic as sharp as a blade swirling around him. He was covered in blood that Mumbo could only hope was not his own- something he confirmed upon seeing the two bodies next to Scar. 

Glancing over, he noticed Grian on the ground, struggling to push himself up. He rushed over and helped the avian to his feet, checking him over to make sure he had no grievous wounds. “Grian! What happened- are you alright?!”

Grian winced, nodding. “Scar, he’s- I need to help him!” He sounded desperate, and Mumbo had to hold him back to keep him from running straight to the vex.

“It’s dangerous!” Mumbo warned him, “do you see that magic? You’ll be ripped to shreds!”

Grian pushed Mumbo away. “We’re knights! It’s an occupational hazard!” He took a few steps forward, before kneeling down and calling out to Scar. 

As he spoke, Tilly began to growl. Pearl glared at the treeline, drawing her sword. “Others are coming. Most likely summoned from that goat horn.” She looked back at Mumbo and Impulse. “I need you two to get Grian and Scar out of here, alright? I can handle this.”

Impulse shook his head, stepping forward. “Absolutely not. We’re knights. We stick together.”

Pearl raised an eyebrow. “Are you doubting my capabilities? Go. Grian and Scar need you more than I do.”

Mumbo turned to look back at Grian and Scar as the magic storm died down, the color seeping back into Scar’s hair as he collapsed. Grian caught the other knight and held him close, though he looked close to passing out himself. Mumbo brushed his hand against Impulse’s arm, jerking his head toward the two other knights. “Pearl’s right. We should go.”

Reluctantly, Impulse nodded and sheathed his sword. “Right, then. We’ll meet you back at the horses?”

The sound of footsteps and faint shouting grew louder as Pearl nodded. Impulse scooped Scar up, and Mumbo helped Grian to his feet. “I’ll see you all soon.” She turned away, pulling up her hood and facing the sound of the approaching enemies. Tilly padded up to stand beside her, growling softly. 

Impulse looked over at Mumbo and smiled wearily. “Let’s get out of here.”

By the time they were back at the horses, Pearl was already there- covered in blood and smiling brightly, but there nonetheless. Grian had passed out halfway through the trip and was now being carried by Mumbo, though there were moments of semi-consciousness that made the mustachioed man chuckle. 

Carefully, the unconscious knights were settled on the horses, with Impulse sitting behind Scar and Mumbo sitting behind Grian to keep them steady. Pearl spread her wings, saying she’d watch from above and keep an eye out for them all. 

Slowly but surely, they began the long journey home.

#my writing #boatem knights au #vex scar #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #grian #mumbo jumbo #pearlescentmoon #pearl #impulse #opal the placeholder bastard #fern the placeholder bastard #death cw #gore cw #graphic depictions of violence #blood #slight cannibalism #angst #hurt/comfort #hermitcraft fanfic #tilly the dog

[meetevieinthehallway]

please i beg of you to do a period comfort fic please please your comfort/fluff stuff is so amazing

maybe something where lovies in a lot of pain and is just super reliant on harry bc of the pain and he’s super sweet and gentle with her and comforting

PLEASE PLEASE

FIRST LIL WRITING AFTER A LONG WHILE!!! bear w me pls, im rusty :D

-

she doesn’t want to do this.

it could have been a worse time, she supposes— it’s not as if they were at one of harry’s a-list events where her smile would most obviously quiver from the pain and bring her abdomen to her feet, where his eyes would snap to hers with worry at the first strained sigh in her throat. but, what she does know is that she didn’t want this to happen, not now.

ever since she stopped flooding her body with birth control in a preliminary effort to try for a child, her periods have hit her like tidal waves. pain is not the word, but torture, even, and she is not one for melodrama but it all just feels so suffocating and burning and red and just god— OW.

the cramps are like knives to the skin and she’s even started to get lightheaded now between the pendulum of her moods and it all just feels so dramatic but she also knows that she’s not intending to be. and it’s exactly what she’s feeling now, because as she stands up from the oven she winces, flinches, as if electrocuted in her abdomen, and it’s a miracle that the pan had made it to the stovetop without scorching her feet as it hits the floor. and the heat from the cookies just laying there innocently is too much, all at once, and she lets out a hiss when another stab comes to her pelvis.

“fuck,” she mutters, throwing the oven mit next to the tray, her other arm coming to wrap around herself. she fumbles, clumsy feet moving to the bar stool closest to her, and just as she sits another hits, less harsh but enough to make the air in her lungs to run for cover outside of her heating body.

and of course, of fucking course, she has barely anytime to think—as if she could even attempt with the onset of a swirling vision and a pounding headache drumming at her temples—before harry waltzes in on light feet and a boyish smile decorating his face.

“ready t’go, bird?” by the time he finishes the question, his eyebrows are starting to pinch as he drinks in his wife’s expression: eyes closed, shallow breathing, her own brow furrowed in something of pain and anguish. her arms are glued to her stomach, too, which he recognizes immediately, and he clicks his tongue once. “you okay, love?” he moves to stand in front of where she sits, leaning down to meet his eyes to her closed ones. he brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, starting to dampen from the heat from her forehead.

“yeah, yeah.” she says softly, her eyes opening to meet his, glassy and pained against the green that looks at her with concern.

“y’feel dizzy? let’s get you upstairs and i’ll run you a bath?” he says it quietly, his hand coming to the top of her head in a gentle rub of her hair, and he watches her melt into the touch slightly.

“no.” she breathes, “no, no, we… we should be going soon.” her eyes open fully now, and start to pace themselves across his face and the kitchen.

“love, you are white as a ghost and as hot as the sun.” he says softly, “let me draw you a bath, kay? or would you rather lay down, hm?”

his voice melts her shoulders like butter, but it doesn’t distract from the pain threatening to shatter her to pieces.

“no, i-i, let’s go. i’ll take some midol in the car, and—”

“it’s okay, sweet. we’re staying here.”

“no!” she musters enough to say it stubbornly, and she watches his brow droop deeper and his frown widen into his cheeks. “i’m not missing your mum’s party. it’s— it’s just a stupid period, a-and it’ll pass—”. her argument weakens the more she speaks and the more waves of heat crash into her, breaking her syllables into sad attempts of words. he shakes his head at her, swallowing an endeared smile at his wife’s notorious stubbornness.

“c’mon, baby love. let’s get you comfy.”

he learned a long time ago that there isn’t a compromise when it comes to his wife’s periods. he’s never seen anything like it— the 4 full days of pain and whimpering and sleeping and bouts of eating everything or nothing at all— but he knows now what she needs. one faint in the too-hot shower a couple months back was all he needed to learn this time like memorizing a textbook. he feels saddened for her, too, as it strips her away from the world for a bit, and god does he wish he could soak that pain into his own pelvis and head just to give her a break. harry hates to see his own little love like this, crippled by discomfort.

“i’m so tired of this,” she sighs, eyes welling in an all-too-familiar hormonal emotion.

“i know,” he says, his hand coming to hold her cheek, pressing his cool skin into her blotchy face. “’s okay, though. mum will understand, i promise.”

and he’s successful in his knowledge, too, because she opens her fluttering eyes to gaze up at him sadly, a pout forming across her cheeks.

“but what about my cookies?”

he looks over his shoulder to see the pan resting on the stovetop, still steaming with heat and chocolate oozing out the sides.

“they’re her recipe. was so excited to show her.” her voice is defeated, and harry snorts.

“i am sure they will find a happy home in m’own stomach, bug. will make sure to send a yelp review her way.”

and at this she chuckles for a moment, before wincing, and it’s then that he scoops her up into his arms like a child, ignoring her soft protests. he kisses her on the forehead with a wet pucker as he moves to ascend their staircase, and by the time they reach the top she’s still attempting to convince him— can we please just go? i’ll be fine, i swear. i— ow, i-i, c’mon h… i really don’t want to miss it!

but his curls flop between his eyes and he smiles at her, softly shushing her panicked suggestions. she knows she has lost, though, because another stab comes through her stomach and she jolts, eyes watering. she sighs, letting her weight fall completely in his hold.

“bed or bath, little love?”

#harry #harry styles #fluff #harry styles one shot #blurb

[donald4spiderman]

I dont know if you're still taking requests if so could you write a fratboytasm!peter getting jealous because another boy at a party is trying to flirt with you, so he comes over and starts kissing you or something and then throws u over his shoulder taking u to the closest room.

NOT WITHOUT JEALOUSLY

frat!tasm!peter x gn!reader

tw: jealously, making out, suggestiveness

a/n: I took this as a jealous!peter where the two of you are sort of dating but it’s not official or exclusive. hope you enjoy!

masterlist

PETER SWEARS HE’S NOT LIKE THIS, he’s not that type of guy. Technically, the two of you aren’t even dating, let alone exclusive. The burning discomfort and jealously surging through his veins isn’t supposed to be here. He’s not suppose to feel this way.

He physically recoils into himself when the flirty guy across from you reaches out to brush a stray piece of hair out of your face. Peter thinks he sees you flinch, teeth bared in a forced smile. Maybe it’s his wishful thinking.

He must look strange—staring wide-eyed at you from the middle of the crowded room. People seems too drunk to notice, the party continues to flow around him. The guy leans in closer, muttering something that makes you chuckle quirky. Peter debates the ethicality of using his status as president of the fraternity to kick him out of their party.

The two of you are talking for a really long time. So long that Peter has sobered up slightly, which somehow is only making the jealously more and more powerful within him. He hates the you actually seem to be enjoying yourself.

You’ve mentioned how quickly you were to shut down guys who seemed too arrogant or reliant on their masculinity. The guy standing in front of you is handsome and built, looks like a football player, which is not your usual type. There must be something about his personality, then. Something about him that makes him better than Peter.

Time passes, and the party is still going strong. You’re still talking to that guy. Peter notices and open window when he leaves with his solo cup to grab another drink. You’re alone for a moment and he seizes the opportunity.

“Hey, (Y/N).” The gravel in his voice makes you shiver.

“Oh, hi, Pete.” You chirp, genuinely delighted to see him for the first time the entire night. “This party is...kind of tolerable.”

He smiles, “Well, I knew you were coming, so I wanted it to be a little less overwhelming for you. I know how you hate crazy parties.”

“You did that for me, Pete?” Is it wrong that a simple nickname to makes him horny? “You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did.”

Peter feels like he’s getting his grove back. You’re looking up at him with loving eyes, and he forgets about that other dude for just a moment.

“Did you meet Carter?”

“Huh? Who?”

“The guy I was talking to all night since ao couldn’t find you.” Shit, really. “By the way, where were you?”

“Carter...n-no-didn’t meet ‘em.” He chews his lips in frustration, shaking his head.

“That’s too bad, you would like him.”

“Would I?” It’s quiet a murmur more for himself, but you hear it.

“What was that?” You question, poking at his chest. “Something’s upsetting you?” You sound a little annoyed, but he tries to ignore it.

“No. I-It’s fine. It’s just-well,” he stammers with his head hung low in shake, “I-I don’t like the way he was f-flirting...with you.”

Your face scrunches up sarcastically, “Oh, so this was an ego thing? Don’t want the other kids peeing your sandbox?” You cringe immediately, and so does Peter. “Okay, bad analogy, but the point still stands.”

“What? I c-can’t be jealous?”

“No!” You exclaim as if it’s a kindergarten knowledge.

“I can’t help it, okay. I like you,” Here he goes, “A lot. And you know it. A-and I don’t like other guys flirting with you, ‘cause that should be my job.”

“Aw, Pete.” You coo. “You’re sort of cute when you’re jealous.”

“Stop it! I’m serious! I don’t like way he was talking to you.”

He sneaks a quick glance to his left to find that what’s his name? Carter! Is returning with his drink. Peter has a plan, and he hopes you’ll forgive him.

“Forgive me?”

“For what?”

As soon as Carter is within two feet, Peter’s slamming his lips onto yours. Shocked, you stumble a few steps back, but reciprocate, nonetheless. Your arms snake around his waist to pull him in tighter, and you’ve long forgotten about the man who occupied your night before this.

You break apart from the kiss, gasping, only to be tossed onto Peter’s shoulder.

“Peter!” You cry out. “Let me down. I swear to god, I will fuck you up, Peter!”

He chuckles, mostly to antagonize poor Carter (who hasn’t really done anything wrong).

“Sorry, man.” He offers a half-assed apology before leading you up the stairs and into his room.

SEND IN REQUESTS!

#tasm!peter parker #the amazing spider-man #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #marvel #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker smut #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #andrew garfield peter x reader #andrew garfield #frat!peterparker

[melgaardlanier10]

Be A Much Better Close Friend By Looking After Your Feline With These Tips

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#moving snake cat toy #snake cat toy

[360iris]

Poly!Draco Malfoy x Blaise Zabini x Ravenclaw!Reader Blurb

Content warning: A dash of smut and a drop of daddy kink

Blaise was never close with anyone from his house. Whether it be, because of their attitudes or underdeveloped ideologies, but he remained to himself. That is until he was paired with you during a potions lesson in your second year.

Even as a child, he was never one to laugh much, but you were intelligent and funny. The two of you instantly clicked.

After that day, he found himself seeking you out. Whether you were curled up outside under a tree reading or falling asleep during a divination lesson, he’d slip in beside you and happily listen to whatever thought crossed your beautiful mind.

He doesn’t waste his time speaking unless there’s something he actually wants to say, otherwise he’s silent.

With you he’s adoringly attentive; with others, he comes off as blatantly unimpressed.

You’re best friends and share your first kiss at the age of fourteen, but don’t start formally dating until your fifth year.

Lots of cuddling in comfortable silence or Blaise quietly listening to you complain about Professor Snape, while not taking his eyes off of his book.

