#i had to give him a haircut because his fringe was getting in his face

[skatingbi]

So hear me out on my headcanon guys:

Sanji with heterochromia (i cant spell that fuckin word man..) where one eye is blue and another is brown. He always hides the blue eye.

The first one to notice is Zoro, who is immediantly like "holy shit youre eyes are pretty" and sanji is like "what the FUCK"

Actually fuck it im gonna write about this nobody can stop me.

Sometimes, on lonley nights in the gallery, when Sanji is busy prepping, he looks in the reflection of his knife. Underneath the frizzy mess of a fringe that is part of his hair reveals the blue eye he struggles looking at. He stares, scrutinizing that light blue in the gleam of his knife gripped tightly in his hand. He looks away to force his attention back on prep work. His hands are always slightly unsteady after those moments. He always ends up with a cut on his hand one way or another on those nights.

When Sanji was a kid, his brothers would use his heterochromia as a weapon against him. He was the freak with two colored eyes. They would say his blue eye was creepy, too. Not only was he weak but also too different to be called their brother.

When you're a kid, you take these insults to heart. Eventually, when you're barely into adulthood, they'll still plague you. They become a part of you, just like how Zeff's teachings became a part of Sanji.

Judge looked at his eyes with disgust masked by indifference. It was another reason for Sanji to assume why he was the failure. The outcast. The runt of the litter.

His mother had blue eyes. She always claimed Sanji got his blue eye from her because her father had heterochromia, too. That was the only time little Sanji felt normal. When she died, Sanji started to grow out his hair to hide the only thing he had left of her: her eyes.

Now, Sanji still hides her eyes from view. Realistically, Sanji is fully aware that none of the crew would give a rats ass what he looked like. Regardless, old habits die hard. He feels safe under the mask he made for himself. As he goes about preparing lunch, perhaps grilled sea king again with how luffy is always eager to fight those things, he lets his mind wander to his eyes more. While hands expertly move through his knife like an extension of his body, he thinks about the mess of blond hair that's always in the way. He'd never admit it out loud, but his hair actually bothers him. Since it started growing out, it gets everywhere; his mouth, in his eyes, and tangled in the buttons of his shirt. Is sanji happy with his longer hair? Absolutely. It's a nusiance to leave it down constantly, though.

As he's thinking this, he's blowing the fringe of hair covering his face out of the way every so often so it stops tickling his nose. He continues to evenly slice through a portion of sea king meat until somebody, Nami he realizes immediantly, speaks up.

"Do you need a hair tie, sanji?" Nami asks sweetly. Her smile is radiant, as always, while she looks up from the map shes been studying. Sanji didnt even realize Nami came in and made the kitchen table into a study until now, but he doesnt dwell on it. Nami is welcome in his kitchen, after all.

"Oh no, thank you, Nami-swan! I think I just need a haircut soon," Sanji lies as he's moving through the kitchen. He gives Nami a quick smile before turning back to the meat on the cutting board and avoids Nami's gaze under the disguise of being busy. His lie wasn't as believable as he wanted it to be, especially when he's stumbling over his words while he is usually eloquent with them towards Nami and Robin.

"But until then, you should take one! I probably have hundreds lying around my room anyways," She says. It's a peace offering designed to be in Sanji's language of communication. It secretly says he's getting that hairtie whether he wants it or not, and Sanji is weak enough to accept the offering. He takes the hair tie with a grateful smile, wrapping it around his wrist and going back to his current task. Nami and Sanji work in comfortable silence after that, but the hair tie weighs on his wrist like a weighted bracelet.

A few days pass by. Through every single one, he stares at the hair tie in the morning. He really should tie his hair back. It reaches his shoulders for gods sake, and it keeps getting in his mouth - but that small part of him that clings onto grief like its all that he knows refuses to. He doesn't think he can bring himself to share the only part of himself that he truly loves deep down. What if the crew really thinks it's weird? What if his brothers are right?

These what if's roam in the back of his mind. They lurk just beneath the surface like an unknown predator hidden in murky water. He ignores it along with the anxiety that crawls up his throat every time he looks at his wrist.

Then, a week passes by. Now he's in his kitchen making a simple breakfast for his nakama. Franky, in particular, will enjoy this since his tastes lie within American style food most of the time. He focuses on seasoning the eggs, some of them cooked differently to cater to everyone's tastes. While he goes through the familiar and therapeutic motions of cooking, the door opens to reveal an annoying head of mossy hair and the steady noise of three swords bumping each other at the hip.

" Oi, go to sleep in your own bunk. I dont need you stinkin' up my kitchen while im trying to work." He utters without looking up from the stove.

"Why can't I just sleep here shit cook?" Zoro grunts. Sanji hears him shuffle around on the gallery's couch behind him. He's probably lying down, or maybe he'll sleep sitting up again, or maybe he'll watch Sanji cook. That's the most irritating one, which usually ends up with them fighting out on the deck one way or another.

"Because youre fuckin' annoying, get out."

"The hell I am, I'm taking a nap here."

"Oh my - You know what?" Sanji whips around to glare at Zoro, making sure the knife he was using is now in his hand to point at the source of his ire, "Fine, but if I hear a single snore out of you I'm kicking you into the ocean!" He threatens and turns around to finish up with breakfast. By now, all he has left is pancakes. The batter was prepped earlier, so now it's just focusing on pouring evenly. It's task that's menial but still important to him regardless.

His hair is covering his face too much. He tries to shake his head to flip it to the side. It falls back to where it was before he can pick the bowl of batter back up. He brushes it over his shoulder, and it simply flows back over it. He blows his hair out of the way, a classic move, but not even that works and he's slamming the bowl down on the counter before he can even stop himself and walks away from his work to grab the hairtie from around his wrist. In a few fluid motions, he ties his hair back haphazardly into a poor attempt at a low bun, but it's out of his face, and now he can focus.

He's too deep in concentration to even remember that he has heterochromia in the first place. Cooking lowers his guard unlike anything else in the world. The gallery acts like a safe space and cooking is his comfort. He still forgets, too, while calling for Zoro to get his lazy ass up to help since he's decided to loiter in his kitchen.

"Hey moss, if you're gonna laze around my kitchen, set the table for me." His request demand is met with a middle finger, which Sanji gladly returns as he walks over to the couch to kick Zoro on the stomach. The half asleep annoyance is now suddenly alert and glares at Sanji for a moment before it's quickly replaced with a look Sanji has yet to add to his mental notes he likes to call "Marimo Dictionary". Zoro's eyebrows are slightly raised, and his eyes glitter with something Sanji rarely sees. He's never been able to place a name on that look. Now he's confused. "What? Dont give me that youre tired crap youre not fuckin 10." He says.

Zoro is still looking at him, though, and now Sanji looks back with confusion because what the fuck is he-

Oh. His eyes.

Shit.

Sanji rips the hairtie out of his hair at light speed, probably pulling a few strands out by accident in the process but he could honestly care less when theres something more important. Like whatever the fuck just happened.

Before he can turn away and go set the table himself to distance himself from the marimo, Zoro's hand moves suddenly to grab his wrist, stopping him from running away.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Zoro pleads. And what the fuck. Zoro has never said anything like that and its fucking with Sanji's head because what the fuck. "You...uh." He continues in his signature graceless way. "Your eyes..." He pauses after that, sitting up and looking at Sanji, but not just looking, he's looking.

"Marimo," Sanji's own voice is riddled with anxiety with how shaky it is now. "Let me go dumbass," He demands but it could have been mistaken for him begging with how much he's struggling to keep himself together.

He's anticipating the worst. He knows what he's expecting. Sanji has experienced it countless times before, and he's aware he will again right now while a pancake is probably burning on the pan for all he knows.

It doesnt.

Zoro is looking at him still, maintaining eye contact but also darting between both eyes. He's looking at him like those golden eyes are looking into his soul and its too much.

It's too much because Zoro's response is uncharacteristically soft in so many ways. Zoro speaks to him like he's speaking with reverence, "Your eyes are beautiful."

Sanji shatters on the gallery floor there. His soul is bare for Zoro to see suddenly and that terrifies Sanji. Nobody has ever told him he's beautiful. Especially his eyes. He yanks his wrist from Zoro's grasp and speed walks to the stove to turn it off and remove the burnt pancake from the pan. He doesnt respond. He cant, not when his heart flutters when it should have been anchored down by rejection.

Then, Sanji walks up to Zoro, grabs onto both his shoulders, pushes him out the gallery door with surprisingly little resistance, and slams it shut. He leans against the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor with his head tucked between his knees. His face is burning and his face is probably red like a tomato right now. He stares at the ground with wide eyes and a weirdly giddy feeling in his chest and stomach nearly akin to happiness but also dangerously close to feeling freaked the hell out.

"What the fuck."