“He marked down my essay by a whole letter because he claims the herb isn’t recognized by that specific name anymore! What an absolute tosser! Every year I gradually understand why he’s always alone! No one can suffer his company! The funny thing is that I was just starting to feel like he was a decent guy!” You vent, blood boiling just recalling the interaction.

“Y/N?” He exhales from above you, your face currently squished against his chest.

“Hm?” You respond, lifting your head to face him, before suddenly feeling his lips on your own. It was disorienting, and then wholly consuming. But right as you bring a hand up to clutch his jumper, he’s pulling away.

“Don’t talk about other men while you’re straddling me, love.” He replies, turning his attention back to the pages in front of him. Your mouth drops as the butterflies in your stomach do airplane maneuvers.

“Wha- Blaise!” You try to appeal but you can tell by the smirk on his lips that he’s not budging.

“Don’t be a brat; that was all you’re getting.”

Sixth year was when Blaise introduced you to Draco. You had seen the platinum blonde boy over a dozen of times during your years at Hogwarts, but had never actually spoken to him. You were one of the lucky few.

Blaise later informs you that the boy had a fall out with his usual gaggle of idiots and needed to be around more grounded individuals.

“So... you want me to suddenly be best-mates with Draco-fucking-Malfoy? I thought you couldn’t have cared less about him?”

To say you were confused, was a severe understatement.

“He wouldn’t have even gotten in this predicament if he hadn’t spent the majority of his time here, devoted to pissing everyone off.” You huff, collapsing onto Blaise’s assigned bed. He’d snuck you in here many times over the years.

“I know what I said, Y/N. Now I’m saying that I pulled a couple of strings and he’s going to be my roommate.” He drawls out, rolling his eyes at the socked foot playfully prodding his torso.

“It’s not up for discussion.” He states, grabbing ahold of your foot and utilizing it to make room between your legs.

His usually pristine, ironed slacks wrinkling as his knees dug into the duvet underneath you.

“So, in short: All I want to hear from those pretty, little lips of yours is a confirmation that you’ll be a good girl and behave when he gets here.” His hands gripped at your exposed thighs and your skirt, ever so slightly hiked up to reveal more of your soft skin.

Biting your lip to keep in a whimper, your attention switches to the source of a surprised sputter from the door.

“Oh! Um.. Zabini...” The boy’s pale face already becoming red and splotchy from embarrassment.

It took a while for Draco to adjust to his new company. Most likely due to the fact that, for the first time ever, he couldn’t control his peers. Neither of you cared about his status or his daddy’s money. He soon realized that there wasn’t a need to put on an act anymore.

Within a short span of time, he learned to stop bothering other students. Whenever he unnecessarily detoured to pester an underclassman on the way to a lesson, Blaise and yourself would simply keep walking. Ultimately leaving him by himself.

Naturally everyone noticed the drastic change in his demeanor, and while you did get questions from girls in your house asking why Malfoy was suddenly trailing after you and your boyfriend like a lost puppy, the school appreciated the loss of one of it’s primary bullies.

The most to least talkative in the trio: you, Draco and lastly Blaise.

Oldest to youngest: Blaise, you and Draco.

Draco wasn’t accustomed to people being as sarcastically playful with him as you are. Teasing him as much as Blaise would allow, before he pulls you away from the younger boy by the waistband of your skirt.

Riling him up was by far your favorite pastime.

As months went by, you noticed the bonds the boys were forming, even if Draco seemed oblivious to it.

“He’s growing on you.” You say in a sing-song manner after Draco heads off to his next class. You smile when Blaise pauses his quill mid-stroke.

“Don’t you have an assignment you should be completing?” Is all he responds but you don’t let up, poking him under the table with your shoe.

“I think he likes you, though he probably doesn’t even know it yet.” Switching your gaze onto your hand, inspecting your manicure. He’s not looking at you anyway, bracing himself on the table with his forearms and face turned away.

“Do you want to sleep with him?” You ask, crossing your arms and he jolts.

“Merlin, Y/N!”

“What it’s okay! I do too! He has a puppy-dog energy to him.” You respond nonchalantly and Blaise scrunches his face, clearly overwhelmed.

“Wha-“

“I’m admitting it, so that you can admit it and then we can move on to the next step!”

He inhales deeply and sits back in his chair. Clearly taking a second to collect his thoughts. “And what’s the next step?” He asks, one of his perfect brows arching.

“So you know how we’re dating?” You ask and he stares back at you blankly. 

“Yes, Y/N. I’m aware that we’re dating.” He replies dryly but you continue.

“Well, I know he likes you. I mean, I have functioning eyes! He’s so reliant on you, it’s really cute! Anyway! I noticed that he likes me too! When I’m around, he’s always looking at me. Like when I make a joke or put my hair up, or if I’m just reading! It’s the same way you look at me.” You excitedly ramble.

“And how do I look at you exactly?” He questions coolly.

“Like you love me. Like, you’re seeing me for who I really am, and you must like what you find because you don’t turn away. If anything, you stare harder.” You say tenderly, daring him to deny it but he doesn’t. He nods his head and brings a hand up to his mouth.

“So what do you want to do?” He finally asks and you smile.

You decide on testing how far Draco would let you treat him as if you both were dating him too.

For Blaise this meant speaking softer and sweeter. Wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder when they walked together in the halls.

As for yourself, you made a point of sitting closer to him. Brushing your exposed thigh against his hips or pressing your chest on his arm when reaching for something. You might even act as if you’re removing an eyelash from his cheek or tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

He got the most flustered with you. When you got close he always froze in place, holding his breath nervously as if you were a skittish butterfly.

“Aren’t you tired, dear?” You ask with a faux furrow in your brow, innocently batting your eyelashes.

“Wha- What do you mean?” He replies confused as you sit almost flush against him as he’s seated at the end of Blaise’s bed.

The eldest boy looking up from the book in his lap, legs crossed as he leans back against the headboard. Watching as you drag a hand through Draco’s hair. He’s silent and unmoving when the blonde boy turns to anxiously meet his gaze.

“Don’t you want to touch me, Draco? Aren’t you tired of just looking?” You’re caressing his cheek as you speak and you already know you have him looped around your finger because he already looks so desperate.

“Do you want to touch me, sweetheart?” You ask again, and he nods eagerly causing you to chuckle.

As you straddle him, you look up at your boyfriend. His stare is intense and you smirk. This was going to be fun.

“Draco, dear.” You purr, situating yourself on his lap.

“Hm?” He’s looking at you with such adoration, your smile widens. Lacing a hand into the hair at the base of his neck, you press a kiss on his cheek.

“Let’s see how much we can get away with before Daddy intervenes.”

#draco x blaise #blaise zabini #blaise zabini x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #poly fic #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter blurb #blaise zabini x draco malfoy x reader #blaise x draco x reader #hp imagine #hp blurb

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 70: Patronus

"I'm doomed," Draco hissed at Pansy as they left the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. "The final is in less than a month! How could Higgins spring this on us?"

"Calm down," Pansy said.

"Calm down? Calm down?! Pansy, you recall that I have a dark mark don't you? The final is half of our grade! I'm going to fail."

She shook her head, "You're not going to fail," she informed him calmly. "You'll learn Draco, you have over three weeks."

"But I'm an ex-death eater," he whispered, as though anyone could ever forget. "Death eaters can't cast a patronus, you know that."

"That's not true," a voice behind them piped up, making Draco jump.

"For Circe's sake, Potter, stop sneaking around," he grumbled.

The other boy shrugged, "Sorry," he said unrepentantly, "Couldn't help but overhear what you were saying."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Oh, you just couldn't help it, huh?"

He flicked a careless grin at Draco, his dimple showing, and as always, Draco didn't know quite what to do with that. "I'm just saying that death eaters could cast a patronus."

"How would you know?" Draco asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Snape could cast one, and Merlin knows that you did far less horrific shite than he did," Potter replied as he sauntered past them and into the common room. "I could help you, if you want," he called over his shoulder before walking out of view.

Pansy opened her mouth and he cut her off, "Don't," he said, holding up a hand.

(Read more below the cut)

She cackled, "I bet there's a thing or two he could help you with."

"Why am I friends with you?" he groaned. "I'll figure it out myself," he added with a haughty sniff.

---------

A week and a half passed and Draco was no closer than he'd been the day she'd first assigned this task to them as part of their final. Draco sat in the library, pouring over textbooks that were supposed to help to teach you to cast one but none of them seemed to help.

"Hey," Potter said as he dropped into the chair across from Draco like they were friends or something. He'd been doing it since February and Draco still couldn't understand it. "How are you?"

"Awful," Draco replied with a groan. "I'm going to fail my Defense final and then I'm going to go to prison because passing all of my classes is part of my parole," he said, the words pouring out of his mouth without his consent. "And I never imagined that passing my classes would be a problem, but-"

"Draco," Potter said, his voice calm and unruffled, "Let me help you."

"You can't," he said shaking his head.

Potter tilted his head consideringly, "Maybe not but would it hurt to try? I've taught like over twenty other teens to do it," he added.

Draco bit his lip, what could it really hurt?

"Come on," Potter said, standing up and holding out a hand to pull Draco to his feet. "If it fails you can always come back and read through dusty books some more."

"Fine," he sighed, reaching out and taking Harry's hand, a thrill tingling up his arm at the contact.

Harry didn't let go right away as he started walking and Draco's heart tripped along inside of his chest as he stumbled after him.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked.

He released his hand but gave him a little smile, "we can't very well practice it in the library, can we?"

Then Harry took off running and Draco had no choice but to jog after him, spluttering indignantly. "Why are we running?"

"Because it feels good," Harry replied as he raced down the stairs and outside.

When they reached just the edge of the forest, where there weren't any signs of other students Potter stopped and took off his cloak, enlarged it, and laid down on it.

"What are you doing?"

Harry just patted the cloak beside him.

"Potter," he said, hands on his hips.

The other boy opened his eyes and said, "Trust the process. Come lay down."

With a sigh he laid down on the cloak and stared up at the sun peaking through the branches.

"Relax," Harry whispered, covering Draco's hand with his own.

Somehow, it soothed Draco and made him panic all at once but at least it wasn't the normal kind anxiety, it actually made him feel a weird sort of excited anticipation.

"Think of a happy memory," he murmured, "A really happy one that you can feel all the way down to your toes."

He was quiet, trying to think, "It's been a while since I've been that happy," he confessed.

Harry's hand squeezed his gently and he thought this was probably as happy a moment as any. He focused on the feelings in his body.

"When you're ready," Harry said a few minutes later, "we'll stand up and try to cast. You've already got the mechanics down, it's just about getting the feelings right."

Draco nodded, then pushed himself to his feet.

The other boy stood behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder, "Think of your happy moment," he murmured. "Let it fill you up."

He inhaled, thinking of the way Harry's body felt next to his, of the warmth of his hand, the tingles in the pit of his stomach; and then he cast. "Expecto Patronum," he said, circling his wand.

A thin, silvery mist appeared from the end of his wand and he stared at it in shock, "Did you-?" he started.

"Well done," Harry encouraged. "See. You can do it."

"Can you show me yours once?" he asked. "It would be helpful to see your technique," and while this was the truth, it wasn't the whole truth; mostly Draco was just curious to see Harry's patronus for himself.

Harry nodded slowly, "Just, don't tell anyone."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's changed," Harry replied "and I don't mind you knowing but I don't know quite what it means and I'd rather figure it out before the press catches wind of it."

"You don't have to show me," he ventured.

The other boy shook his head and took a deep breath "Expecto patronum," he said and his wand produced what appeared to be a fox of some sort. "Hermione thinks it's an arctic fox," Harry said as they watched it lope around the clearing.

"It's beautiful," Draco breathed.

"Thanks," Harry said with a little smile. "She tells me it's because I've become more withdrawn, that I had to be more reliant on myself," he shrugged.

"Do you miss your stag?"

He nodded, "It was nice to be connected to my mum and dad, you know? To have something in common with them."

"I'm sorry," Draco said softly.

Harry shrugged, "There must be a bigger reason," he said. "I hope, anyway." His fox dissipated and Harry turned to him, "Let's see yours again."

-------

Over the next two weeks, Draco's patronus charm got stronger, and once he thought he'd caught the glimpse of a what appeared to be a dog's nose, perhaps, but nothing more.

"The final's tomorrow," he told Harry as they laid out under the trees, "And I still haven't been able to conjure it. I'm going to fail."

"What's your happy memory?" Harry asked.

"What's your's?" Draco countered.

Harry hummed thoughtfully, "It changes," he said. "The first time I cast one it was of my mum's voice. I don't even know if it was a real memory of not," he added.

"What about the last one you cast?" Draco asked.

The other boy turned his head to look at Draco, "It was that you were giving me a chance," he confessed softly with a little smile. "Will you tell me yours?" he asked.

Draco bit his lip, "Just this," he whispered finally. "There's something about you that just," he trailed off, searching for the right descriptor, "Thrills me. And it used to be in all the wrong ways, but..." he trailed off feeling a little shy and embarrassed.

"But now it feels a little bit like flying," Harry whispered. "At least that's how it feels for me."

The corner of his mouth tipped up, "Me too."

Harry rolled onto his side, "Can I kiss you?"

Draco nodded up at him and Harry leaned down to press his mouth softly to Draco's, his fingers brushing the hair lightly back from his face.

He reached out and pulled the other boy a little closer, tilting his head to find a better angle. After a minute, he pulled back, "Wait a second," he said as he stood up and set himself up to cast. He let the kiss wash over him again in his memory, filling him up with boundless joy, and the silver mist came out thicker than ever before.

Harry stood up and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck. "Try again," he murmured.

Draco took a deep breath, feeling the heat radiating off of Harry's body. "Expecto Patronum!" he said once more and his patronus burst from the end of his wand.

He stared at it, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing.

Harry's breath caught as he leaned forward, pressing against Draco's back to get a closer look. "I hoped so," he said softly as Draco's little arctic fox trotted around them.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry said and his arctic fox appeared, making a beeline for Draco's.