#Bro...I will make this a series on god #like man...writing the second half of this was SO FUCKIN FUN #Anyways sanji has heterochromia supremacy #zosan #one piece #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji being called beautiful is his gay awakening #and he's late preparing breakfast after that #he'll probably smoke an entire pack of cigs after that too #somebody help this poor disaster #Sanji has Heterochromia

[osakiharu]

HELPING THEM DYE THEIR HAIR !!

part 1 | part 2

content : gender neutral reader, fluff, shits and giggles because i think this would be a funny experience, suggestive comments from kazutora and sanzu whoops, swearing because why not, mikey is a little ooc - he’s less traumatised in this one because i said so

characters : mikey, kazutora, sanzu

notes : wrote this because i desperately need to change my hair but i have to wait for ages and im going a little insane rn - might do part 2 with rin and ran

˗ˏˋ MIKEY

- he got a haircut and he looked so good. we love short hair mikey here 👩‍💻

- he loved it too <3 it had been so long since he had short hair and he kept shaking his head around because it felt so light 💀

-then he said he wanted to dye it black and you were like oh :(( because you realised how similar his hair was to shinichiro’s

- he didn’t seem sad about it though - it was more just like a “what if i dyed my hair black it would look cool” sort of thing

- you knew it was also kinda to do with shin but you never asked him about it

- it’s a relaxing experience <3

- you do everything for him because he’s completely clueless about anything to do with hair

- he likes the smell of the dye and keeps picking up the bowl to smell it

- “why is it white if it’s black hair dye?” very confused and is very entertained by watching it turn darker on his head

- half way though his eyes are almost shut because it feels nice <3

- he kept wanting to lean back on you but every time he did he got dye on your shirt </3

- he gives you little story times about emma’s hair experiences

- “yeah, once she got it cut and she didn’t like how it looked on her… so i tried to help her but i kinda just made it worse and she cried.”

- you remember emma wearing a hat to cover her fringe for a little while because she didn’t like it so you guessed that was why

- “i thought it looked fine, but then she called hinata and she started laughing!” sits there like >:(

- he doesn’t want to get any on his forehead or around his face so he takes the brush off you and starts going around the edges - you’re surprised how careful he was

- he was so concentrated that his eyebrows furrowed and he looked so cute :((

- got annoyed when you kissed him on the cheek - “y/n, if you distract me and i get this all over my face i’ll kick you.”

- kisses you afterwards though <3

- when you’re finished you gather his hair up and put it in a blob on top of his head and he thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen

- takes pictures and sends them to his friends with no context

- he washes it out himself but doesn’t do it properly so you have to make him go back and do it again

- i know damn well he takes fast showers. stinky mikey >:(

- when you finish drying his hair and sorting it out he’s pretty quiet - you can kinda guess what he’s thinking about

- “y’look so pretty, mikey,” you kissed his cheek, “suits you.” <3

- “hm, thankyou, angel.” muah i love mikey

- calls draken later on because now they both have black hair and he’s all excited about it

- “ken-chin, we’re basically twins!”

- mikey>>>

˗ˏˋ KAZUTORA

- king has to touch up his roots - he lets them grow out really far too

- there’s just over three inches grown out and he’s like whoops i couldn’t be bothered

- prefers to do it with you because it’s more fun and he doesn’t wanna make his hair fall out - once he did it with chifuyu and they both decided that they’d never do it again

- usually gets the bleach in other parts of his hair because he isn't careful and he never puts the rest of his hair back

- you put his hair in two braids this time and he is not happy.

- “i look like that haitani motherfucker with his stupid blond strip in his hair… looks like a bee, i hope he changed it because he looked fucking stupid.” kazutora doesn’t like looking like ran

- laughs when you laugh at his insults though

- he can’t stand the smell of the bleach at all

- scrunches his nose up when he watches you mix it together

- “god, that fuckin’ stinks… it’s hurting my nose!” you agree with him on that one

- y’know how people put foil on their hair when they dye it to separate it - he does that but he didn’t know how to fold it or anything so you come back to the bathroom and he’s sat with a ball of foil on his head and his whole forehead out like “look 😁”

- embarrassed when you tell him it wasn’t necessary to do that

- he likes it when you take his hair out of the braids - he loves it when you play with his hair so he sits with his eyes half shut and smiling to himself because he’s so relaxed

- gets you to play with his hair a little extra while he’s waiting to wash it out <3

- said he showered in the morning so he was like it’s fine we can wash my hair over the bathtub

- he was giggling the whole time because it was so hard for you to wash the front of his hair from that angle and you kept slapping his forehead 💀

- “how come purple shampoo doesn’t turn your hair purple if it’s got all that purple pigment stuff in it?” not now kazutora.

- gets water in his eyes on top of it all

- enjoys having you wash his hair though - even though it’s chaotic it makes him feel all fluffy n shit inside <3

- it’s so fun and you’re both just laughing the whole time :(

- when you’re finished he wraps his hair up in a towel and he looks so cute

- “my knees hurt from kneeling down, is this how you feel sometimes?”

- boy.

- anyways his hair didn’t fall out and now he’s getting you to dry his hair for him too <3

˗ˏˋ SANZU

- “i’m gonna dye my hair pink.”

- when sanzu first said that you couldn’t imagine him with pink hair at all. if anything you thought he would dye his hair black or something darker

- now you can’t picture sanzu without pink hair

- but because of the colour it fades quickly and ehm.. because sanzu’s natural hair colour is so light if you let it grow out too far..

- it literally looks like he’s going BALD

- like as soon as he decides that you have to dye it thats when you do it no questions asked

- you’re busy and can’t do it today? okay, sanzu will just drag you there by the leg don’t worry

- he always mixes the dye though because he’s really particular about the colour - like there’s a certain ratio he has memorised, mostly because the first time he did it he almost looked like a highlighter and he didn’t like how bright it was

- “the fuck are you putting on gloves for?” believes in dyeing hair with bare hands

- he does the top and front of his hair whilst you to the back

- always puts on music because he finds dyeing his hair kinda boring

- makes your life ten times harder though because he leans over every 2 seconds to change the song or he keeps moving his head around to the beat of the music

- “haru, stop moving your head! i can’t do this properly if you keep moving.”

- “just move with me then, sweets.” he’s so annoying <3

- he does that thing where you kinda swing your head to one side and then the other and clicks his fingers to the beat of the song as a joke and he looks like a complete moron - makes you laugh though

- it’s his version of ‘dad dancing’ he says

- once all the dye is on he can’t leave his hair alone and has to keep messing with it

- “it’s fucking itchy.” he says whilst pushing the short parts of his hair up like a spike…

- it gets all over his forehead and hands and it doesn’t come off when you wash it

- “looks like i fucked a fairy or something.” he knows what he means

- “what?”

- it also gets in one of his eyebrows <3 when he sees it he just stops and goes :0

- you’re giggling because you know that it’s not gonna come out for a while and you’re trying to tell him it’s fine, his hair kinda covers it so it’s okay

- he let an intrusive thought win and just dips his fingers in the left over dye and rubs it in.

- “i said it would wash out, why did you do that?” you’re trying not to cackle at him because he just realised what he did

- “fuck.”

- he had pink eyebrows for almost 2 weeks after that

- ran and rindou will never let him hear the end of it.

reblogs appreciated <3

@swtsuya because sanzu and kazu >:)

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo rev imagines #tokyo rev x reader #mikey sano x reader #manjiro sano x reader #mikey sano #manjiro sano #sano manjiro x reader #mikey sano x you #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora x reader #kazutora hanemiya x reader #kazutora hanemiya fluff #kazutora hanemiya imagines #kazutora hanemiya x you #sanzu haruchiyo imagines #sanzu haruchiyo x you #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #sanzu haruchiyo fluff #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #sanzu x reader #manjiro sano x you #manjiro sano fluff #mikey sano fluff

[134340am]

sweet yuuuuuna !! ur event looks so lovely ( and the post is so PWETTIE ! ) may i request . . #9 or #11 wif tobio >~< ( no gender preference :> ) luv u lots n lots 🧸🤍 !!

kageyama tobio x gn!reader, 0.9k words, suggestive + cw razor blades  part of my 500 frens celebration!

9. forehead kisses but it’s the f/o being kissed on the forehead

“oi, stay still, tobio! or i’m gonna cut you—”

“a little hard to stay still when you have a knife near my face, babe.”

“it’s not a knife!” you huff, exasperated, and sit back on his hips. your boyfriend stares back up at you, equally pissed and equally anxious while he brings a hand up to his face to rub at his eyebrows, checking if they were still there. 

you had half a mind to lecture him about having faith in your partner when they trim your eyebrows and why this trust is essential in any relationship but you decide against it, instead focusing on wiping down your razor with the wet tissue you have in hand. 

“this one feels much shorter than the other,” tobio muttered. he casts you a suspicious look and you resist the urge to physically hiss at him.

“that’s because you wouldn’t let me finish the other one—ugh, i’m not even hurting you! i’m just trimming away all the sparse hairs, which shouldn’t hurt because it’s like a haircut for your stupid eyebrows.”

“my eyebrows aren’t stupid!”

“well, they are now, since they’re unbalanced and all.”

tobio sighs, hands falling back down to your hips. he gives them a good squeeze, a borderline grumpy pout still pulling at his lips, and you feel your exasperation fade away at how adorable he looks. it took a lot of convincing for him to even get here—lying stiffly on your bed, toes curled in apprehension while you approach him with your little blue blade.

“thanks for letting me do your brows, tobio,” you had said excitedly just five minutes ago, carefully pushing back his floppy bangs with a big fluffy headband. “i can’t wait to make you look all clean and pretty.”