Draco leaned back against Harry, "What does mean that they're the same?"

"My mum's and dad's were the same animal," he said, "and Snapes was the same as her's."

"What does it mean?" he asked again, he had his suspicions but he needed to hear Harry say it first.

Harry cleared his throat, "Well I don't want speak for you, but I think it means that at the very least, I'm in love with you."

Draco blinked, then turned himself around in Harry arms, "I think I'm in love with you, too," he confessed with a smile.

And this was only the start of the many, many ways that they would spend the rest of their lives making one another happy.

-----------

Thanks so much @oviovs, for the prompt! It's not quite established at the beginning but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thank you for all of the love and encouragement you leave on my little stories. <3

Day 69: Soaked | Day 71: Return

#100 days of drarry drabbles #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabble #Day 70 #Patronus #hogwarts 8th year

[softomi]

Realistically

prompt: “Even though I knew you wouldn’t show up I still waited for you”

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

word count: 1.5k

He was a realist, that’s how Sakusa always described himself. There was no such thing as fate, perhaps coincidences were more probable. He didn’t believed people couldn’t just naturally be good at something, there needed to be practice and hard work put into everything.

Unlike his coworkers, friends if he had to stretch for another word, they were wishful thinkers. Reliant on pre-game rituals and head over heels on thoughts of impossibility such love at first sight.

“You can’t deny that you probably fell in love at first sight.” Bokuto tried to reason with him in the locker rooms.

It was like a game they liked to play with him, as if testing his ideals.

“I didn’t.” Sakusa would respond bluntly.

Like usual, the men in the locker room would pretend to gasp, as if they wouldn’t expect that answer from him.

“It must be hard to date you.” Atsumu amuses the group, “Nothing would satisfy him. Don’t know how your girlfriend does it.” There’s small laughter as Sakusa leaves the locker rooms.

While his other teammates would leave the locker room and straight to the left to exit towards the entrance, Sakusa takes a sharp right from the door; the hallway leads him back to the gym. The place empty and abandoned contrary to its original state just two hours ago, but there remains one lone figure standing in the middle of the court. Their back facing him, head peering to the bleachers above, he can imagine their astonished expression.

“What are you doing?”

You turn on your heels, the mask on you hides the smile that’s engraved in his head, “Just seeing how it looks from your point of view.” You turn back to the bleachers, your finger pointing at one of the high seats, “I sat just right there.”

“You actually sat?” Sakusa grimaces.

“Oh.” You let out a laugh, “I didn’t sit, I stood behind the seat.” You move to step towards the male, “Ready?” There’s a safe distance between the two of you as you exit the gym.

Sakusa would even say, that in his relationship with you, everything was realistic. It wasn’t like Bokuto’s relationship who showered his significant other with bouquet upon bouquet upon bouquet. Neither was he like Atsumu who enjoyed showering his flings with endless amounts of diamonds. Realistically, Sakusa thinks, relationships are just the comfortability of being together and realistically, he would believe you think so too.

But there were times when he noticed your shifting gazes, a mere envious smile when your friends talk about their spontaneous gifts from their lovers. And you look at him, with such loving affection that it almost makes him guilty.

“Flowers?” You quirk a brow at him when he emerges after his game, a small bouquet of lilies in his hands.

The gym is silent as you take the bouquet from him. Delicate, sweet in scent, beautiful; just like him. You admire the lilies, a sparkle in your eye, “What for?”

He’s nonchalant, waving a hand, “It’s only fair that I do this once in a while.”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. It was simply his way of saying ‘I love you’. You draw out one of the lilies, handing it to him, “It’s only fair that I do this once in a while too.”

Sakusa keeps the single lily you had given him in a frame tucked in the corner of his closet.

There was something about realistically that started to put a bad taste in his mouth. Because, he should have prepared himself for the realistic nature that you wouldn’t always be by his side.

It was like a bomb had dropped on him.

“I got accepted into a graduate program in Tokyo.” You had told him the day before one of his games. You wouldn’t see him until after his game, but you just had to tell him, you had to know what he thought before you made your decision on the night of his game, “Should I go?”

Should you go?

You looked at him with such eagerness and he couldn’t tell if you wanted him to tell you to stay with him. He told you he’s think about it, leaving out the door without another word.

And he thought about it long and hard. He thought out it as he spiked the ball with all his force, he thought about it as he showered in peace, he thought about it as walked the longest hallway to get to you.

“Of course, you should go.” He states, towering over you in the middle of the gym, “Realistically.” It paints his tongue with dirt, “you’ll only be half a day away.” He wants to pull you close, maybe if he stared long enough, you would see that he had thrown his realistic ideas away.

Your eyes light up, “Oh my gosh Omi.” You take a step back from him, excitedly jumping, “Are you sure?”

He didn’t want to be like one of those movies, the one where she has to choose between the love of her life or literally anything else in the world. It only made sense in a real-life context, that you would rather move forward in your life than stay and wait with him.

“Of course.” His encouragement is laced with bitterness.

“Omi!” You can’t contain the extra excitement as you leap into his arms. One of the rare times he actively catches you. You don’t notice the way he holds you just a little tighter, “But Omi.” You pull away, “I won’t be able to attend your games anymore.”

“It’s alright.” He keeps his hands on the small of your back, dipping his forehead to press against yours, “It’ll be aired anyways, you can watch then.” But it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

He was right. It wasn’t the same without you. His place was bare of you, he had hung up the frame of the lily which remained the only constant reminder of you. Missed connections, late night texts, video calls at dawn. For a half day away, it felt like opposite ends of the world.

‘I’m sorry Omi, I have to submit this draft on Friday, so I won’t be able to talk much.’

It was the last thing you sent him in a while.

If anything made it worse, it was when he left the locker rooms. It was the long, excruciating hallway as he turned right. The empty gym, the sound of silence piercing him; he’d wait there, sometimes for five minutes, on others maybe thirty minutes. As if, by some godly chance, you’d walk through the door and tease him for actually waiting. Sheepishly, he misses you.

“Hey.” You were rushed as he spontaneously called you. Usually, he’d tell you when he’d call you, “What’s up?” You tried to sound less stressed on the phone with him.

He hums for a second, “What are you doing?”

“I’m actually heading to my apartment right now. Lots and lots of research articles to read.” You mock a laugh, “It’s so much fun!”

Sakusa laughs with you, “I miss you.”

A smile crept on your lips, “You couldn’t have waited another month to say it. Now I owe Atsumu some money.” A sigh is emitted from his end, “I’ll have to admit, I’m glad it only took what, six months.”

“Where are you now?”

You push open the doors to your building, “About to take the elevators.”

“Take the stairs.” Sakusa pauses, “It’s better for you.”

“Just admit you want to talk to me longer.” You follow his command, opting for the stairs over the elevators.

“You sound out of breath already. You really don’t know how to take care of your body.”

You pause in the middle of the stairs, huffing and puffing, “I hate you so much.” Still, laughter leaves your lips, “I watched your last game, I’m glad you guys won.” You’re slowly starting back up the stairs, “You have a game today right?”

“No, I don’t.”

You frown, taking the phone away from your ear to look at the date, “No, I’m pretty sure you guys are playing today.” You reach your floor level, “Your mom was talking about it.”

“You were with my mom?”

You were resting yourself at the top of the stairs, “Yeah, we had lunch together today.” You pause, “So why are trying to tell me that you aren’t playing today?”

The door to the stairs open, your eyes are met the deep colors of his, “Because I’m not.”

In tears, you bawl in front of him, “What are you doing here?” You sob.

Sakusa is rubbing your hands with hand sanitizer. He uses his own handkerchief to wipe your tears, and he then he lets you fall into his arms, “I told you I missed you.”

“Your game?”

He runs a hand through your hair, “I missed you more.”

Extra:

“You’re so cheesy today.” He’s kept you close since his surprise visit, your back is presses against his chest as you two sit on the couch, “You know, realistically, you should be playing at the game right now.”

Sakusa’s eyes are glued onto the volleyball game displayed on the screen, “You know realistically, I would have bathed you in hand sanitizer before I let you cry on my clothes.”

You slap his chest, “You’re so mean!” You attempt to run away from him, only he’s quick to grab you by the wrist, pulling you back into him.

“Realistically.” His nose brushes against yours, “I love you.”

#sakusa imagines #sakusa x reader #haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x y/n #sakusa #haikyuu

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

@sajdd

Ok since one singular person asked for this the Big Explanation for Everything In My C!Tommy Design.

General:

c!Tommy, in general, I always try and find a balance between my really soft style and c!Tommy's rougher personality. I draw him with soft features but very sharp eyes, both to make his facial features distinct from cc!Tommy and a contrast to c!Tubbo who I draw with less rounded features but much softer eyes. I try and keep his usual expressions slightly smug and self-assured, to get across c!Tommy's bravado.

I generally draw him with tanned skin, as I imagine he’d spend a lot of time outdoors. This does vary on the arc I’m drawing him in, though, for example he’s much less tan in Pogtopia because he has less access to natural light whereas he’s more tan in exile due to not having much shelter from the sun. This is also done to make the pale scar on his nose bridge more noticeable- it’s one of the two scars I draw Tommy as having from the beginning, as I feel it shows c!Tommy's scrappy, determined personality very well. The other scar is a long jagged vivisection scar which is there to show my labinnit headcanon lol.

While I draw c!Tommy with varying hairstyles and lengths, I always draw him with curly textured hair that’s a very pale blond. I also draw his hair as leaning to one side and partially covering his eye, similar to how I draw c!Wilbur's hair, to show their closeness. I also draw c!Tommy with similar wings to c!Wilbur and c!Philza- specifically, I draw them with the same starry night sky pattern I do with c!Philza, but a lot smaller and atrophied.

I really like putting lots of fun design elements in characters eyes because drawing eyes is fun and c!Tommy is no exception! I draw his eyes a very bright electric blue, and I use a small brush and very light varied colours to make them look like they’re filled with little stars. I also give him red pupils to match his main colour association in either the shape of a full or broken heart depending on the arc. I went with a heart design to show his hidden kindness and loyalty.

There’s also a lot of design elements that are admittedly there primarily because I enjoy drawing them, and less for any specific reason. The fangs do have the most reason, to help show c!Tommy's rougher personality, but I also just like drawing fangs lol. (I also draw him with braces in every arc, since I imagine he couldn’t get them removed in exile and he didn’t have the time to care afterwards). I also draw him with bioluminescent, starlike freckles and a strange blood colour which is also used to help texture the skin (well, slightly, it’s not super noticeable but it’s pink instead of red) which are both just things I like to draw.

Also, this is a small detail, but I always draw c!Tommy with a Church Prime necklace (unless I forget it which I do sometimes lol). It’s a good way of showing his faith through a quick look.

Fun fact, what’s probably most noticeable about my c!Tommy design is that as soon as Tommy made the joke about his character being made in a lab I picked it up and ran with it, specifically the idea of him potentially being a clone of c!Philza. I draw them with identical facial features and hair colour/texture, though a lot of the more supernatural features of c!Philza are toned down on him. That’s specifically because due to my hc that c!Philza is an angel and angels as ageless it’d be impossible to clone them exactly so c!Tommy has some random human/hybrid dna thrown in haphazardly (which also makes him a mess of instincts from pretty much every animal ever lol)

Disc War:

I really like the headcanon that c!Tommy was nine during the L'Manburg war entirely because its really funny to imagine c!Wilbur looking at this literal nine year old and being “yes, my right hand man, responsible enough to help manage a nation in my stead,” so c!Tommy is roughly 9ish around this time in my design.

During the early Disc War is probably the only time I actually draw c!Tommy as close to his actual Minecraft skin lmao. It helps show that, despite the fact I don’t hc him as human he is mostly just a normal kid. I don’t draw c!Tommy in the traditional red and white t-shirt entirely just because I want to make sure he’s not mistakable for Dave Strider though. I have him in a white button-up shirt, a red and white hoodie, cargo pants, and trainers.

During this arc, I draw c!Tommy's hair as fairly short and very similar to how I draw c!Wilbur, as this was back when he idolised his brother and I think drawing their hair so similar shows that well.

L'Manburg:

This covers the time from the beginning of the L'Manburg war up to c!Tommy's second exile to Pogtopia, so this design covers a period of years from when I hc c!Tommy was nine up until about thirteen.

During the war, c!Tommy wears his uniform without modification, except for of course wearing his Prime necklace, but afterwards he and the rest of the residents of L'Manburg (except c!Wilbur) slightly modified their uniforms to better fit their own tastes. Specifically, he wears his trainers instead of combat boots, loose trousers instead of shorts, and a slightly shorter and short-sleeved revolutionary jacket, for easier mobility.

During the war, his two canon deaths left him permanent injuries and scars. His death in the final control room, where he broke his leg during his desperate attempt to escape, left that leg permanently weakened (along with being badly scarred) and requiring a leg brace to help him stand and walk properly. The arrow through his skull during his duel with c!Dream left him with a large scar on his temple, covering his brows in crack-like scars which also leave him with frequent migraines.

During the L'Manburg arc, c!Tommy's hair in my design still looks like c!Wilburs as they were still close during this arc.

Pogtopia:

Since Pogtopia apparently lasted two years (which is probably from Cursed Timeline Lore but I love cursed lore it’s hilarious,) c!Tommy would be around 13 to 15 here.

In Pogtopia, I draw c!Tommy as wearing similar clothes to during the Disc War arc, however, I also add on a loose belt holding knives, to show c!Tommy's increased need for self defence along with his fondness for knives lol. I actually don’t do the bandanna design with c!Tommy and c!Tubbo a lot of people do mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to get it to work with c!Tommy's hoodie. They have an equivalent but it’s later on alas.

As c!Tommy and c!Wilbur get more distant, c!Tommy grows out his hair slightly, and wears it tied in the back in a short ponytail.

Exile:

Oh I have a lot of things to talk about here >:). As a quick note to my messed up timeline, c!Tommy would be 15 here.

During exile, c!Tommy wears the same clothes as he did in Pogtopia initially, though due to lack of care and supplies, they eventually of course fray and rip. He also wears c!Wilbur's old ragged longcoat, even though it barely keeps out the cold, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes weirdly comforting. Over time, he rips up his shirt for bandages to the point he’s not wearing anything under his hoodie. His leg brace breaks and he makes a new one out of branches and leaves. (He could ask c!Dream, but he doesn’t want to be fucking reliant on him, relying on pity handouts like a child, so he won’t.)

Eventually, since c!Dream doesn’t exactly want c!Tommy to get hypothermia and die anticlimactically, he gives c!Tommy one of his capes. This is one of my favourite character design decisions I’ve made lmao. I specifically draw it looking too-big, despite the fact that doesn’t make much sense because they’re the same height, so it looks almost like he’s getting enveloped in c!Dream's green shades, and it also hides c!Tommy's wings which helps reinforce the loss of freedom.

c!Tommy gains… a lot of scars over exile. I mean he was literally hit by an axe multiple times. Specifically they’re primarily around the shoulders or the torso. I also draw him with a Glasgow grin, specifically curved to resemble Dream's mask, along with smaller, self inflicted, scratch and bite marks covering his arms. In addition, due to him barely eating I draw c!Tommy from this point onwards looking very scrawny. This is also where c!Tommy's pupils change from hearts to broken hearts! They never turn back :)

During exile, Tommy's hair grows out a lot, down to just past his shoulders, in a matted mess. c!Dream used to braid it at the back, like how I draw c!Dream's own hair, but it very quickly grew too matted with saltwater, mud, and blood to style :) :) :)

Bedrock Bros:

c!Tommy turns sixteen here during my scuffed timeline.

c!Tommy patches up the rips and tears in his clothes. He can’t fully salvage his cargo trousers, so he turns them into shorts. He makes his own shoes out of leather to replace the ones he lost. There’s a gaping hole in his hoodie pocket that couldn’t be stitched up. He'll patch it up later. c!Techno gives him one of his capes to keep him warm, fur lined and arctic blue with silvery snowflakes embroidered on. c!Tommy has to be reminded, or he puts on the green cape, turned a dull viridian from the sun, that makes him feel both safe and so, so afraid.

Scars heal, but never fully fade. Still, his eyes brighten again, somewhat, even if the bags under his eyes less disappear and more just turn a strange gold. He finally has the time to clean out his hair, and c!Techno ties it into a short, loose braid at the back. With the cape, he almost looks like c!Techno like that. Obviously, the visual implication here is to show that even though it’s obviously not exile, c!Techno is still suppressing c!Tommy's identity, albeit unknowingly (and the gold is from his constant eating of golden apples).

Final Disc War:

By this point, c!Tommy's back to just wearing his old clothes, tattered and frail as they might be. He finds his old sneakers, and day by day he sees himself in the mirror a bit more than the gunpowder on a battered trenchcoat, blood on a smiley face mask, wither rot on the edges of an elaborate snowy cape. He patches the hole in his hoodie with a piece of the fabric from one of c!Tubbo's old shirts. He lends him one of his too-small hoodies so he can do the same.

He still braids his hair, but in his own way, in a tightly woven ratstail braid more for convenience than for aesthetics. Character design wise, it’s another way to show c!Tommy's openly rougher personality than say, c!Dream or c!Techno, and so’s the patchwork clothes and rough shorts and scars. Like I said, maintaining a mix of rough and soft is very important to me in how I draw c!Tommy, and I’m very satisfied with how I pull it off here and in the next entry.

Revival:

the story has handed me the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead. i will not pass up the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead.

After revival, c!Tommy stops aging, at least in appearance. His skin… less pale, more colourless and almost grey. One of his eyes glows a pure, empty white now, like ghosts do, and the white messy streak in his hair doesn’t glow but it’s white enough it might as well.

The injuries of his death bear apparent on his form. His limbs can bend at impossible angles, his entire body covered head to toe in bruises. Two black eyes cover his face like a raccoon mask, and the ugly mottled marks of strangulation on his throat stand out like a sore thumb. You cannot look at him anymore and not see that he hasn’t died. He avoids mirrors again.

There’s stranger things, too, like how he doesn’t bleed anymore, any cuts just revealing an impossibly dark void beneath his marble-cold skin. Sometimes he goes weeks without eating, the hunger only hitting once he realises. He feels so tired, so cold, in a way not even the touch of fire can stem at all. He doesn’t have a heartbeat, or breathe.

Initially, he was too tired, too out of it to even consider cutting off or dying the white streak. When he wasn’t, he’d soon learn any attempts were futile, dye fading in mere days, cut off hair half regrown in a week. It should bother him more, but he just feels numb.

#dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #tw abuse #tw mutilation #tw scars #tw bruises #tw death #tw child death #tw murder #tw child murder

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

costumes & confessions

summary: Halloween just might be the time for you to confess how you feel to Pierre, whether you’re ready or not.

warnings: mentions of sex, swears

word count: 2.8k

note from the writer: this is a halloween fic, but it's not heavily reliant on being a halloween fic. like the setting is a halloween party, but it could be read year round. enjoy :) ! / take my survey!

It was just supposed to be a friends with benefits thing. He was out of town more often than not, and you were too swamped with work and other obligations to commit to anything more than a quick hookup. You were friends before you started sleeping together, your easy banter seamlessly translating to a fantastic time between the sheets. But for you, it was much, much more than the agreed upon terms after only a few weeks.

You should have known; your life was far too entwined with Pierre’s for you to not get attached.

“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” Pierre asked as he let himself into your apartment, a habit he had developed long before your arrangement. You didn’t even turn as you continued stirring the sauce you were making, far too used to him showing up at just the right time.

“I’ve been told that I have to make an appearance at the team party.” You told him and he chuckled, because of course you’d be there with his team, they were the whole reason he knew you in the first place.

“There’s a costume contest.” He hummed, and because you still hadn’t turned to look at him, he wound his arms around your middle from behind and tugged gently until you were pressed against his front and he could drop his head to your shoulder. Pierre got like this often, needy and wanting your attention and if you didn’t give it to him, he searched out for it.

“And?” You prompted, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to feel the hammering of your heart. You knew you should have pulled away from him, knew that you were only setting yourself up for heartbreak, but you chose to ignore rationality once more and sunk into his embrace. If he was going to act like the caring boyfriend, you weren’t going to stop him.

“And we’re going to win it.” He said decidedly, dropping a kiss to your pulse point before standing to his whole height and backing up. You took your time in turning the heat off on the stove and moving the sauce so it wouldn’t burn before finally turning to look at Pierre. He was grinning widely, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from emulating it.

“How are we going to do that, exactly?” You crossed your arms and leaned backwards against your kitchen counter, a challenging look in your eye. Pierre met your look head on, a mischievous glint in his eye and his chest puffed out just a bit more.

“We’re going to have the best couples costume there, obviously.” He stated plainly, as if it was that simple and as if he hadn’t just shattered your world then. You desperately wanted to be a part of a couples costume with Pierre, but you also wanted more. You wanted the couples part, the ability to kiss him as often as you wanted to, the whole nine yards. But you didn’t know if it was a good idea.

Couples costumes were not in the terms of agreement for friends with benefits. And you were already playing with fire.

“Come on, are you hungry?” You changed the topic, turning to grab two plates from the cabinet. Pierre acted then, grabbing forks and meeting you at the sink where the culender held the noodles you had already made. You tried to ignore the nagging feeling you felt that you fit way too smoothly with him in your kitchen.

“Do you not want to do a costume together?” He asked, and you felt the weight of his gaze on you. Instead of meeting his stare, though, you elected to focus intently on the pasta you were scooping onto his plate.

You thought about his question. There really was no reason that you shouldn’t go together. It was just a simple group costume, there was absolutely no hidden meaning behind the fact that he called it a couples costume.

“No, of course I do.” You plastered a smile onto your face, moving to the stove to ladle sauce onto your plate. You repeated your actions with Pierre’s food and, when it became abundantly clear he was looking for an explanation for your hesitation, you met his gaze with a teasing smile. It was a complete contrast to the tiny frown he was sporting, his eyes searching you for answers. You were afraid he’d find them. “Just nervous to see what you’re going to make me wear, Luc.”

You threw the nickname in for good measure, knowing just how much he loved hearing it come from you. It worked, for the most part, and after one last searching look he ducked down to capture your lips in a quick kiss.

Oh, you were in trouble. That was for sure.

With the friends part of the evening over with once dinner was finished, the benefits part arrived in full force. He knew just how to take you apart and leave you satisfied, and you loved that you had the same effect on him.

Though, instead of leaving after like he never truly did and probably should have, he helped clean you up and even pulled one of his t-shirts out of your dresser for you to wear with a boyish grin. He tugged his boxers back on and climbed in your bed with you, though this time with a lot less lust on his eyes.

“So, Halloween.” He started and you couldn’t help the laugh that fell past your lips. He had his head propped up with his hand, and you rolled to your side so you could face him.

“That’s what you think about after sex? Was I that bad?” You teased, knowing from the way he fell apart moments earlier that you absolutely were not bad. Pierre rolled his eyes, ducking down to capture your lips in a kiss to get you to stop giggling at him. These were the moments that tugged at your heartstrings the most—just after sex when nothing in the world mattered and it was just you and him together, acting like you wouldn’t go back to being just friends as soon as you left the bed.

“Anyways,” he grinned, clearly amused by your joke just as much as you were. “I think I have the perfect idea.”

“Oh yeah? Better than whatever the other guys can come up with?” You hummed, your previous anxiety having slipped away the more you thought about it. You shouldn’t have worked yourself up as much as you did, you had gone with Pierre to plenty of events as his plus one and not once had you freaked out like you had earlier.

It probably was his use of the word ‘couple’ that tripped you up so much.

“Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy.” He grinned, clearly proud of himself for the idea, and you couldn't help but laugh loudly once again. The image of you and him dressed as the characters from Spongebob drew a giggle out of you, especially since you knew how dedicated he was to his costumes.

“You want to be Barnacle Boy?” You teased, though you were already figuring out the logistics of it in your head. He would be Barnacle Boy, of course, because he was taller. Pierre nodded with a broad grin on his face and it was so infectious your own cheeks started to hurt from smiling so much.

“You can be the Mermaid Man to my Barnacle Boy.” He joked, the hand not propping his head up reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Your grin softened then, the moment feeling too intimate for you to handle.

“That means I’ll be your boss for the night.” You tried joking, but your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. No doubt Pierre picked up on it, but all you saw on his face was an indecipherable look in his eyes.

“You’re my boss all the time, though.” He teased lowly before leaning in for a slow kiss you couldn’t help but melt into.

You felt anything but in control in that moment.

Halloween arrived faster than you would have liked, and the days leading up to it were spent running from store to store in order to find the right parts to your costume. When Pierre showed up at your apartment to pick you up and take you to the party, you were already in costume, a purple starfish painted on your nose to seal the deal.

“Oh, we’re so going to win.” Pierre commented the moment he saw you, and you laughed as he grabbed your hand and spun you around to get a three-sixty view. When you were standing in front of him again, his gaze settled on your chest under the guise of admiring the seashell bra you wore atop the bright orange shirt. “I like the shells.”

“Keep it in your pants, Dubois.” You teased, slapping his shoulder as you parted to find your phone and wallet to get ready to leave. You also took a moment to compose yourself, because even dressed in a ridiculous Barnacle Boy costume, he still was the most attractive man you had ever seen.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you.” He teased as you reentered the kitchen, where he had made himself at home by digging through your pantry for a snack. You rolled your eyes at him, hoping you didn’t look as flustered by his comments as you were.

“You better try, because people are already getting suspicious that something’s going on between us.” By your last count, it was three of the other boys’ wives and girlfriends and at least two of his teammates that said something to you about your close relationship with Pierre, so he had to have gotten something from them as well.

“So what if they know?” Pierre shrugged his shoulders, ducking past you and out of the kitchen like what he said was no big deal. You raised a brow at him, following after to find him standing by your door, holding your coat out for you.

“Pierre, people don’t know we’ve been sleeping together, right?” You questioned, a little mortified at the idea of going to a party filled with people that knew you were sleeping with someone you swore up and down was just a friend.

“I haven’t told anyone, but they just kinda guess.” He explained, opening your front door for you. Sighing, you followed after him. You couldn’t be mad, you were the one that left hickeys unabashedly on his neck night after night and when the boys saw that you had matching bruises, even they could put two and two together.

And you really couldn’t be mad as Pierre slipped his hand into yours.

You were fashionably late to the party, so Pierre tugged you around the house to show off the costumes you both worked so hard on. The boys ribbed him for being Barnacle Boy and supplied you with drinks, and you forced him to dance with you when the cheesy Monster Mash came on.

It was all going great. Until Alexandre Texier made an appearance.

“Luc, you finally asked her out!” He exclaimed as he swung an arm around Pierre’s shoulders. You figured he was emboldened by the drink sloshing in his cup, but that didn’t mean you were any less shocked. Tex turned his attention to you, a wide grin on his face that meant nothing but trouble. “You know, he never shuts up about you.”

If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t sure why that comment was the tipping point. Friends talked about friends all the time, Tex’s comment could have been completely innocent. He was a sweetheart, he probably had no ill intent. Or maybe it was the way Pierre instantly shot down the idea of him asking you out, his offhanded ‘don’t be ridiculous’ followed by a string of French you didn’t understand was like a knife to the heart. But you couldn’t handle it then, and took off without another word through the crowd and to the nearest bathroom.