“careful, or i’ll end up looking too pretty,” he snorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “you don’t like when girls stare at me, right?” 

“nah, i’m just worried that you’ll end up prettier than me.”

tobio scoffs—an airy sound that’s his version of a laugh. “not possible, babe.” 

and now, five minutes later, your boyfriend has dropped the sweet and smitten act in favour of protecting his eyebrows, and by extension his public image. damn it, you missed when tobio couldn’t care less about whether his fringe was parted in two or three sections.

“make it right.” he demands, pointing at his undone eyebrow.

you still. “say please?”

“please make it right, my love.” you turn your nose up at him, preferring to pick at your dry cuticles instead. when tobio sees your lack of response, he huffs and sits up, pulling you closer to him by the waist. “please. i’ll give you a massage. i’ll do the laundry. i’ll… i’ll even cook dinner?” he says with a wince, obviously not confident enough to make the claim, but reckoned it was worth a shot anyway. 

the thought of your lover in a frilly apron wreaking havoc on your beloved cast iron pans and ceramic claypots makes you shudder. 

“i’ll take the massage,” you offer. “since you asked so nicely.” 

you push him back down with a gentle hand to his chest, trying your best to ignore how hard the muscle feels under your fingertips. when tobio settles into the bed comfortably, you smooth back a few strands of his hair that escaped his headband, before leaning forward to kiss his forehead. just to placate him a little for being so good, you think.

when you pulled back, you were surprised to see the beginnings of a pretty blush dusting the apples of his cheeks. 

in a bid to not embarrass him further, you get to work on his right brow, gently pulling the skin taut and shaving away any sparse hairs. it took almost no time at all to get the shape neat and tidy, but even so, you could still feel tobio struggling not to squirm under you—hands gripping your hips tightly. 

“there we go, all done.” you hand him a little hand mirror. “whaddya think, baby?”

your boyfriend scrutinises his appearance, nose scrunching up as he examines his face. for a moment, you could feel your stomach flipping with hesitation, unsure of what to expect. does he like the look? can he tell if one brow is still longer than the other, though you tried your best to make both of them even?

“i look nice.” then, a cheeky smirk. “one step closer to becoming prettier than you.”

“that’s bold, coming from someone who couldn’t handle a little trim,” you laugh, sliding the plastic cap back onto your razer and climbing off your boyfriend—not that you made it far, because in a split-second flurry of motion that caught you off-guard, tobio had flipped you onto your back with your razer tossed to the floor. 

“c’mon, i did my best.” he leans in close, lips brushing yours ever so slightly—a subtle promise for more. “say, don’t you think i deserve a kiss for being so good?”  

.

.

.

“lemme do your nails next, tobio.”

“no. absolutely not. you can do whatever you want to my face, but i’d rather stick to my own nail care routine.” 

you pout, resting your head on his chest. “yeah yeah, fine. you spend more time with your glass nail file than me. i’m starting to hate you, tobio.”

“i do not. and you can’t blame me for wanting to keep my nails shaped nicely, it’s for my job,” tobio mumbles into your hair, words punctuated with a soft smooch to the top of your head that had you smiling into his soft cotton shirt. 

“besides, having neat nails means i can stick my fingers in you whenever i want.”

a/n: coco baby! gonna tag your new blog here in case you miss this : ) @tobiodose | i hope you are having a fun day out rn <3 thank you so so much for requesting! i’ve had this scenario stuck in my head for the LONGEST time, and wanted to scream about it in ur inbox but i decided to save it for ur request instead ^o^ i hope it’s to your liking! love u love u love u thank u for all the lemons u’ve given me and for all the joy u bring to me and my dash ~ 

(series masterlist) (masterlist)

#kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x reader #kageyama x you #kageyama x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #kageyama fluff #yuna writes #yuna's 500 frens celebration

[chazzadotcom]

Could you write an Eddie x male reader where Eddie cuts his hair but it’s really bad and reader has to fix it for him?

PROUD OF YOU

a/n i hope you like this anon <3

not proofread

Eddie screamed into the mirror once he caught sight of his new haircut he had tried to give himself, you came running in, and tried not to laugh at his new hair and the expression he had looking into the mirror.

What used to be a long curly look was now a lopsided no fringe mess. Y/N laughed to himself before he took the scissors from Eddies hand and placed them on the sink.

“What happened baby?” you said with a smile, Eddie pouted at you as he pointed at his hair “LOOK AT IT” you couldn’t control your laughter anymore and let out a chuckle “I can see baby, do you want me to fix it?”

Eddie sighed, he wanted to do this himself without you and your stupid amount of talents having to help him, but once again here he was, having to get you to help him.

He nodded and you grabbed the scissors from the sink and bought a chair in from the kitchen and made Eddie sit on it before you hung a towel around his shoulders.

You were standing behind him and looking at his dodgy fringe in the mirror. You were racking your brain trying to think what you could do and how much hair you could salvage. It wasn’t looking good.

You spent an hour or so just cutting bits here and there, and having to cut his fringe off in a way that didn’t make it look like it used to be a fringe.

You then grabbed some curling products and ran it through Eddies hair to try and make it have some form of life and make him still look like Eddie.

It was a short haircut which is so drastically different from anything he’s had before, and by the face he was pulling the mirror he wasn’t sure about it.

Once you hand finished you put the scissors away and brushed the hair from the floor and his shoulders before wrapping your arms around him and kissing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry baby it’s the best I could do.”

He pulled an offended face “are you saying my hair cutting skills are bad?” He faked offence

“I’m saying they are absolutely terrible, but it’s okay because you have me to always fix it.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x male reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x male #stranger things season 4 #stranger things x male reader #male reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x gn reader #stranger things x gn reader #stranger things x gender neutral reader

[wimmipimmi]

Eddie x reader where Eddie cuts his hair short and when she finds out she gets so mad at him that she stops talking to him, the and cant stop CRYING over it?? Maybe he keeps the hair he cuts off in a bag and gives it to her 💀

thank you so much for your request! I hope I was able to do it justice, I don't think I like how my writing turned out with this but oh well 😅 it's a nice way to help get me back into writing ☺️

-

Haircuts

Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1k+

Summary: Eddie decides to cut his hair one afternoon and not tell you as a surprise, and oh what a surprise it is...

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, reader is 18+, Eddie is a fool in love, reader has a mental breakdown, hurt/comfort if you squint, more comfort than anything, Eddie also is an idiot

A/N: I tried to make this as silly, goofy and light-hearted as possible, don't know if that came across well but 🤷‍♀️

-

One of your favourite things about Eddie (apart from his personality), has always been his hair. Long and wavy and crazy, it's not a style many guys can pull off, but it's suits him so well. You can't imagine him having his hair any other way.

Eddie can though, and that's why he decided one afternoon to cut his hair short, and not tell you make it a surprise. He cut it so it still has a little bit of length. It flaring out the sides of his face and down his neck. He didn't touch his fringe though, as he still thinks he looks good with it.

That afternoon you had decided to meet your boyfriend after school at his place to chill out, force him to do some homework (you're making sure he graduates this year with you), and help him with new material for his D&D campaign.

When you arrive you knock on his door, and open it, welcoming yourself inside as you know he left it unlocked for you.

"Eddie, I'm here!" you say, loud enough so he can hear you. Walking over to the couch, you put your bag down as you flop down onto it, laying your body across it.

Staring at the ceiling you don't get any response, making your eyebrow raise, "Hello?" you try again, hoping he hears you this time.

It seems to work because you soon hear footsteps coming towards you from his room, "Sorry, I had to check something real quick," he remarks, and your head lifts up to see his face. Your smile immediately drops, as you instantly notice his hair, a nervous smile on his face to pair with it.

"Your... your hair..."

"Yeah," Eddie puts his arms out in a 'ta-da' stance, "Wha'dya think?" He slowly sits down next to you on the couch, your wide eyes following his every move.

Your eyes can't help but start to water, hand reaching for a strand of his hair.

"It's so short..."

"Yeah, well, I kinda wanted to try something new so... you know..." He feels your hand play with his new haircut, his face growing more and more with nerves at your lack of thoughts.

"Your hair it's..." He doesn't dare intrupt, expenctantly waiting for you to finish.

"It's gone!" you finally cry loudly, as tears now start falling down your face, "Your gorgeous, long hair, it's all gone," you cry out, hands covering your face.

Eddie immediately goes into panic mode, not expecting such a reaction from his partner. His whole body is frozen, hands awkwardly in the air, not sure what to do with himself.

"Uh," is all he can manage to get out of his mouth. His body randomly kicks back in, and he stands up pacing back and forth, trying to find or think of something he can do to help you.

His mind is running two thousand miles an hour trying his best to come up with something, but ends up looking more like a headless chicken whilst he's running around.

A thought finally decides to pop into his mind, and he practically runs into his room, throwing things everywhere to try to find what he's looking for. All the while you're still crying what feels like a river on Eddie's couch. You just don't understand.

Why?

Why cut such gorgeous hair?

You don't notice Eddie as he flies back into the living room, gently placing what he was so desperately searching for into the palms of your hands.

"Here, would this make you feel any better?" he asks, fear and worry written on his face.

It's hair.

In a small plastic bag...

A piece of his beautiful hair.

A single piece of his long hair that once was.