Pierre shouted your name, and when you didn’t stop for him, another string of French words—curses, you knew that much—fell from his mouth before was chasing after you. His legs were longer and he had the advantage of being a professional athlete, but you had a head start and the added bonus of running from your feelings, so it was nearly fair, and he only caught up to you as you slipped into the bathroom. He caught the door, shooting you a confused look and entering the bathroom himself.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, breaking the awkward silence first. You shook your head, because that was easier than trying to find something to say, and you didn’t exactly trust your voice in that moment. It was clear that something was wrong with you, your arms were crossed and you were frowning, not to mention your near sprint to lock yourself in the bathroom. “You can tell me, you know.”

Why did he have to be so sweet?

“I have to know, Pierre, if you feel something. Because I do, and I can’t keep doing this if it means nothing to you.” You cracked, gesturing dramatically between you and Pierre for emphasis as a few tears slipped down your cheeks. You hadn’t even realized how badly your eyes were watering, but it was too late now.

This was not one of your finer moments; dressed as Mermaid Man, crying in the bathroom at some party as the guy you desperately wished reciprocated your feelings stood floundering, trying to find a way to let you down easily.

“Fuck, okay then.” You continued when it became clear that he wasn’t going to say what you wanted. The tears were falling faster, and you were mentally preparing yourself to slip past everyone and out the front door while they all stared at the crying Mermaid Man. “I-I’ll just leave.”

You tried to get past Pierre, then, and make your tearful walk outside where you’d order an Uber and wait since he was your ride, but his hands shot out and suddenly he was cupping your face and he was kissing you like his life depended on it. Your hands gripped his forearms, both to stabilize yourself so you didn���t trip at the sudden movement and to ground yourself to the moment.

You weren’t sure how long he was kissing you, but he pulled away much too soon for your liking, his forehead dropping against yours as you both caught your breath. You waited for him to speak first, too scared to ruin the bubble that had formed around you in the last few seconds and too nervous about what he’d say. After a moment, he brushed his thumbs across your cheeks to wipe away any wetness left there by your tears and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He stood to his full height, then, and pulled you into his chest for a hug. You went willingly; you always did.

“You’re crazy.” He mumbled, and despite the loud music coming from just outside the bathroom, his voice was loud in the previously quiet bathroom. You pulled back slightly, then, and gave him a confused look, a silent plea for him to explain himself. “You’re crazy if you think I don’t feel the same.”

“Really?” You asked hopefully. The kiss you had just shared alluded to his true feelings, plus the way he was looking at you like you put the stars in the sky, but you needed to hear him say it. After weeks of convincing yourself that you were stuck in the friends with benefits role you had been stupid enough to suggest, you needed to hear him tell you how he felt about you.

“From the day I met you.” He told you, a smile making its way onto his face as he watched your features form into a confused pout. While you had always acknowledged that Pierre was attractive, it was only after sleeping with him a few times that you realized that you harboured feelings for. “Then you suggested being friends with benefits, and I was going to take whatever I could get.”

“You should have said something.” You pouted, watching as he grin widened. You weren’t actually mad at him, it was a two way street and you could have confessed your own feelings a long time ago.

“I thought it was obvious, I did ask you to be my Mermaid Man.” He joked, earning an eye roll from you and a grin to match his.

“Come on, Barnacle Boy, let’s get back to the party. We’ve got a costume contest to win.” Once again, Pierre didn’t let you pass by him to get to the door. Instead, he ducked down to capture your lips in one last kiss and to deliver a cheesy comment that made you snort and swat at his chest.

“I’ve already won tonight, though.”

#pierre luc dubois #pierre luc Dubois x reader #pierre luc Dubois imagine #pierre luc Dubois fic #columbus blue jackets #Columbus blue jackets imagine #Columbus blue jackets x reader #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

[arhvste]

❝ effortless ❞

masterlist!

01 -> 02

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

an -> this is the longest chapter i will be including in the series, i just needed to get the base for the plot down i promise i’m not gonna make you all read 2467 words every update !!

drowned out chatter faded the further you wandered down the halls towards the place you’d practically be calling your second home for the next year and-a-half. your arms swung slightly by your side as footsteps strode from behind.

“ya know,” atsumu piped up suddenly, taking in your optimistic aura. “this isn’t gonna be the most glamorous job.”

“i’m more than aware.” you shot back not letting the pseudo blonds comments dampen your approach to the new position you’d been approached to take.

despite being a well-known volleyball team with notably talented players, inarizaki had yet to fill the role of a team manager with them ultimately dismissing the role and disregarding the hopes and intentions of finding someone willing to take the role seriously and with the right intentions of being a team manager. they had applications sent in, a flood of them to be precise, but alas, majority of the applications were just desperate attempts from girls just trying to find away to inch a little closer to the miya twins. the few that weren’t from the mass of girls were from other students but their applications were either filled in wrong or their availability wasn’t compatible enough to work with the club.

“i don’t get why yer so eager to start. yer gonna have to do things like fill up water bottles and wash the bibs we use for practice.” osamu commented as you hummed dismissively towards his attempts to break your spirit.

“because, i don't have to be referred into an actual club by my homeroom teacher now and your mom said you two will be helping me take care of the… less dignified, aspects of the role now. that means washing your smelly kit and towels. remember?”

atsumu scoffed while osamu settled with a short huff of annoyance. that was indeed part of the deal you had made when the twins had requested your assistance in the team.

you had been close friends with the talented twins for as long as you could remember. you’d even go as far as to say you were practically the third miya sibling. raised and grown up together tightly, the three of you stayed knitted together up to the present day. you were someone the two boys felt reliant on, but they were also ready to drop their own activities should you need their assistance. you were well-liked by the twins and that was something the majority of the student body envied but not to the point where they’d say anything and risk having one or worse, both, the boys overhearing them bad-mouthing you and result in them to take the situation into their own hands.

it was atsumu who had first suggested you become the team manager a few weeks prior to the present moment. you were attending another regular visit to the miya residence and atsumu had brought it up over dinner with yourself and his family.

“hey, we kinda need a manager. i think kita’s gettin’ a little stressed cause nationals will be approaching soon and they didn’t have one last year either.” atsumu looked up at you as you had a mouthful of rice.

you momentarily glared at him for turning all attention over to you when he clearly knew you were eating. you swallowed and shook your head at the boy sat across the table to you.

“i dunno, that seems like a big commitment.”

“i mean, i won't lie to ya it is, but being in any club is a commitment so ya might as well join one yer more likely to enjoy.” osamu chimed in as his mother caught your attention.

“don’t let the boys pressure ya. i think it would be nice if ya did it though darlin. both boys can walk ya home after and samu’s right. joining as their manager is better than being put into a club ya might not like attending seeing as yer yet to join any extra curriculum.”

you whined and leaned back in the soft wooden chair in the miya’s homey dining room.

“you just said not to let the boys pressure me and then joined in yourself!”

mrs miya laughed and waved off your complaint. “they get it from me, what can i say.”

you glanced up from the now softly steaming food to face the two boys across from you. atsumu had a soft but still smug smile painted across his face while osamu wore a slightly sympathetic yet hopeful expression on his. you were almost ready to give into the pair right then and there but ultimately decided that if you were to brush up on the rules of volleyball, the twins were going to have to brush up on the rules of you too.

“fine.” you stated to which atsumu smiled brightly too. “i’ll be your manager since i really don’t want to be assigned to any other club but,” you paused and didn't miss the way their eyes darted back to yours. “i’m not washing your disgusting training stuff and the towels. i also don’t want a hoard of your fangirls stampeding over me at any given moment and lastly, i get my own room for overnight stays when we have to attend matches that take place further away. comprende?”

atsumu shrugged and agreed to your terms as osamu followed suit. “great,” you finally smiled a little. “talk to kita and i’ll get started with it whenever he deems suitable.”

mr and mrs miya sent thankful smiles your way to which you softly returned before turning back to your meal completely unaware as to what chaos you had just unknowingly brought upon yourself.

back to the current moment, you stopped outside the two large doors leading into the spacious gym with slight hesitation. the small crack between the doors gave you the first exposure to the area you’d be finding yourself more familiar with from now on.

“what's the hold up?” atsumu queered looking down at your now thoughtful looking expression. “ya were excited to get started just a moment ago weren’t ya?”

you bit the inside of your cheek as your palm lay rested upon the flat surface of the gym door. “i don’t think excited is the word, but you think i’ll do fine right?” you frowned slightly, internally scolding yourself for letting such intrusive thoughts invade your mind just before you were about to introduce yourself to which would be ‘your boys’ in the fast approaching future.

“we wouldn’t have asked ya if we didn’t think it would be a role fit for ya.” osamu replied, resting his hands behind his head. you scoffed and shot a look from behind you towards the grey haired twin. “liar, you two just wanted someone to wash your gross kit.” atsumu snorted before ruffling your hair, stirring irritation inside of you. “think yer the one whose forgotten our end of the deal where we agreed to help ya out with this. we’re in this with ya together now, let's get movin’.”

atsumu left you no time to protest as he pushed the doors open having it swing widely so the gym lights flooded the slightly dimmer hallway giving anyone looking a perfect view of the three of you. heads turned in your general direction as a result of the minor scene the blond had caused leaving osamu to only roll his eyes and for you to stand meekly between the twins as atsumu ushered you inside the clean smelling gym.

“this is y/n, the new manager i said we had gotten you!” a proud smile tugged on atsumus lips as the other boys looked you up and down as if you were some sort of animal being fawned over in a petting zoo.

“shut up! you didn’t get me, i agreed on my own terms!” you hissed at the setter elbowing his side slightly. osamu snickered at your public scolding towards his twin as the rest of the team began to gather round. kita sent an apologetic look your way as he approached you with a firm hand.

“it’s nice to finally meet you l/n-san. please take care of us and we’ll do the same.” his voice calm but transparently clear, you had never met someone so genuine and almost proper in your life. “likewise.” you smiled taking his hand to give him a confident shake in greeting. leaving you with a firm nod to depart from you and talk to the coach, kita gave you one last look of what you could’ve read as thankful but you weren’t completely sure. the better you got acquainted with these boys, the better you’d be able to read them which was your first goal set in becoming a manager they could rely on the same way the twins did.

aran was next to approach you with a clearly thankful smile. “i haven’t seen ya around in a while y/n, good to see yer the one the twins informed on the empty role.” you smiled back at the ace and placed your hands behind your back. you were already well acquainted with aran due to the twins association with him from a young age. back then, yourself and the twins came as a package deal whenever suited so you had been introduced to the ace from a younger age and had built up the same respect for him as the twins had.

“i wouldn’t say informed but more of a pressured attack on me.” aran grinned at you as atsumu retaliated with a “not true!” from across the courts where he was helping set up the net. “either way, good to see ya here. nice to have the three miyas in one place.” you scoffed in amusement before waving off the comment.

after being thoroughly introduced to a handful of members before practice had officially started, you sat down on the bench beside the coach as he went through the basics of the game as the boys played. you already knew a handful of rules and techniques to the game which was a given considering just how close you were to atsumu and osamu, but you were grateful for the refresher as you observed the players and took your first attempt in noting down particular quirks and techniques you noticed each boy possess.

training lasted 2 hours which was longer than the usual club activities but you understood that the volleyball team were a particularly important asset to the school so it was only natural they’d be granted more time for extracurricular. osamu was the first to approach you with a towel wrapped around his neck. “so,” he said before wiping any excess sweat on his face. “what did ya think?” you smiled and took the towel from his hands before tossing it into the nearby laundry bin.

“it was… a lot better than i thought it was going to be.” you meant that earnestly. it was a little overwhelming at first that you’d assume anyone would find that understandable seeing as you had practically been thrown into the deep end with a group of boys you were not particularly familiar with. “that's good then. glad we convinced ya?” yourself and osamu wandered towards the door leading towards the boys changing rooms where their bags were kept. “for now.” you stopped outside the door and nodded for osamu to head in with the other players. he hummed content with your reply before following suit with the small litter of players entering through the door to retrieve their things.

you waited 5 minutes for the boys to leave the changing room before saying your thanks and goodbyes to the team you were slowly getting more to grips with. it was going to take a while to get into the swing of things but you were certain you’d find enjoyment in it somewhere along the line seeing as your first practice wasn’t awful.

the three of you chattered among yourself as usual with atsumu dominating most of the conversation and osamu only butting in to contradict his brother. you were as always, in between the two boys as they asked you how you found it and what you thought. after reassuring them for the 6th time, they gave in and accepted your answer as genuine. despite not saying anything, they were a little guilty after springing such a heavy role on you but they knew you’d pull through no matter the circumstances so they were ultimately satisfied in their choice.

“practice was intense, but i kinda liked it.” you hummed as you walked under the dim street lights illuminating the paths ahead.

“yeah i guess it was, it’s not always like this though. i think some of them were a little more into it seeing as you were there today.” osamu mentioned as he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.

“you think?” you raised an eyebrow as atsumu sighed.

“i know that’s the case. you practically had the same effect kita has on all of us. not me though, i’m always good whether yer there to watch or not.”

“i’m sure you are.” you chimed as the three of you approached your street. “ya know who was playin’ a little intensely today though?” osamu raised an eyebrow to his brother's question. “who?”

“suna. he seemed a little more into it today.”

you raised an eyebrow in question as you looked back to glance at atsumu. “who’s suna?”. atsumu hummed as he began to describe the fellow second year. “tall, six foot one i mean, dark moppy hair, kinda hunches over when he’s standin’.” you thought back to the players you had been vaguely acquainted with within the past few hours. your mind touched upon every player's face you recalled until it landed on a certain face you were sure fit atsumu’s description. “number 10?” osamu hummed, confirming your hypothesis correct. “wonder what got into him though, his surroundings don’t usually motivate him unless he’s explicitly told to stop slackin’ maybe he just had an off day.” the grey haired twin suggested to which atsumu agreed. you shrugged as the three of you stopped outside the front of your own house.

“well, training was an absolute delight. see you both tomorrow.” you waved the boys off as atsumu sneered at your borderline sarcastic comment. “stop lyin’ ya loved it and are thankful we picked ya really!”

you laughed at his call out comment as osamu waved and ushered his brother away before you closed your front door shut before leaning back on the door for a moment.

suna huh? well, if your job was to analyse the players and pick out when they were having off days, you’d just have to start watching their number 10 a little closer.

taglist! : @inakou @tsukkaria @al3x1ss @elianetsantana @archivednikes @tendo-sxtori @haajime @moonlightangel @tetsukuroosgf @lexysclubhouse @your-consulting-fangirl @chibichab @brokeasshoee

— italics means i was unable to tag !!

— please send an ask to be added to taglist !!

#suna rintaro #suna x reader #suna x you #suna fanfic #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq #hq x you #the calm within the storm

[phoenixyfriend]

Madara and Obito... In SPACE

So the preface to this mess: I don’t know jackshit about Star Wars, so a lot of this went through friends who do know Star Wars (the primary of which does not have a tumblr).

(I have watched Episodes 7&8, and Rogue One. Of the first six movies, I remember watching maybe an hour total. I have not seen more than snatches of Clone Wars. Beyond that, nothing but fic.)

Anyway! Let’s go:

As y’all probably know by now, my favorite form of crossover is what I call “intrusive,” so... I'm enjoying the mental concept of "dump Madara on Coruscant and watch him go." (Prequels, probably.)

Does Madara know what's going on? No. Can he understand a word that's being said? No! Is he going to fight the first person to aim a weapon at him, and every person after that? Yes.

Is Madara fighting fit?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnno, not really, he’s old as balls. This is "I was on cave life support but I'm getting back up to kick ass out of pure spite" Madara.

[Image description: A screenshot of a panel of the Naruto Manga. Uchiha Madara is old and visibly ‘decrepit,’ with spiky white hair and an amorphous black robe. He is sitting on a pale throne, and there is a scythe visible to the side. He has a speech bubble saying “I am... a ghost of the Uchiha.” End Description]

Two wrinkly old guys, staring each other down: There ain't enough room in this universe for the two of us. [Palpatine and Madara start fighting to the death]

Congrats, Palpatine! Your ass is getting kicked by a geriatric malcontent who doesn't speak any language you've ever heard or feel like literally anything in the Force. You may have Sith lightning, but do you have decades of frontline experiences and over half a century of cave-dwelling bitterness?

Both of them, simultaneously, in completely different languages: Get off my lawn, whipper-snapper.

Palpatine: Behold my mastery of the Dark Side, Foolish old man! Palpatine: [shoots lightning] Madara: Oh hey, you're like the seventeenth most dangerous person who can shoot lightning I've fought. Telekinesis? Fought that. Combat precognition? Fought that, have that, and let me tell you hwat, it doesn't help if you're opponent is just that much faster than you.

Now, I’ll take a step back and acknowledge that several people advised me that Palpatine would stand a chance against Madara, likely even win, if Madara just got hacked off of his life support and is down to one eye.

But. I want a shitpost, and also to clown on Palpatine, so Madara wins easily.

Madara also deserves to be clowned on, but the entire situation is clowning on him because he’s not in his cave anymore, and he really wants to go back to his Gedou Mazou statue.

Maybe Madara and Palpatine go Old Man Fight and then Obito just pulls a Ninja Move and kills Palpatine that way. Madara was ranting and Obito just. Ninjas behind Palpatine and slits his throat like “okay, you’re obviously evil so like... bye.”

(I just love causing "Wait what" reactions in characters that are used to having total control. Like. Have you read "Unexpected Guests"? The Bleach fic? Everything that happens in Hueco Mundo and after. That energy. I want that energy.)

Madara waves his scythe around like a cane. Obito just trails after like “Gramps, no” because it’s still pre-Sanbi, so he’s Mostly Innocent (you know, on the scale of how fucked up Obito is as a person), and just wants Madara to like. Stop.

Palpatine dies but nobody's sure what to charge Madara with since he did kind of expose a Sith? And Palpatine attacked first for [handwave] reasons?

Jedi: Well sir, in lieu of charging you with assassination of the emperor, we have decided to ask you politely to return to the elderly person's retirement home from whence you came. Please leave immediately. You are frightening the senate. Madara: [incomprehensible raving] Jedi: Yes yes, very interesting. Jedi, whispering: Does anyone know his caretaker???

Obito looks increasingly put-upon as events progress. You need Obito there to... well, not translate. Nobody can translate. But to at least poke Madara into being Slightly Less Homicidal.

Anakin seems sad about his friend dying and being evil so Obito challenges him to a spar. Madara and Obito get pulled into the Jedi Temple to help train Padawans? My first thought was "they wouldn't trust someone so obviously Weird, Crazy, and Incomprehensible around the younglings" and my second thought was "well they let Yoda do it and he's all those things so I mean? YEAH."

What if they put Madara in the bacta tank and he just freshened up like a daisy because of hand-wave Hashirama cell reasons (Blame Sir Tiddyface).

From “Decrepit and Reliant on Cave Tube Life Support” to “Will Call Down Meteors With Ease”

How many eyes does he have? Whatever’s funniest. Let’s say one Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan and one Rinnegan, for maximum chaos.

Would "half my body is missing" Obito freak out if Bacta regrew his eye? Can bacta regrow something like that? When characters lose limbs they usually just get cybernetic replacements, but  the person I spoke with said that apparently they saw somewhere that that kind of thing can grow back it just takes a really long time.

I want to imagine bacta would help Obito with the Zetsu integration.

Anyway! Yes. Have Madara help train people despite being... Madara about it. You know... kind of a dick.

(I’d put example gifs but I don’t feel up to it. Y’all know what Madara’s “weakness disgusts me” ass is like.)

Obito had to get his "these fools could never make me sweat" sass from somewhere, after all.

Do you think Obito could fight the baby Jedi that are around his age while recovering? I have no idea what their skill level is at fourteen, but I want to imagine Obito sparring the Padawans.

Obito + Zetsu + Bacta = he still needs physical therapy but he can spar again!

Madara is delighted to have a baby ninja to bully. He's too old to not bully baby ninjas, and Obito is the only baby ninja. TBH Madara just makes Obito his assistant teacher.

Obito: What are we even doing here and how do we get home? Madara: I'm still working on that. Obito: But I want to go home and see Rin and Kakashi! Madara, who was like two days away from triggering the Sanbi plan: I'm working on it.

Something sticking in my mind rn is Ahsoka&Obito, since Obito is still Baby.

I think Obito would be excited to have someone his age that thought he was Cool and Talented for being able to do Chakra Things instead of writing him off as "the dead-last." Like, Rin is friends with him, but she doesn't look up to him as someone more/differently talented.  He'd be excited to get to be "The Mysterious Cool Big Bro" for once.

I feel I also just like the idea of Anakin not knowing what to do with someone Several Years Younger that is also. Ninja Skill.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Madara is a grouchy old man even AFTER he gets effectively de-aged via bacta dunk, for the record. He's back in his prime and the Jedi have no idea how. They're all concerned about tiddyface*. (When are people not concerned about Sir Tiddyface, really.) The mokuton is a problem.

*Sir Tiddyface is that random Hashirama face that Madara had growing out of his pecs for like... convoluted bullshit reasons.

(Madara doesn't have mokuton, but he has enough Hashirama cells that it interacted very, VERY weirdly with the bacta.)

Obito spends the intervening weeks trying to learn the local language. He's very eager. Not particularly fast. Still doing it though!

I want Obito juggling kunai as physical therapy while he's waiting for Mads to get out of the bacta tank and just gains himself the adoration of a gaggle of small baby Jedi children.

Madara comes out of the bacta tank looking like he did in his prime (which I mentioned earlier but whatever), and it absolutely incites a yelling match of an argument that draws way too much attention.

Someone tries to teach Obito how to access the Force, just to see what happens. He almost turns into a statue because the philosophy behind Force meditation is only a few steps away from Sage Mode Meditation.

Anyway, Madara smacks him with a stick like Fukasaku to make sure Obito doesn't turn into stone.

Madara grumps about the lack of paper and brushes and ink. Bitches about it until someone hits up an antique store or something to get them for him. The day before he and Obito are dispatched on a mission with someone, probably Anakin for plot reasons, Madara very publicly seals things into a scroll and then tells them that no, they can't learn it, because the Force isn't chakra so fuuinjutsu won't work for them, so There.

Obito practices some Teen Rebellion (tm) and like, tries to teach the Padawan friends he's made how to do Chakra Things... but he's so bad at explaining things that nobody can get it to work even if it were possible.

In Obito's defense, language barriers. Not in Obito's defense, he's just really bad at words sometimes.

#Star Wars #Star Wars Prequels #Naruto #Uchiha Madara #Uchiha Obito #crossovers #Phoenix Posts #body horror mention

[corruptedconfessions]

Are you still in the kiri mood? If yes, can you yeet him into this thought: different yanderes (izuku, bakugo, kiri, or whomever you want!) Reacting to a touch starved reader. Ever the stubborn captive, they deny they want anything to do with the yandere, but during some forced fluff shenanigans, the yandere accidentally squeezes readers legs/ holds onto readers shoulders deeply, and reader let's out a moan. Thanks! And remember to drink water and take a break if you need!

Ngl Kirishima, Bakugo, and Hizashi are like the 3 yanderes im always down to write 24/7

they all live in my head rent free

This one is more of an imagine/drabble thing, I threw in another bonus yandere bc I feel like he fits the prompt well. I hope thats all okay <3

Also thank you for your kindness <3 Im hydrated and hopefully ready to write out some fics! I have a few drafts in my computer already :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kirishima is the very definition of clingy yandere, he is practically the poster boy for clingy, so it won’t be very long into your...moving in (he refuses to admit he kidnapped you! You were just too shy to ask yourself so he encouraged you! Don’t worry he gets the message no matter what you say otherwise!) that he’ll catch on to you being so desperately touch starved despite angrily telling him to fuck off every time he tries to cuddle. Being the ever delusional puppy he is he just assumes that you’re shy and keeps doing it even more

He’ll try to respect your space and let you come to him naturally but he’ll still insist on being close to you, dragging you to sit on the couch, you sitting on one end with him sitting on the other, your legs entangled in the middle. He’ll wait until you are engrossed in the tv or your book or whatever hobby of choice you have (the poor sap will buy you anything you ask, he just wants you happy) making sure you’re completely relaxed before he slowly slides a bit closer, reaching out to run his hands across your legs, squeezing and massaging them gently. Honestly he expected you to kick him or freeze up, stare at him in fear and confusion and anger like you always did whenever he reached out to touch you.

But you didn’t do any of that. If anything you relaxed, arching up into his touch as a soft breathy moan slipped past your lips, causing both of you to freeze at the same time, staring wide eyed at each other, stunned. 

If you thought Kirishima was clingy before you would be dead wrong compared to his behavior after that. He’s constantly by your side whenever he can, brushing against you in the kitchen when the two of you are cooking or washing dishes, moving closer to bump shoulders when the two of you are close by, constantly touching your hair, your neck, your shoulders, everywhere. You’ll be overstimulated and stressed but there is no going back now that he knows. Cuddles and spooning sessions whenever he can get you to sit still, honestly I wouldn’t put it past him to whine and demand you sit on his lap sometimes too, or at least lay against him and let him give you massages when the two of you are curled up on the couch. 

And that isn’t even getting started on sexual touching. He’ll be like a dog in heat, constantly aching for you, practically humping you any chance he gets. He’ll wrap his arms around you waist and hold you close as he grinds his hard on against your ass, trying to pull out those cute little noises that you’ll make. Pins you against the counter, over the couch, on the table, anywhere and everywhere is free game. 

And know that his poor sweet darling is touch starved? He’ll be quick to try and remedy that, he’ll tie you down to the bed and get you off just by rubbing his hands across your skin, massaging you, kissing you, just touching you. He won’t stop no matter how much you plead until he is done and he is sure that you have gotten the attention you deserve from him. 

Izuku is probably one of the best yandere matches for a touch starved darling, he is so submissive and cuddly for his darling, but not so much so its overstimulating and overwhelming like other yanderes. Unlike others he is more likely to let you have your space when he...first takes you home. He understands moving is a big change and you need your time and space to adjust and adapt to your new surroundings. He may coax you out with your favorite home made meals and promises of hot baths or treats, but he’ll smile and suck it up when you yell and scream at him, saying you want nothing to do with him. You’re just stressed and adjusting thats all! He can wait you out. 

Now just because he is patient and understanding doesn’t mean he just lets you do whatever you want.  He has needs too! The entire reason he had you...move in was so he could be closer to you and spend more time with you without anyone else interfering! Even you just being in the same room with him without throwing a fit is enough for him to feel like his patience is being rewarded.  

That patience wont last forever, though.

He tries to work his way up slowly, very slowly demanding more of you, insisting you stay just a minute longer, let him stand just an inch closer, it will be so slow you wont even realize you are practically cuddling up to him until it’s too late and you are so use to an reliant on him that you can’t go back to isolating yourself again. 

He’ll always have an idea that you are a bit more...starved for attention than others but he won’t get confirmation until months into your captivity. He’ll sweetly insist that you seem stressed and that you should let him give you a massage to help you relax. His calloused hands will reach out, squeezing your shoulders soothingly, coaxing a soft happy moan from your lips.

Oh sweetheart! How can you expect him to hold back when you make such sweet noises just from a simple touch? He may be a gentleman but even he has his limits...

You can bet there will be more...touching in your future. And much less patience towards an aversion to it. 