You look at it for a good minute, Eddie slowly becoming more panicked as he awaits your reaction.

Finally, you make a noise, face scrunching as you sob more, the piece of hair crushing you as it reminds you of what once was.

He immediately snatches the bag out of your hands, anxiety spiking at your response, "Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" He throws the bag in a panic, becoming lost somewhere in the trailer, although he couldn't care less right now.

He quickly sits down next to you on the couch and grabs your shoulders, turning you to face him and saying the only other thing he can think of.

"Okay, okay! I promise to grow it out back to how it was, just for you!" he holds your cheek gently with his hand, your head leaning into his touch. Your eyes meet his sincere ones. Your breathing starts to slow down as your brain computes what he said. Your puffy eyes continue to look into his.

"Promise?"

"I wholeheartedly promise. Anything for you," your lips switch up in a small smile as you see his own smile.

He suggests to watch a movie and you nod your head. He gets up from the couch and finds one that he knows you like, and pops it in his VHS. Sitting back down you two sit comfortably, arms wrapped around one another. About half way through the movie you look at him, eyes full of adoration.

"I'm sorry..." you whisper. Eddie's head whips around to yours.

His face scrunches in confusion, "What are you sorry for?" you take one of his hands and hold it in yours.

"For overreacting... and crying so much. It's just hair, I know it'll grow back," you lightly rub your thumb on the back of his hand, "You know I love you right? No matter what you do, I always will," you beam a big smile.

Eddie chuckles, "In that case..." you notice a mischievous smirk begin to form, "I was thinking of getting some new clothes, how about a polo shirt and some khaki pants?"

You playfully smack him on the shoulder, "Don't you dare Munson," you point a finger at him, trying to act serious, but you can't hide another smile growing on your lips. You both can't help but giggle, looking longingly into each other's eyes.

Eddie brings his arm further around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he places a light kiss on your temple, and you both go back to watching the movie, content and happy to have such a loving partner.

-

hope you enjoyed this!

If you have any requests please don't be afraid to send them on through! If you go to my pinned post you can see what characters I'm willing to write ☺️

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot

[screaming-for-eternally]

“...In One Grave.”

Skin. Blue as the sky skin. Cayde had a list of things he knew would likely never happen: Zavala getting that stick out of his ass, War Beasts learning to fly, and him getting flesh back. Of course, none of these things had come true, even the last one. As real as that skin felt, it wasn’t really his skin. The other presence in his head, who was understandably panicked at suddenly being shoved out of the driver’s seat, indicated as much.  “Hey man, I know this is a new and horrifying experience for you, but freaking out isn’t going to help.” “Oh I’m sorry, I forgot it was common courtesy to remain completely calm while my body gets stolen. My bad.” “Hey come on, that’s not fair, I didn’t steal your body...on purpose...I think.” Well it was true. One moment, he was lying near death on the floor of that prison, the next he, was here, in the body of the man who fucking killed him-. No no no. That wouldn’t do. This...this wasn’t Uldren. Had his face, but it wasn’t him. Having said that, he would fault him for not getting rid of that emo fringe but he’d worry about that later. For now though... “Crow...are you alright?” And that would be the kid’s Ghost. “You’ve been sitting there for a while.”  “I’m fine Sundan-Err I mean.” Cayde started, but caught himself. No you idiot, it’s not Sundance. This is Crow’s Ghost, and Sundance was in thousands of pieces because he was a damned idiot who thought he was invincible.  “Glint. His name is Glint. Just thought you should know.” “Oh, well, thanks.” “I’m fine Glint...just...tired that’s all.” Glint gave him a look that said he wasn’t fully convinced, but the lil’ guy seemed content to let it go for now.  “Alright...who are you...and why are you stealing my body?” Well...crap. Had to throw him that curveball, did he? Well, he sure wasn’t gonna say “Oh I’m the guy your previous incarnation killed.” Luckily Cayde was always...alright at lying or bluffing his way out of these situations at the very least. “Love’d to tell you buddy, but spoiler alerts you know. And only a real jerk spoils something for someone else.”  “I’m not getting an answer from you am I?” “Not telling you who I am, but I’ll give you my name. It’s Cayde by the way.” “Brilliant. Well nice to meet you Cayde. Could you at least give me my body back? Please tell me you can do that?” “I think I can do that. Just need to, relax. I’m good at that. But you gotta promise me one thing. Get rid of that stupid emo haircut.” Crow sighed. “Of course, not only do I get possessed, it’s by an insufferable jackass. Can’t ever catch a break, can I?” “Relax, I’m joking with ya. Anyways, I’ll try to make it up to you bird brain. How does some ramen sound?”  “Sounds nice, I suppose. Just, don’t call me bird brain again, alright.” Yep, this sure was gonna be something. ______ Shoutout to @echosong971. Love her “Cayde haunts Crow” thing and decided to try my hand at it.

#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny au #cayde #cayde 6 #the crow #crow

[sunflower-dancing]

Backrooms Drabble

The flight was delayed, which, if they were honest, did not surprise them. Indeed, it had been busier than usual, so delays were expected. What, then, did one do?

[wifey] Flight delayed. I’ll let you know when or if I get another flight.

 A selfie of them is sent. They have pretty gold eyes and a fringe of soft brown framing their faces. The length is just long enough to pass as a feminine haircut without overtly being as such. The witch places their phone back into their pocket. Seoul seemed so far to him now. The jetlag was real, and what was supposed to have been a vacation did not happen. Meeting after meeting... dull, monotonous, and so very, very drab. Long fingers brush against the fringe while sighing deeply. Perhaps resting their eyes would be the best course of action.

 So they do. Without much effort, their lids close and the world around them fades into unending darkness as reality slowly ebbs away.

 ….

 Floating That's the first thing they notice—a sensation of weightlessness that stirs the consciousness.

“Mmmm?” Once opened, the figure feels a sudden pang of unease. Above him, the loud, consistent hums of fluorescent lights as well as the scent of moist carpeting beneath him are enough to pull him fully from the haze of sleep. 

It’s October 26th, 2019 and Joonwoo Elijah Kim, waiting for the next flight to Seoul, has slipped from reality. From the corner of his eye, he sees them. When the head turns, however, it is gone, and he is alone once more. The unease grows, his breaths coming in shorter and shorter lungfuls. His magic, which he once felt so clearly, had disappeared, and a strange, foreign type of emptiness had replaced it. As if to test this, he lifts a hand, palm open to the ceiling. Nothing. 

No wind. 

No spark. 

Nothing. 

“...oh…” 

So it was confirmed. 

Here, in this puke yellow hall with ugly wallpaper and damp carpeting, Joonwoo Kim finally stands up, jeans soaked with whatever was on the carpet, and gives a long, deep sigh. 

He walks, eyes casting their gaze ahead as he searches for a way out, a way to escape. At the very least, he needed to get out of there. Step, step, one foot in front of the other, he trudges on. Left, right, left, straight, right, left, turn after turn, and dead end after dead end. An endless maze. Surely, then, there had to be an exit. A glance at the smartwatch made him frown. Time had stopped, and so he pulled his phone out to be sure. He had to be certain he wasn't going insane... or perhaps he was because the time still read the same as when he sent the text. 12:45 am. 

A noise startles him so badly he shrieks, having become accustomed all too quickly to the humming that when he turns he sees it. The formless mass of shadow, deep as an endless night, a never-ending void. At once, it feels as if the world has faded, with nothing existing in the here and now besides him and whatever this thing was. 

‘Sleep.’ It says, though no mouth is present aside from its multitude of unblinking eyes. 

Bump bump. 

‘Sleep.’ 

Again, the creature commands, and in the now-silent blackness, he obeys, his eyes closing as his body sags and hits what should have been a floor, but was instead nothing. When he next awoke, it was to an unmoving sky of bright blue, with clouds seemingly painted against the great expanse. No air, no noise aside from the rushing of blood in his ears and the intense beating of his heart. Familiarity. He knew this place and distinctly knew he should not be here. His body is heavy, as if weighed down by metric tons of water. The air seemingly escaped him the more he struggled, and in doing so, caused his anxiety to peak to an almost frightening and alarming point. He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t safe. He’s not safe. He has to go. He has to move. 

“I...” the words die on a heavy tongue, the heart beating faster and faster as he struggles to sit up, to push off the crushing weight. 

He’s been here too. 

Sleep, 'the voice echoes around him and inside of him, reverberating loudly in his ears. 

He cannot sleep. Sleep is bad. He has to stay awake. He has to go. He needs to go so badly. The urgency quickens, and finally, finally, he has the energy to sit up, and there, in front of him, was his cat. A lovely, fluffy Persian with mismatched eyes. 

‘Sleep’ 

“I…” 

‘Sleep.’ 

“N-no…” 

‘S l e e p !’

The other fights the fog, the haze that threatens to consume him as his body collapses again. This time he feels it, the velvet softness of something otherworldly. Not quite chains, but not quite vines. Tendrils of something. It burns. It stings and sears at his skin enough to make him scream and plead for it to stop and let go. It does, eventually, and he pants harshly, feeling as if his brain was becoming liquid and leaking out. He can see his whole life, feel everything all at once. He hears their voices, feels them around him, and he feels insane. Dizzy. Tired. 