Bakugo is probably one of the worst (yandere) matches for a touch starved darling imo, the poor boy is sensitive and touch starved himself, and with his aggression he would probably just end up overstimulating his darling, and not in a good way. He’d much rather be on the receiving end of massages and pets, nuzzling himself into your chest or your stomach as you stroke his hair and tell him what a good boy he is. 

Having said that he would catch on pretty quick to your little act, seeing right past the screaming and defiance and your insistence that you want nothing to do with him, which is going to get you locked up in the basement and punished heavily, he sees the subtle ways you act that remind him of himself, that tell him exactly what he needs to know. 

Unlike the others when he reaches out for you, he knows exactly what he is doing and exactly what kind of reaction he is going to get. The shit eating smirk on his face as you moan in surprise tells everything. He’ll keep touching you, fingers digging into your skin just a little too hard, trying to drag more of those noises out of you until you are trembling under him, left feeling raw and sensitive. If you’re lucky he might notice that he went to far and be how ever much more gentle next time as he can be, but honestly after that he’s the same old Bakugo. He doesn’t go out of his way to touch you more, if he wants to wrap his arms around you he will, if he wants you on his lap he’ll pull you onto his lap, if he wants to lay on you, fuck what you’re doing, you get a lapful of Bakugo. 

That act doesn’t hide the way that he curls around you and cuddles you way closer at night in those tender moments, though. 

Hawks is another very handsy yandere. He wants constant contact and attention from his darling, so much so its almost impossible to keep up with his incessant demands for your attention, it grows draining. Even negative attention in the form of screaming, crying, fighting seems to fuel him. He just wants you to be looking at him, he doesnt care how. He’ll be the quickest to figure it out since if you wont give him attention he’ll give you his. He’s constantly reaching out to touch you in some way or form, be it grabbing your ass, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, or curling his wings around you to pull you closer to him,  you’ll always know if Hawks is home and where he is since theres always some part of him reaching for you. He’s a weird mix of aware and delusional, he knows he has kidnapped you and you’re unhappy because of it, but part of him also believes he just needs to take good care of you and that you love him anyways. Because of that he’s just constantly trying to please you to try and “make up” for kidnapping you. (He often brushes it off like he got the wrong food or forgot to text you back instead of something more serious)

It’ll happen when you’re standing still, he’ll sneak up behind you, reaching out and squeezing your shoulders, rolling his thumbs across them in a brief massage as he happily opens his mouth to greet you, only to be interrupted by the cutest moan bubbling out of you as you arch your back, pushing into his touch with a soft gasp. 

Immediately you’ll find yourself pinned down to the couch or the bed, whichever is closer. Hands will be dragged across your body, desperately repeating that movement and many others, anything to drag those sweet noises you had been hiding from him out. He wont be satisfied until you are near tears, gasping and limp under his touch, having given him all your cute little noises, surrendering yourself fully to him. 

Not much will change after that, he is just as clingy and handsy as before, but now he knows all the pretty noises and faces you can make for him, and he practically pounces on you every time he comes home, desperate to hear more. 

#yandere #kirishima x reader #kirishima ejirou #reader insert #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #hawks x reader #hawks

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 1: Formal

oh hey, look who’s finishing up all her prompts for Wolmeric Week like a month late lmaoooo

Post 5.3, relatively spoiler free post reunion-I-haven’t-finished-writing-yet moment between Aymeric and Serella. An attempt at normalcy, perhaps attempted too soon, leads to a moment of vulnerability. I’ve written and rewritten this prompt since the actual day of this, and I just need to Stop Wrestling with it.

Word count: 3,466

Punctuality was a priority in Ishgard surpassed only by godliness— regardless of social standing or involvement in the military, the city ran like clockwork, always in some level of activity, of movement and deadlines and bustle. To live in Ishgard was to be subject to strict social expectations when it came to timing. When to arrive (never too early, but never more than fashionably late without a very good excuse,) when was acceptable to leave (the later the better, until you had overstayed your welcome, the line between always being different depending on the host and guest alike,) and for every little moment bookended by arrival and departure. Daunting but for the most familiar and reliant on routine.

Years of etiquette schooling prevented Aymeric from bouncing on the balls on his feet in anticipation for his betrothed to join him in the foyer. Tonight was the first formal they would attend together following their reunion, after so many months of Serella being away on the First, and despite his best efforts, he could feel his excitement being gnawed at by the faint but persistent worry that she was taking so long.

Worry because she often took less time than he did, but also worry that something was wrong. When he’d left her to finish readying herself, her hair and makeup had already been done, surely getting dressed couldn’t take that long? What if something had happened? After another minute ticked by on the old clock in the foyer, he finally decided it was better to check on her.

Ascending the stairs, a particularly fearful thought crossed his mind: what if she was gone again? His steps faltered a moment at the halfway point up the staircase, but he rallied his composure and took the remaining steps two at a time. She would not leave without telling him, at the very least, not anymore—

— Before she left for the First, she wouldn’t, that same afeared voice noted. Do you truly even know her anymore?

The door to their chambers was ever so slightly ajar, enough that flickering lamplight carved a slice of light through the dim, shadowy hallway. When a quiet call of her name garnered no response, he took a moment to force himself to breathe again, and opened the door.

The sight crushed him.

Serella stood at the foot of their bed in her underclothes and stockings, just as he’d left her, staring down at the outfits she’d laid out on the duvet. Her hair was delicately piled, pinned atop her head, and adorned with her own crafted pieces: little constellations of the Twelve scattered in gold and kyanite across an artfully twisted bun. Her eyeshadow had already been artfully brushed on, deep sapphire and gold glimmering like stardust against her dark skin. Gorgeous as ever, she would have taken his breath away but for the way she stared down at the dress clothes as though they were an active threat to her.

“Love?” Aymeric called, a little louder than before, stepping cautiously further into the room to avoid startling her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. He tried not to let it hurt.

“O-oh, I didn’t realize—” Serella stammered, hand crossing over her torso and tapping at her collarbone. “—I let time get away from me, I’m sorry—”

Her eyes danced away, and her fingers tapped once more at her collarbone. On the third pass of it, Aymeric recognized her finger was drumming out a specific pattern. Three rapid taps, three spaced out, three more rapid taps.

Help me.

Did she know she was calling out for it, quite literally, in all but words? Was it Esteem guiding her hand, sending the only distress call they could? The movement of her finger had drawn his eye, but then his gaze drifted to the necklace clasped just above it on her neck. It clashed with the gold of her hairpins and her ring, silver and flush against her skin as it was. The narrow bands of glowing blue light hemmed on both sides by precious metal— he recognized it as a dampener meant to dull her aether sensitivity. A necessity more oft than not for her, where crowds or aetherically charged areas were concerned, to keep her from being overwhelmed with sensory input.

In particular, worn when she was already well beyond capacity for processing too much around her; Aymeric had seen it more often on her when helping her out of her armor when afield, or before they had to navigate in crowded places they couldn’t avoid for trying. Some days, she just needed to wear it even at home, if she had only just returned from somewhere dense with aether, or was otherwise overstimulated. Little wonder she had been so startled by him.

Regardless of what state he would have found her in, that necklace told him everything he needed to know: she was not in a good place as it was. Going to this formal would only harm her. 

So they wouldn’t. But that did not mean her effort must needs be wasted.

His mind made up, Aymeric spared a passing glance at the outfits laid out on the bed: two dresses, two suits, all of different origin, inspiration, and make, and each in a different but no less alluring gemstone and charcoal dyed fabrics and muted detailing to balance elegance with practicality. 

“You’ve naught to be sorry for; I can see why you struggled so.” He noted conversationally. When she made a questioning noise in the back of her throat and turned to look at him, he met her gaze from the corner of his eye and smiled. “You look radiant in anything. But perhaps this one, my dear?”

Before she could answer— though he noted her pleased flush, and the slight smile on her face— he crossed over to the bed and picked up the outermost jacket of the Lominsan suit. Where his own suit coat was primarily black, with hints of blue and gold, hers was almost wholly blue, speckled with gold buttons and detailing. He rather liked the thought of balancing one another out. She even favored the same high collars he did, though hers left a graceful swoop in the neckline to show her Paladin’s soul crystal gleaming on her necklace.

Sparing Serella another glance, he saw she had already hopped into her pants, unremarkable but tastefully embellished charcoal pair as they were, and was now shrugging on a crisp undershirt. He set the coat down and swiftly covered her hands with his.

“Allow me?” He asked, fingers wrapping around the buttoned edges of her shirt, peering up at her imploringly through his lashes.

Serella swallowed thickly, and he wished he could put it down to being affected by some more carnal instinct. He knew her better than that; she was struggling to not withdraw from him. If he focused hard enough, he could see her almost imperceptibly quaking with the effort.

Let me care for you. Let me love you, Aymeric silently prayed.

Her hands slipped from underneath his, conceding. With a beaming smile and a kiss to her forehead, he made steady but unrushed progress looping the buttons through their corresponding fastenings. It was endearing and heartbreaking both, the way she fidgeted in the scant space between them. It was almost as though she couldn’t recall how to carry herself with him.

Or at all, outside of combat.

Aymeric had fallen into that trap more than once himself— and remembered how hard it was to claw his own way out of it, even with support. He would not falter in being her shield as she found her peace. Not now, not ever. 

Before she could move past him, he fetched her coat from where he’d laid it back down on the bed and attempted to step behind her. When a glance at his face told her he would not be swayed, she sighed and turned her back to him, and slipped her arms through the coat.

“We’ll be late.” Serella spoke up quietly, though the faint quirk of her lips in a facsimile of a smile was obvious in her tone. 

“I assure you, we have all the time in the world,” he dismissed, using the moment she took to adjust the coat around her shoulders to step back in front of her and begin to fasten it closed.

Though she huffed a laugh, she didn’t even bother to try and bat his hands away, instead straightening the cuffs on her wrists. Pleased that he had won this bout, Aymeric continued to fasten the last of the well tailored coat across her chest, up to the last, just below her collarbone. 

Pleased with the way the coat draped over her as he was, he didn’t notice she’d moved her hands until he felt her fingers lightly adjusting his cravat— he’d tied it just left of center, toward his dominant hand. The amount of effort it took for her to widen her smile was apparent, tentative and trembling as it was, but so, too, was it just as obviously genuine. 

Before her hands could retreat, Aymeric caught them in his own and offered her another soft smile. With reverence otherwise reserved for the Fury Herself, he bent his head to press lingering kisses to her knuckles. Scant though the weeks had been since they were at last reunited, he had taken every opportunity he could to again familiarize himself with every ilm of her, to relearn all of her with the certainty of his devotion.

“I should get my boots.” She spoke up, finally inspiring him to straighten and let go of one of her hands.

“We’ve no need for them,” He reassured her, lightly squeezing the hand he yet held onto.

Her evident confusion was given only a reassuring smile in response before he was adjusting his grip on her hand to lead her out of the room. Aymeric guided her only far enough down the hall to lead to the Solar, rather than down the stairs to leave, and turned to step inside.

Serella’s grip tightened as she planted her feet just outside the doorway. Aymeric stopped and heelturned to face her expectantly. His hold was still gentle, unassuming, affection obvious in the faint stroking of his thumb over the fingers it was laced between. He watched her intently, but her eyes could not be pulled from their joined hands.

“Aymeric, we’re going to be late.” She said again, and this time, he could see the ponderous frown on her face, even as she continued to look at their hands. 

Even as she said that, she made no effort to take her hand back, no effort to step away. They both knew that she was the more powerful of the two; if she truly wanted to go, he could not stop her. And yet, there she stood, not understanding why he was not in a hurry. 

“Ella.”

Her name came as a sigh on his lips, formed of affection made habit, but it was enough to tear her gaze away from their hands to look up at him. The hand not holding hers stretched across the divide between Solar and hallway, bridged the gap to lightly brush his thumb over the Ironworks dampener at her neck, disrupting the glow of hearthlight dancing off the metal. Though his focus did not stray from the necklace, he felt more than saw her swallow thickly in response.

“Dearest,” Aymeric tried again, voice faltering. “I will not presume, and if you truly wish to go, we will, but,” his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “You do not wear this necklace lightly. If you are not well, then we’ll stay home.”

“I can’t do that to you.” Serella said almost immediately, frown deepening. “We’re expected—”

“And you are not well. I can’t do that to you.” He countered gently, held her face in his hands to keep her from looking away again. “I can think of no reason more noble to be absent than taking care of my family.”

“Oh?” Any fumbling attempt she made at dry wit melted from her countenance when he bent just enough to rub their noses together and kiss her forehead.

“Mm. Provided she let me do so, of course.” He said, playfully pointed.

“Of course.” She replied, and finally, her tone matched his.

Taking her banter as permission, Aymeric pulled away enough to tug her deeper into the room, fully in the Solar proper rather than lingering outside in the hallway. His smile widened when she nudged the door closed with her heel on her way in. 

“Thank you.” He whispered earnestly with another kiss to her forehead.

A laugh bubbled up from her throat at the contact, and it warmed him to his marrow, faint as it was. He made no effort to hide his smile when he stepped back from her, toward the other end of the room, and held her hand as he walked until he could no longer, and offered her a wink with a twist of his torso when he turned away from her, toward the old orchestrion tucked away behind the desk. With a flick of the switch, its speakers crackled to life, the well cared for but weathered machine giving off that faint white noise that came when nothing had been chosen to play.

But it did not take long for music to drift gently in from the speakers: Aymeric knew which song to put on. A personal favorite, one they had not danced to in some time.

Once the piano music began to float gently in through the speakers like a gentle snowdrift, he was swift in moving back to gather Serella in his arms again. All the more because he saw the recognition flash in her eyes, her expression shifting to pleasant surprise. 

With a sigh that seemed to take her whole body, she melted, just a little, just enough to turn her head and kiss his palm when he reached up to cradle her face in his hands.