So he sleeps, fully, letting the darkness take him, letting the corruption spread until it doesn't, and vaguely, in the recess of his slumbering state, he hears something, but when he next wakes, he is back in the yellow hall and a bottle of almond water is sitting before him. He got thirsty suddenly and drank it down without stopping until he choked on his own breath. The unease, the anxiety, and the heaviness he felt were gone. Now, with a clear head, he picks up the bag he had dropped, apparently, and, feeling confident now, he glides his hand along the wall until he comes to a door. As he opens it, he finds himself in a new room. 

It’s October 26th, 2019 and Joonwoo Kim, once a powerful witch, is no more than a human and he’s lost his way. Behind him is an orange tabby, it’s tail flicking. 

#my writing #if anyone wants to write backroom threads with me lemme know. #all u need to know is that the backrooms is literally glitching from reality to a new dimension entirely where levels constantly change #we gonna ignore the way people have made it into more of like a full fledge video game thats collaborated on and stsy with the horror aspec #because not knowing and having to discover and finding others and learning is far more fun than having like #the whole thing and 90% of the levels being explained/have a post etc #idk #but i love exoloring the idea of not knowing how to survive so you gotta go off notes others left or when meeting others from various time #periods etc #ya know?

[buff-anime-daddy]

Backroom AU Drabble

Just a small drabble. under read more but I wanted to make a small ficlet for how he ended up in the backrooms.

The flight was delayed, which, if they were honest, did not surprise them. Indeed, it had been busier than usual, so delays were expected. What, then, did one do?

[wifey] Flight delayed. I’ll let you know when or if I get another flight.

 A selfie of them is sent. They have pretty gold eyes and a fringe of soft brown framing their faces. The length is just long enough to pass as a feminine haircut without overtly being as such. The witch places their phone back into their pocket. Seoul seemed so far to him now. The jetlag was real, and what was supposed to have been a vacation did not happen. Meeting after meeting... dull, monotonous, and so very, very drab. Long fingers brush against the fringe while sighing deeply. Perhaps resting their eyes would be the best course of action.

 So they do. Without much effort, their lids close and the world around them fades into unending darkness as reality slowly ebbs away.

 ….

 Floating That's the first thing they notice—a sensation of weightlessness that stirs the consciousness.

“Mmmm?” Once opened, the figure feels a sudden pang of unease. Above him, the loud, consistent hums of fluorescent lights as well as the scent of moist carpeting beneath him are enough to pull him fully from the haze of sleep. 

It’s October 26th, 2019 and Joonwoo Elijah Kim, waiting for the next flight to Seoul, has slipped from reality. From the corner of his eye, he sees them. When the head turns, however, it is gone, and he is alone once more. The unease grows, his breaths coming in shorter and shorter lungfuls. His magic, which he once felt so clearly, had disappeared, and a strange, foreign type of emptiness had replaced it. As if to test this, he lifts a hand, palm open to the ceiling. Nothing. 

No wind. 

No spark. 

Nothing. 

“...oh…” 

So it was confirmed. 

Here, in this puke yellow hall with ugly wallpaper and damp carpeting, Joonwoo Kim finally stands up, jeans soaked with whatever was on the carpet, and gives a long, deep sigh. 

He walks, eyes casting their gaze ahead as he searches for a way out, a way to escape. At the very least, he needed to get out of there. Step, step, one foot in front of the other, he trudges on. Left, right, left, straight, right, left, turn after turn, and dead end after dead end. An endless maze. Surely, then, there had to be an exit. A glance at the smartwatch made him frown. Time had stopped, and so he pulled his phone out to be sure. He had to be certain he wasn't going insane... or perhaps he was because the time still read the same as when he sent the text. 12:45 am. 

A noise startles him so badly he shrieks, having become accustomed all too quickly to the humming that when he turns he sees it. The formless mass of shadow, deep as an endless night, a never-ending void. At once, it feels as if the world has faded, with nothing existing in the here and now besides him and whatever this thing was. 

‘Sleep.’ It says, though no mouth is present aside from its multitude of unblinking eyes. 

Bump bump. 

‘Sleep.’ 

Again, the creature commands, and in the now-silent blackness, he obeys, his eyes closing as his body sags and hits what should have been a floor, but was instead nothing. When he next awoke, it was to an unmoving sky of bright blue, with clouds seemingly painted against the great expanse. No air, no noise aside from the rushing of blood in his ears and the intense beating of his heart. Familiarity. He knew this place and distinctly knew he should not be here. His body is heavy, as if weighed down by metric tons of water. The air seemingly escaped him the more he struggled, and in doing so, caused his anxiety to peak to an almost frightening and alarming point. He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t safe. He’s not safe. He has to go. He has to move. 

“I...” the words die on a heavy tongue, the heart beating faster and faster as he struggles to sit up, to push off the crushing weight. 

He’s been here too. 

Sleep, 'the voice echoes around him and inside of him, reverberating loudly in his ears. 

He cannot sleep. Sleep is bad. He has to stay awake. He has to go. He needs to go so badly. The urgency quickens, and finally, finally, he has the energy to sit up, and there, in front of him, was his cat. A lovely, fluffy Persian with mismatched eyes. 

‘Sleep’ 

“I…” 

‘Sleep.’ 

“N-no…” 

‘S l e e p !’

The other fights the fog, the haze that threatens to consume him as his body collapses again. This time he feels it, the velvet softness of something otherworldly. Not quite chains, but not quite vines. Tendrils of something. It burns. It stings and sears at his skin enough to make him scream and plead for it to stop and let go. It does, eventually, and he pants harshly, feeling as if his brain was becoming liquid and leaking out. He can see his whole life, feel everything all at once. He hears their voices, feels them around him, and he feels insane. Dizzy. Tired. 

So he sleeps, fully, letting the darkness take him, letting the corruption spread until it doesn't, and vaguely, in the recess of his slumbering state, he hears something, but when he next wakes, he is back in the yellow hall and a bottle of almond water is sitting before him. He got thirsty suddenly and drank it down without stopping until he choked on his own breath. The unease, the anxiety, and the heaviness he felt were gone. Now, with a clear head, he picks up the bag he had dropped, apparently, and, feeling confident now, he glides his hand along the wall until he comes to a door. As he opens it, he finds himself in a new room. 

It’s October 26th, 2019 and Joonwoo Kim, once a powerful witch, is no more than a human and he’s lost his way. Behind him is an orange tabby, its tail flicking. 

#my writing #my drabbles #backrooms au

[simping-for-fives]

Glitter Pig Chonk

#i had to give him a haircut because his fringe was getting in his face #guineapigs

[heartofwritiing]

Hair cut

paring: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

a/n: so i got my hair cut yesterday because i was looking for a change, ya know its healthy every once and awhile (plus I had split ends eesh) and its a lot shorter than it was but i have layers now so it looks shorter than it really is and I couldn’t help but think about Matt running his hands through my hair to find that its a different length than usual. i just thought it was a cute and it’s a very self-indulging idea but, art imitates life lol I hope you enjoy regardless!

warning(s): fluffyy fluffness, insecure!reader because i was feeling a little insecure :( not profread i wrote this in 20 minutes on my phone.

You looked at yourself in the mirror studying your hair and how it looked. You had just come back from the salon and your hair was very different than it was a few hours ago. You wanted a change, after having your hair the same way for almost two years you decided to make an appointment at the nearest salon a few blocks down from you and Matt's shared apartment. But you couldn't help but feel a little grief with your rather quick decision.

When the stylist had spun your chair around and you looked at yourself in the mirror your face faltered for a moment. You looked like a completely different person and it made your stomach tie in on itself. Your once long h/c locks had been cut to be at almost shoulder length and a little fringe framed your face in waves. You didn’t think it looked too bad but you couldn't help that sting of insecurity creeping up like it always did. And when the stylist asked you with a grin on her lips, making eye contact with you in the mirror if you liked your new hair. You had to muster up enough courage to give her the same enthusiastic energy and say you loved it.

You felt horrible about lying to her, after all, she had taken the time to do the haircut you chose and it wasn’t her fault that you didn’t like it. Your stupid brain was just trying to convince you to actually look at this negativity, and it was working.

Back in your bathroom mirror, You ran your fingers through your scalp and up to try and give it some volume but it just wasn’t doing it. You even tried breaking out your curling iron and styling it a certain way but you just ended up more frustrated with how it looked.

More negative thoughts poured into your mind, convincing yourself that this haircut didn't suit you, and it just won't look good any way you put it. Tears started to form in your eyes out of frustration, with yourself and just everything.

You tried to calm yourself down before tears could start flowing as you heard the front door close. Matt was home and you quickly splashed your face with cold water and pat your face down to calm your nerves. He of course, already knew you were home having sensed your heartbeat from down the hall and catching the smell of your sweet perfume when he first walked through the door.

He could tell something was off. By the way, he could hear you in the bathroom frantic and quick as you realize he was home.

He propped his cane up near the door as always and made his way to the kitchen.

You were still in the bathroom trying to calm your nerves. You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror and took a deep breath in and exhaled before exiting.

You walk out to the main room to see Matt standing in the kitchen at the sink filling up a glass with water. When he senses your presence he smiles softly and greets you.

“Hey, I was wondering where you were.” he brings the glass up to his lips and takes a few sips before placing it down on the counter.

“hi,” you squeak out shyly. You reach the fringe wanting a drink yourself you grab the carton of orange juice and place it on the counter.

You maneuver around him to get yourself a glass from the cabinet and he can feel your side brush against him as you stand on your tippy-toes to reach a cup on the high shelf. He smells your skin and feels your heart pulse as you get closer to him and he places a hand around your hip. Just so he can feel you closer to him, he pulls you into his chest sideways as you pour your drink.

He knows something is definitely wrong now, you only gave him a small ‘hi’ and were being suspiciously quiet.

He hated when you wouldn’t open up to him, especially when he could sense you were hurting. But he respected your boundaries and person to press about anything that was bothering you unless you came to him about it.

He reached up to your hair almost unconsciously since he always did that and he didn’t feel it at the length it usually was. He frowned thinking you must’ve had it up in a bun but when he trailed his hand up your spine and felt the ends of your hair almost past your shoulders, he froze.

You froze as well putting your drink down not thinking he was gonna find out this soon, but what did you expect. He loved your hair, it was his favorite feature about you because it was one of his favorite things to feel on you. How soft it was or how he could smell your shampoo across the room or when he would play with it at any opportunity he had. He was almost shocked that you did.

“did-“ he paused. “did you cut your hair?” he asked gently.

“yes.” you breathe out. preparing for the worst.

“Do you like it?” He ask, he knows that's the only thing that matters is that you like it. It didn’t matter if he liked it or not if. He thought you looked beautiful no less.

judging by those words you think he hates it.

“Not really,” you gulp the lump in your throat back trying to hide your emotions but you couldn't hide from Matt.

“Sweetheart, be honest with me,” he spoke. His fingers are still playing with the ends of your hair. “you know I can always tell when you’re lying.”

“What don’t you like about it? how about we start with that?”

You took a deep breath and blinked back more tears before you spoke.

“It just doesn't look the way I wanted it to, and now I've tried styling it and all kinds of different things and I'm just frustrated and sad.” You explain. he just listens to your short rant so attentively with a hand rubbing circles on your back. When you’re finished you take a deep breath and lay your head on his shoulder and exhale.

“well just give it some time, maybe you’ll grow to love it.” he says tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah but you loved my long hair,” you pout.

The look on his face is astonished at your words and he sighs.

“Sweetheart, if you want to change your hair its not up to me, I will still love you regardless of your hair length.” he says softly.

“you never have to change anything about yourself just to please me, I want you to be happy.”

He pulls you into his side and plants a kiss on your cheek and you hum. He was so lovely and pacient with you always and it was too much for your heart to handle. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whine and he chuckles.

“Yes you do, its you I don’t deserve.” he argued.

“Matthew Murdock, You deserve the world, and if anyone disagrees, Ill kick their ass.” you scolded playfully. He just smiles and pulls you into a tight bear hug and you return it.

He never pulls away from you when you hug not knowing how long you need it for, he always gives you the option to step away from him.

“you are like some sweet saint sent down to save me from the heavens.” he muses. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You're the one to blush now at his words. Matt was always a sweet talker but in moments like these sometimes his heart got away with his mouth. He can sense that your heartbeat has quickened and he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

���Did I make you blush angel?”

“just a little,” you clear your throat and smile sweetly at him.

“hey that's not a bad idea though,” you ponder. “Ill be like your own personal guardian angel,” you added.

He chuckles and kisses your cheek once more.

“Come on my angel, let’s go get some dinner.”

-

a/n: i am on a role with fics recently lol please let me know what you think and my inbox is open!

#matt murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #daredevil #mcu #fanfiction #charlie cox #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x reader #x reader #charlie cox x reader

[azucarian]

so just an idea here that you can use to write an hc or drabble if you want, have you seen horimiya? You know Miyamura and as he has "two looks" (I think you get the point), just imagine this with a reader with some Tokyo Revengers character (I'm sorry I don't know who to ask, maybe Inui and Rindou?), I'm sorry if you don't understand, English is not my language so I use the translator.

I understand what you're saying, your English is great (even with a translator)! I hope I managed to write what you wanted~

Their shy, introverted s/o decides enough is enough and makes their statement through a new appearance (Miyamura! Reader)

Characters — Seishu Inui, Rindou Haitani

GENDER NEUTRAL READER

Masterlist

SEISHU INUI

✰ your guys’ relationship is relatively quiet and sweet - neither of you are particularly expressive in your emotions but you both love each other senselessly

✰ one day, you overheard people talking about how “inui could definitely do better” and “how can they even see like that? their hair is covering their eyes!” - it made you really upset and stuck in your own insecurities

✰ although inui wasn’t a popular guy, he was definitely someone admired by everyone at school - whereas he was dating an s/o who had no presence, and always stuck their nose in a book instead of socialising

✰ you decided you wanted to change and prove to the world you could be confident and outgoing - and you decided that the best way to do that was to cut your hair

✰ inui, on the other hand, did not like the change at all - he would grow self conscious, and would become jealous easier; he truly believes you were only with him because you felt as if he was your only option (poor baby <//3)

✰ the following day, you made your dramatic entrance and people could hardly believe it - your hair was pushed from your face, and it was cut significantly shorter

✰ no one could deny it, with a full view of your face - you were undoubtedly attractive

✰ he definitely realises then that you both can’t live without each other (you’re both far too socially inept to be apart for too long, anyways)

✰ he couldn’t get to your desk anymore, with people crowding around it and trying to get to know you - ignoring your visible discomfort

✰ not even kidding, he would literally bark at them to freak them out enough so they’d leave

✰ you give him the biggest puppy dog eyes as a thank you

✰ the haircut would probably grow on him, and he’d definitely feel inclined to style it for you - in fact, he loves it because he’s not constantly pulling long hairs from his school blazer or from the inside of his heels

RINDOU HAITANI

✰ you loved rindou though, and he loved you with everything he had (even if he didn’t know how to verbalise it) - ran cared a lot about you too, and the two of them promised to protect you

✰ the haitani brothers were constantly in the spot-light and it made it extremely difficult to slip under the radar - so you became a well-known figure in roppongi

✰ people definitely don’t respect you, like, at all

✰ you chopped your hair shorter and styled your fringe out of your face, put your piercings back in (all of your ear piercings, and even your lip one) and you even made your tattoo visible with the short sleeved t-shirt you were wearing

✰ you got beaten up by some delinquents on the way home (you knew it was going to happen at some point, but it didn’t make it hurt any less) and you decided you’d had enough of the constant harassment

✰ you got a complete make-over, and gave up trying to ‘fit in’ with the crowd

✰ everyone was hella intimidated, and rindou was beyond impressed - his cute little s/o had done a complete 180 on him and he thought it was hot

✰ definitely beat up those delinquents when he found out, btw

✰ overall? very proud - would make it very apparent you were dating by kissing you in public (even if it made him a little bit uncomforable) just to make sure you wouldn’t be targeted again

✰ didn’t get jealous - especially after hearing your reasons for doing what you did

✰ “you’re my boyfriend - i gotta show everyone i’m not to be fucked with either, right?” he couldn’t agree more

✰ definitely loved the lip piercing though - was nice and cold during kisses

#tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #tokyo manji gang #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev #seishu inui #rindou haitani

[kodiakwhiskey]

His Favorite Christmas story

Tw: Mentions of shooting, hospitals

Disclaimer: the woman in the mood board is not indication of reader pref. I just liked the dress.

Hey! I got the idea for this blurb a couple days ago while listening to this song . I hope you guys enjoy!

"So Spence..." Emily sat next to him, "You're coming to that Christmas Ball thing that the FBI is hosting?"

He nodded at her, turning back to his case work.

"You got a date?" He shook his head and Emily laughed. "You can carpool with me and my girlfriend then." She lightly smacked his desk, her way of saying 'No buts' and walked off towards the breakroom. Spencer swore he got asked that question all day and relief washed over him as everyone started leaving for the day. He had two days before this stupid formal event, swearing he only went because the whole team was going.

He spent the evening reading, scowling every so often when his phone lit up.

The next two days he spent trying to find a suit before finally giving up and calling Rossi, who took him to a whirlwind of shops, insisting on paying for his new suit.

He got ready while waiting for Emily and Clara to come get him. His bowtie was hastily done, not wanting to spend too much time on it. He was thankful he got a haircut last week, the curly fringe in front of his face just short enough that he didn’t need to worry about it.

He knew tonight would be a disaster when Emily and Clara pulled up, Clara’s hair half done, and still applying makeup. Thankfully they dropped him off at the front before finding parking, Emily helping making Clara presentable.

He was called over immediately by Rossi, his elder starting to introduce him to some other agents in different branches.

An hour into the event is when he saw her. He doesn’t know how he missed her the first time, with her long red curls cascading down her shoulders. Her red lips were forming the sounds of a perfect laugh. He couldn’t help but stare at her, she shone so much more brightly than the star on the Christmas tree on the stage with the band.

He couldn't help but watch as she danced with the people around her, the red dress she wore moving in sync with her. He was mesmerized. He almost didn’t notice when she saw him, but it was hard to ignore those striking green eyes. Derek pulled him out of his daze leading him away from the refreshments, and over to where the rest of the team was, chatting amongst themselves.