Tinkling piano music moved on with out them, and measured how long it took for her to right herself. Not very— just enough that the first verse had just begun by the time he was satisfied she was well and truly alright, he shifted his hands to hold her at the small of her back, to take her hand in his.

“Dance with me?” Aymeric asked softly.

With a feigned sigh of resignation, the tension bled from her shoulders. Not all of it, mind, but enough that she could smile just a little wider.

“You’re going to insist, aren’t you,” She noted more than asked.

“On dancing? Never. Taking care of you? Always.”

The nearly inaudible giggle that escaped her throat seemed to shake away the last of her threadbare resolve to play at normalcy, as she took a moment to press her forehead to his shoulder and just laugh it out, just a little. When she righted herself, the remnants of that chuckle had softened her smile.

Even as they began to sway together, even as she fell into step with him, as if they had never stopped dancing at all, Serella couldn’t help but tweak his nose— proverbially, and rather literally, when she leaned up to bump the tip of his nose with hers.

“Look at you, batting your eyelashes at me so.” She teased, an old and affectionate turn of phrase. He hadn’t realized how he missed it so until he saw how her ears perked up with the width of her smile.

“You wound me.” Aymeric teased.

Something nearly guttered the light out of her eyes when she fiercely whispered, “Never.”

“I know, love.” Another kiss to her forehead, to will away those dark thoughts she could not yet give voice to, was blessedly enough to keep that playful spark alight. “Apart from my knuckles when I take bits from the mixing bowl.”

Even weak as it was, her laugh was enough to lighten his heart considerably when he gathered her back up to him and started to waltz in an intimately small circle, small enough that they did little more than turn about in place. 

At the second turn of the song, Serella became very still. Much as Aymeric had been leading them, he stopped the moment he felt her plant herself as a tree and refuse to move with him. He cupped her face in his hands as he waited.

Her smile wilted, ever so slightly, and her gaze turned uncertain again as she spoke up, “I won’t be okay just because we stay home and slow dance to sentimental songs tonight.”

Though she didn’t move his hands away, she bent to press her forehead against his shoulder. He kept his hands on her face, gently sweeping his thumps from her cheekbones up to the base of her pointed ears, and back in soothing strokes.

“You needn’t be. I am going nowhere.” Undeterred, Aymeric kissed the crown of her hair. “What was it you said before? Something about loving someone like a blanket?”

“Oh, so you do listen to my impassioned bumbling.” Serella murmured into his collar, more playful, more like herself.

His heart flipped in his chest when he felt her smile against his neck. Just enough time had passed since she’d done so with ease that he had yet to reacclimate his body to hers, to recognize the press of her grin, the tremble of her rage, the stutter of her grief. He would learn again, in time. They had that, now. And what time they did not have, they would make.

“‘Twas far from bumbling— and I always listen to you,” he countered earnestly, brushing his lips in the softest of kisses along the length of her ear. Her delighted peal of laughter and wriggling deeper into his arms inspired his own beaming smile. “I always seek you out. Any part of you I can.”

Serella knew this— he’d certainly never hidden the fact. The moment of hesitation before she spoke up again gnawed at some raw and aching part of him all the same.

“...Even when I feel like I don’t know myself anymore?”

“Especially then, so you are not left to sort it out alone.” When Serella lifted her head out of the crook of his neck to look at him again, he squeezed her closer and pledged, “I meant it when I vowed you have every moment of my forever, always— but especially when you are at your lowest. I have not the power to mend anyone— not even you, much as it pains me to admit it. But I can walk that path of recovery with you, and so I will, and do so with gladness. You need only let me.”

Serella snorted, face warmly flushed darker umber at her cheeks and her ears for her flustering. But she was smiling again, and that was enough for the moment.

“You drive a hard bargain.” Came an overwhelmed mumble, pressed into his collar.

“I learned from the best— for you have ever been with me on mine own journey, have you not?” Aymeric countered again, and knew he’d won the bout when she slumped in his arms entirely, relaxed in his hold. 

“You have me at a disadvantage, my lord.” Serella admitted, rocking back on her heels. “I’ve no choice but to accept.”

Aymeric wanted to counter that, too, but then she’d pulled on his cravat to guide him into a kiss. 

She began to sway again. Slowly, tentatively. By the refrain of the chorus, they were taking turns around the Solar again. By the time the tinkling notes of the piano faded quietly, they found themselves standing in the middle of the Solar again, not entirely still, grinning and healing and raw.

“It would seem our song ended.” She quoted herself from another lifetime ago, in Fortemps Manor, when the only certainty seemed to be in how uncertain everything in the world was— and they, the most uncertain of them all.

“So it has.” He agreed, playing along. 

“Though…” A spark— playfulness— glittered in her eyes when she flicked her gaze up at him through her fanned eyelashes. “We’ve barely started dancing again. Could use a touch more practice, just to be sure I’ve got it. Provided you have nowhere else to be.”

The minx. How he loved her so.

“There is nowhere else I would rather be.” Aymeric diverted from their playful tête-à-tête to do what he had not done the first time, when fear of rejection stayed his heart, and kissed her as they began to dance to the next song. “And that makes all the difference.”

#ffxiv #I am as ever your shield #Aymeric de Borel #Serella Arcbane #post 5.3 #5.3 spoilers #mild but still tagging just in case #anyway hi I've had such struggle writing this bc I get an extra vuln stack when I think about it #they've got recovery to go through but they'll be okay bc they're healing together and growing together #that's it that's the point #anyway I hope this sparks joy #is it pretentious of me to make a reference to my first fanfic? probably #but it sparks joy so it stays

[ladyvader23]

Darth Vader, Master Hairstylist

This was inspired by @scuddington ‘s post HERE. I absolutely love Scud’s art, and this one just instantly inspired me! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Vader learned how important hair was to little children was the day Miss Laena took PTO in the morning for an important doctors appointment. 

He figured he had this. It was just one morning. No big deal. The only difference was that this morning, he’d be the one getting the kids ready for school. That wasn’t hard. He was Darth Vader, Sith, destroyer of Jedi and Rebels alike, Commander of the Imperial Navy! He could handle school. 

He scheduled his own meetings around the conflict, he’d warned the twins repeatedly that he needed them to cooperate, he’d made sure the night before that all was prepared. Bags, lunches, homework. 

Too easy. Maybe he’d reconsider Miss Laena’s salary. 

And the morning did begin smoothly. Until Leia came running to him with a brush in her hand. 

“I gotta be pretty daddy!” She shoved the brush towards him. “Do my hair!” 

Vader froze. He...knew nothing about hair. He knew his wife had been excellent at it. When had she begun to be interested in how she did her hair? He tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember a single time he’d seen her in public without perfectly styled tresses. 

“You are a child. You do not need me to do your hair. Just brush it.” 

That of course, offended Leia. She pouted and glared. “I’m a big girl daddy, and big girls have pretty hair!” 

She literally forced the brush into his hand. 

Well. He’d mastered the Force. How hard could hair be? 

Famous last words. 

First, he was apparently not gentle enough. He tried to comb the tangles that she’d acquired overnight, and each time he did she began screaming “OW!” and crying. Horrified, he decided to instead hide the tangles and figure them out later. He pulled her hair into what resembled a ponytail and stepped back. “There. Now you will be late for school. Let us leave.” 

The hair wasn’t...exactly like it should be. It was crooked, and he wasn’t sure it was tight enough to stay in, but he didn’t want to hurt her further. And he was pretty sure she didn’t want him to try again, because she didn’t argue. 

He forgot about the incident shortly after the kids were dropped off. Miss Laena came back shortly before the end of school. He was in their home’s personal conference room, doing assignments from home, when he heard the front door open and the telltale sound of children running through the home. 

Miss Laena will take care of it. He thought, focusing back on his work…

Until he realized Leia was crying. 

He hated it when she cried. Luke, he could deal with. But Leia? Absolutely not. 

Shoving the datapad aside, he went to investigate. 

“I’m ugly!” She was wailing when he entered the kitchen. Mis Laena was trying to comb Leia’s hair and having a hard time with it. “I’m ugly!!!” 

“Who told you a ridiculous lie like that?!” Vader thundered. Leia was the image of his beloved wife. Both of them were more beautiful than all the stars of the galaxy. 

But to his surprise, Leia wailed harder. “Everyone! My hair was ugly!!!” 

“Your hair does not reflect how beautiful you are. Hair changes daily.” 

Miss Laena winced. “Lord Vader...many children want to feel pretty when they go see their friends at school.” 

“Leia is beautiful already. I do not see what the problem is.” 

“...She is beautiful, but she may not feel that way when she doesn’t like her hair...and other kids might say something if it looks...different.” 

“She is five.” 

“Even five year olds want to feel pretty.” 

Vader thought it was silly. Leia could have no hair and he’d find her just as perfect as she was with it. But judging on Leia’s reaction, she very much cared about how her hair looked. 

It was something her mother should have done. Had she lived, he had no doubt Leia would never have a bad day...or even Luke for that matter (sometimes that boy needed to run a comb through his hair, if Vader was being honest with himself). 

But Padme...was not there. And it was his fault for that. 

So it was up to him to fix it. 

First, he ordered practice manikin heads, the kind hairdressers used to practice. Then, he found online tutorials on the holonet. He watched them carefully, paying close attention to the stylists finger and brush movements. It was not unlike studying lightsaber technique. Both had a certain art to it. 

He just needed to master it. 

The first many attempts didn’t work as planned. Part of it was due to his cybernetics. They were...not made for the delicacy it took to style hair. The first few manikin heads ended up either with hair ripped out, or he’d grow so frustrated when he couldn’t get a braid right, that he’d throw the manakin off the balcony, where it fell into the lower levels of Coruscant below. 

But he was determined. He would not fail in this task. He would not be so reliant on Miss Laena that he would ruin his daughter's day again like that. 

He would be the master hairstylist. 

It took months (and countless manikin heads) to get things to where he felt he could confidently and safely try working on Leia’s hair. 

One morning, before school, he interrupted Miss Laena as she was about to help Leia get ready for school. “I have no need of your services when it comes to Leia.” He informed her confidently. “I will handle it from here.” 

He did not miss the concern that flashed through the other woman, but she wisely did not say anything. “As you wish, My Lord.” 

He entered Leia’s room. She was already dressed, though her hair, thankfully, was still a mess. “Where’s Miss Laena?” She asked, frowning when he was the only one there. 

“I am here to fix your hair problem.” He announced confidently, spotting the brush and summoning it to his hand. 

Leia did not hide her nervousness. “No, that’s okay daddy, I...I can have ugly hair today.” 

“No. You will sit down and allow me to help you.”

“No--”

“If you do not let me help you, I will ground you from your dolls.” It was an unfair threat and he knew it...but he was a Sith. He’d spent an unsithly amount of time mastering the ways of the hairdresser. He was not about to let Leia stop him now. 

Leia pouted, but sat down. “Be nice to my hair, daddy.” She warned as he approached, and he felt her genuine fear. 

Carefully, he placed a hand on top of her head and smoothed her hair down in what he hoped was a soothing gesture...and began. 

He first worked out the tangles. Carefully, in a way he knew wouldn’t hurt her. Once all the tangles were gone, he began to braid. 

The trick, he found, was not to completely rely on his metal fingers. Doing so would result in failure. The trick was to use the Force for anything that was too delicate and precarious for his clumsy hands. With a mixture of the Force and his own now well-practiced hands, he managed to braid her hair into a crown. 

He stepped back, satisfied. “You look like a princess.” He told her, and he meant it. It was hair that would make any royal princess jealous. He was fairly certain that Padme would have been quite proud of him had she seen it. 

Leia looked in the mirror...and smiled. “Wow, daddy! You got good!”

“For you, my princess...though don’t tell anyone I did it.” 

Having redeemed himself, he could have stopped there. He’d mastered enough to impress any five year old. 

But he didn’t stop there. 

Leia soon decided that she’d rather have him do her hair than Miss Laena (something he was secretly pleased about, though he’d never admit it). As she grew, so too did her tastes in hair. Occasionally, she’d be interested in a style he didn’t know how to do. But if she showed him what she wanted, he’d spend what little off time he had trying to figure it out. Once he’d mastered it, he’d try it out on her. Usually he was successful. 

Soon, he began to savor the moments when it was just him and her. She’d sit on the chair, swinging her legs happily while he worked on her hair. Sometimes it felt like they didn’t share as many interests, but when he did her hair, it seemed like it was their own “thing.” It was unsithly, and his Master would absolutely have a heart attack if he ever found out, but he didn’t care. 

Soon though, as Leia grew into a teenager, she began to need him less and less. But instead, their time together was replaced by him teaching her how to do her own hair. He’d always dreamed of teaching his children the ways of the Force, but with Sidious suspicious of that ever happening, he knew this would probably be the closest thing he could get for Leia. 

For now. 

One day, as Leia finished braiding her hair so that it looked like a blooming flower for a Imperial youth party, she paused. “You know. I’ve never told anyone you learned how to do hair.” She said. 

“That is wise.” He tried not to think of what the media would say if they ever found out Darth Vader knew almost as much about hair as any professional hairstylist. 

“Why? I mean. You’re...you.” 

He looked at her for a long moment. She’d grown to be so beautiful, exactly like her mother. And he decided to be honest. 

“Because your mother was not here to do it for you.” He replied. “I did not want you to miss out on that experience.” 

Leia turned, taking him in for a moment. Then, with a smile, she reached out and gave him a rare hug. 

He...allowed it. This time. 

“Thanks dad.” She said. “You’re the best. I don’t care what anyone else says.” 

He didn’t understand how him being good at hair made him the best…

But he’d accept it.

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I accept PROMPTS for this or any SW AU! 

#Darth Vader #dad vader series #Dad vader #leia organa #little leia #my writing #sometimes he makes a good dad decision #fanfic #star wars fanfic #star wars