Occasionally they would peek up at each other from across the sea of bodies, their eyes meeting briefly before one of them shyly looks away.

As the night started drawing to a close on December 24th, Spence glanced down at his watch; 10:45pm. Well, he thought to himself, It’s now or never.

He moved past everyone, making his way to where she sat staring out at the dance floor. As he got closer he noticed smaller details, like the soft sweet smile she carried, and how she was perfectly matching. From the ribbon in her hair, to the shoes she wore on her feet, even her lipstick was all the same shade of red. He stopped at her side, a few feet away, not wanting to get too close. He cleared his throat. “Hi, um… I was w-wondering if y-you wanted to dance with m-m-me.” She smiled sweetly at him, standing and taking his hand. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

He pulled her to the floor, holding her close to him. He’d never felt his heartbeat as fast before, but there on the dance floor, with her in his arms, he swore it was going to beat right out of his chest. Once the music slowed, she resigned to placing her head on his chest. There was no hiding it now, but the warmth from her calmed him somehow. There were no words between the two of them for the next 30 minutes, just them in their own world. Spencer knew he’d get teased later at work, but he didn’t care. In that moment he swore his heart would only beat for her.

They parted too soon as she gave him a small kiss on the cheek, before taking off, her feet carrying her towards the exit. He tried to move, but his feet felt rooted to the ground. How would he ever find her again? He didn’t have her name. He looked down, her bracelet tightly in his hand. When did she give him this?

He would tell everyone about her when they asked for a Christmas story. How at a quarter to 11, he finally asked her to dance.

5 years later December, 24th Christmas Eve

Spencer swore he was going to die. He had been failing to keep himself from going into shock on the way to the hospital, numb to the bullet in his abdomen. He tried to stay awake and listen to the EMT’s talking above him.

“Dr. Reid, can you stay with me just a bit longer?” He thought he recognized that voice, but his vision was blurry. He couldn't respond, his mouth felt dry, his bones felt stuck, as if unclenching his jaw would bring the rush of pain back into his body.

“Shit we’re losing him. How far are we Dave?!”

“Almost there.” The EMT almost lost her balance as Dave drifted into the hospital, pulling up along the curb to the ER entrance. The three EMT’s in the back started rushing him in, and he finally allowed himself to lose consciousness.

“Tell me a story. I want to hear one last one before I die.” The nurse helping him looked surprised, when her colleague nodded to her, dismissing the nurse.

“Well, how about my favorite Christmas story?” He nodded, his eyes still closed. “Let’s see… I met him about 5 years ago in DC actually. Although I never got his name I knew he was in the FBI, and seeing how I wouldn’t be with the government for much longer, I took a leap of faith, trying to plant myself in his line of sight. Then about a quarter to 11, I was so glad he finally got the courage to ask me to dance.” Spencer’s eyes snapped open, the nurse above him finally coming into focus. The face he never thought he’d see again.

“You…” He finally found her, he didn’t think about the searing pain in his abdomen, he just leaned up and pulled her face towards him. If I'm going to die I want to kiss her first. Her lipstick was the same shade she wore 5 years ago on the ballroom floor. Spencer wound his fingers into her hair, smiling as she kissed him back with just as much passion and longing. He hissed and pulled away, his heart rate spiking as the pain in his abdomen called his attention back.

He awoke the next morning, much to his surprise. Derek was across from him eating his 3rd jello cup since 7 am. “Well hello sleeping beauty.” His tone was light and he got up, scooping the remainder of the jello into his mouth, and walking out of the room to get the doctor. There was a knock at the door, and she entered, her long red hair tied up into a loose, messy bun.

“Oh good. You’re awake.”

“You’re real?” She giggled and nodded at him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Spencer.” His name sounded heavenly rolling off her tongue, and he wanted to hear her voice say his name for the rest of his life “I’m [Y/N].”

“Will you go out with me?” She laughed again, his face turning red. She crossed over to the bed, and Spencer got lost in her grassy eyes again.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader #spencer reid blurb

[migilini]

Chosen Family - Sunset Curve

summary: The boys didn’t show up for school so you and Bobby meet them in the Studio and spend the afternoon with them.

a/n: The JATP Discord Server I’m in gave me this Idea :) Prob gonna wrote more little blurbs about 1995 Sunset Curve.

words: 1.8k

warnings: pure friendship fluff

Requests are open

MASTERLIST

---------------------------------------------

“Are they here?” you asked Bobby who sat next to you in biology, your pent tapping the desk impatiently. He shook his head and took out his notebook “I don't know I haven't seen most of them today.”

“Okay, if they’re not here at lunch, I'll skip for the afternoon and see if they’re still alive,” you grumbled. Bobby let out a loud laugh “You know that it isn't your responsibility?”

“I know but it's our job as friends to care. And this is just my way to do so.” you shrugged your shoulders and flipped through the book to find the right page.

"Sure this has nothing to do with the big test this afternoon?" You gave Bobby an offended look.

“Miss Y/L/N and Mister Wilson would you like to share your conversation with the class?” Miss Kluster scolded, crossing her arms over her blue blouse, a thigh frown on her red lips as she looked at the teenagers angrily.

“No Miss.,” the friends said simultaneously.

“Good. Then be quiet now. The class has started.”

You and Bobby looked at each other with a smirk, you rolled your eyes slightly while he scrunched his nose.

++

You let your tray fall on the table, making the only other person sitting and the food on it jump. “Woah! Why so aggressive? Guessing Alex wasn't in English?”

"Nope." You shook your head and popped the p with slight annoyance. “Did you have more luck?” Bobby shook his head. You sighed and packed your lunch into your bag. You looked at him expectantly "You coming with?" He shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and mumbled something that you took as a yes. He clumsily tried to get up while simultaneously packing the rest of his things and nearly fell backwards off the bench.

Getting out of school wasn't hard, especially when you’ve skipped several times and knew where the teachers normally stood to watch, not that you ever skipped school to hang out with your musician friends. You and Bobby sneaked around the teachers' room and took the long way around the gymnasium, only to climb out of the boys' locker room window and then run over the football field to the parking lot where his car stood.

“Let's be honest here, you also wanted me to go because you don't have a car.” Bobby realised once the two of you sat comfortably in his car. In fake pain, you held a hand to your chest. “I would NEVER use you like a free taxi. I normally ask Reggie but he isn't here so…”

Bobby gave your shoulder a light shove before turning the music louder and driving off.

“I heard you crying loud, all the way across town. Cause you been searching for that someone. And it's me out on the prowl” you started to sing along to the Greenday song blaring from the radio station. Scrolling down the window, you held your hand out, embracing the warm summer air. Your hair flying wildly around your face.

You always did something like that, needing the feeling of being free, “I think it's the closest thing to being able to fly.” you always told the boys when they made a side comment.

Bobby drummed along to the song, his fingers tapping the steering wheel with force. When the chorus came, you smiled over at Bobby and turned the volume even higher. At a red stoplight, he lightly turned to you and you both screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs.

A couple of minutes later, the car slowed down about a couple of houses down the street from the studio. The two of you got out and walked closer, trying hard to blend in. “I swear to god if Miss Lilith snitches on us again…”

“She’s on vacation I think.” Bobby interrupted your sentence about his nosy neighbour that always seemed to know when you should've been in school. Still, you didn't want to take any chances and ducked behind bushes before you were in the safe space in front of the studio.

“It’s quiet,” Bobby muttered to you, his ear pressed to the wood door. “What if they starved to death?” you whispered to him, now your ear pressed against the door as well.

“Or they’re still asleep?”

“It’s a bit late, even for them.”

“Maybe they went home?” you shot Bobby a troubled glance.

“Or we just went on a walk.” a voice suddenly said, behind you two, making you and Bobby clutch to each other with a scream.

“Jesus Christ! Guys do you want us to die?” you scolded the three grinning boys in front of you.

“I missed you guys too!” Reggie embraced you and Bobby in a bone-crushing hug, whilst the others walked back into the studio.

Luke plopped down on his couch, your school bag already in his hands. “What do we have in here?” he questioned out loud and rummaged through the food you brought with you. He took out a yoghurt and threw it into Alex’s direction who caught it with ease, then he threw Reggie an apple and a chocolate bar and for him, he took out half of the sandwich from your lunch. The other half he held out in your direction.

“Oh no thank you, Luke. I’m good.” you tried to wave it off “I brought it for you guys.” But his eyes only darkened slightly, his half of the sandwich poking out of his mouth and he waved the sandwich again so you took it with an eye roll.

Whenever you skipped school to hang out with them, the topic of school was forbidden. They knew that you and Bobby only wanted the best for them, a healthy home life, an education, a change other than music to move out and you knew that it was very hard to basically live on the streets and have missing signs all over the city or parents that always fight or won't accept you for who you really are. So the topic never came up and every time you told yourself that you would bring it up next time, that you had to discuss this and every time you didn't.

The group sat quietly in a circle, some on chairs and couches but most chose to sit on the ground. Your head rested on Alex’ stomach, his hands playing with your hair. Meanwhile, Bobby was half asleep on the couch, Reggie played random chords on his bass and Luke was rapidly writing down stuff in his notebook.

“Y/N?” Reggie's voice shattered the quiet and you were reminded that you were not chilling alone. Lifting your head you looked over at your friend “Yes Reg?”

“Uhm...could you maybe...uhm give me a haircut? I would need money for that and for money I would have to go home and that is something that I don't want to do especially after…” he rambled on. You quickly got up and crouched in front of him, your hands resting on his knees.

“I can try.” you chuckled “Last time I cut Lukes he didn't complain too much so let's try!” you patted his knee assuringly.

So you stood, a couple of minutes later, behind one of your best friends who was currently describing how he wanted his hair. He sat in a chair, an old plastic bag pulled over his head, his arms gesturing wildly how long what should be.

You, on the other hand, tried really hard to listen to his wishes while clutching a bottle with water and a, what you guessed was in fact not a haircut scissor, scissor in the other hand.

You shot Alex a look, silently asking him to memorize the steps as well. “Luke was definitely a simpler client,” you said under your breath but the others still heard.

“I’m sorry I care about my looks!” Reggie exclaimed and crossed his arms childishly. You leaned down to his ear and whispered “That’s why you're the cutest but don't tell the others okay?” that was all it took for him to sit up straight again, a big toothy smile plastered on his freckled face.

With a little frown on your face and the tip of your tongue slightly sticking out, you began to cut Reggie's hair. He wanted it longer on top, but the hair in the back of his head must be a bit shorter than his fringe, the sides had to be short but not so short that you could see his skull and he wanted a fade but not a big fade. The sounds of metal cutting hair filled the room.

“Guys listen to this bridge,” Luke spoke up, maybe a bit too loudly for the others' taste. Bobby grunted from his sleeping position, shot Luke the finger and went back to sleep.

“Luke! That scared me I could’ve cut Reggie's ear off!”

“But did you?” he remarked. As a joke you pulled on both of Reggie's ears lightly “Nope, they still seem pretty attached to his head.”

Luke showed you guys a song he called ‘Bright’ “It’s clearly not done and we still need the rest of the instruments but whatcha think?”

Alex patted Luke’s shoulder “I love it, man!”

“Sounds dope!”

“It’s good. I like it wery musch” you muttered with a comb in your mouth, focused on the boy with hair in front of you.

“And we’re done!” you announced and held your hands away as if you just participated in a bake-off. Reggie jumped up and ran into the small bathroom at the end of the studio. Nervously, you fiddled with the comb in your right hand.

“And? How bad did I mess up?” you asked him hopefully the moment he walked back out.

“You did such a great job!” he said, a grin taking over his face yet again. “Thank you so much.” he gave you a hug.

You both knew that it wasn't perfect, it was shaggy and crooked in some places and the fade was mostly one length instead of a gradient but it looked good, was cheap, added to his rockstar image and most importantly for Reggie, you did it.

“Y/N can you cut my hair too?”

#sunset curve #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagine #julie and the phantoms x reader #luke patterson #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfic #luke jatp #alex mercer #alex mercer imagines #alex mercer fanfic #Reggie Peters #alex japt #reggie jatp #reggie peters imagine #reggie peters fanfic #bobby jatp #julie and the himbos #bobby wilson #jatp #bobby wilson x reader #sunset curve imagine #sunset curve jatp #sunset curve x reader #alex jatp

[livesincerely]

Keepsakes from Jack’s POV? (That fic broke my heart and fixed it all at once. Absolutely beautiful!!)

trinkets

Also on Ao3. Davey’s pov here.

00000

Even after all the trouble he went to getting the address, Jack almost decides not to go. Les’ text message stares up at him accusingly when he double checks his phone, Davey’s new apartment number listed with the blunt instruction, ‘Don’t fuck this up.’

Easy for him to say. Jack’s still not sure how things fell apart in the first place.

He rings the doorbell, his stomach rolling with nerves, and for one terrible second he thinks that maybe no one’s home, or even worse, that maybe that Davey just won’t answer for him.

But the door creaks open.

“Jack,” Davey says, more of a statement than a question, his eyes wide with shock.

Jack’s heart swirls and swoops in his chest at the sight of him. Davey looks just the same as he did when they last saw each other, just the way he always looks in Jack’s dreams and his nightmares—long and lean, with big blue eyes made even brighter by the lush lashes that frame them.

“Hi, Davey,” Jack says, shoving his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t drag Davey into a desperate embrace.

“You...” Davey pauses, visibly uncertain, his fingers clenched in a death grip around his doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the address from Les,” Jack explains, and it sounds like such a flimsy excuse now that he’s saying it aloud. “I’m in town for the week visiting Ma and Charlie, thought I could swing by and see you for a sec.”

“Oh,” Davey says.

“So, uh, can I come in?” Jack asks, nervous.

“Oh, right,” Davey mutters, holding the door open wider and beckoning him forward. “Yeah, sure. Please, come in.”

It’s a nice apartment. Jack recognizes a lot of the furniture in the entryway and living room from when they were living together, and he spies a few picture frames hanging in the hallway that he’s pretty sure he picked out himself—the scattered reminders help something settle in his chest even as something else fizzes and buzzes behind his eyes.

“You moved out of the old place,” Jack can’t help but point out as he takes it all in; he’s been wondering about the change ever since he found out Davey moved.

“It was a bit too much for just one person,” Davey says quietly. “A smaller apartment is easier to keep up with.”

There’s a brief pause where that statement hangs in the air between them, heavy and awkward. Jack feels like an absolute heel—of course Davey wouldn’t be able to make rent on their old place by himself, and it’s not like there’d been space for a housemate. Of course he’d had to move.

Davey continues, “Can I get you anything? Soda or coffee or...?”

“Coffee would be great, actually,” Jack says, not really all that interested in a drink, but happy for an excuse to linger for a while. “But, uh, only if it won’t put ya out.”

“It’s no trouble,” Davey says, and Jack can’t tell if he’s being honest or just being polite. “Here, go ahead and sit down and I’ll fix you a cup.”

Jack settles down onto one of the stools at the island while Davey putters around the kitchen, taking a moment while Davey’s back is turned to just look at him.

He needs a haircut, Jack thinks, noting the way Davey’s fringe falls into his eyes as he fiddles with the coffee maker—just long enough now that it’s starting to curl up at the ends, making him look even softer then he usually does—then sort of hating that he’s noticed.

He shouldn’t care. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he does.

“So, how have you been?” Davey asks, head ducked down to watch the coffee brew. “How’s Santa Fe been treating you?”

“‘S good,” Jack says, talking out his ass, too focused on the motion of Davey’s fingers as he drums them against the countertops, on the delicate line of his wrists peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, to pay attention to what he’s saying. “It’s great, it’s got everything: clear skies, gorgeous sunsets. If you go out to the desert at the right time of day the views are unreal. So, uh, life’s pretty good.”

Davey still doesn’t turn toward him, still won’t lift his head. It’s making something go uncomfortably tight in Jack’s chest, his pulse beating a few ticks faster in his ears.

“And work’s going well?”

“Real well,” Jack tells the back of Davey’s head, and as he watches, Davey’s shoulders stiffen. “Now that I’ve been there a while they’re startin’ to give me my own projects to work on, which is great. Nerve racking, and I’m constantly terrified that I’m gonna fuck it all up, but great. Honestly, the studio space and the stipend I get for supplies on its own is pretty incredible, let alone all the experience and connections I’m getting too. So, yeah, things are goin’ well.”

“That’s great, Jack,” Davey says, and he actually sounds like he means it, but he still won’t meet Jack’s eyes. It’s kinda starting to piss him off. “I’m glad things are working out for you.”

“Couldn’t ask for much more,” Jack says, but he’s not quite able to mask the hint of bitterness that creeps into his tone—the one thing he’d ask for is standing right in front of him, but he might as well be on Mars for how vast the distance between them feels.

It’s just Jack’s luck that this is the moment when Davey finally, finally looks at him. It’s only a brief glance in his direction before his gaze falls away again, but even just that almost feels like too much: those eyes are as gorgeous as ever, and vividly, brilliantly blue.

Jack’s breath hitches in his throat—if he wasn’t still hopelessly, haplessly in love with Davey, he’s pretty sure that would’ve caused him to fall all over again. But he isn’t so distracted that he doesn’t notice the wealth of emotion swirling in that gaze: something vulnerable and pained tucked beneath Davey’s calm facade.

“How’re you doin’, Davey?” he asks carefully.

“Good,” Davey says to the coffee maker. “I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?” Jack presses, watching him closely. “Anythin’ interestin’ goin’ on?”

“Just the same old, same old,” Davey says, which doesn’t sound like a lie, but isn’t really an answer. “Nothing new to tell, honestly.”

“Nothing at all?” Jack says, relieved and annoyed all at once at this response, but trying to sound like he doesn’t care as much as he does. This is the best answer he could’ve hoped for, probably—he’s honestly not sure what he would’ve done if Davey started talking about how wonderful his life has been without Jack in it. He tries, “Did you ever end up gettin’ that transfer you wanted?”

Davey crosses his arms across his chest. “I, uh, rescinded the request after you— after everything,” he explains softly. “There wasn’t really a need, and it was easier to just stay at my old branch.”

“Oh,” Jack says.

The silence is punctuated by the drip drip drip of the coffee finishing up. Davey pulls a couple of mugs out of one of the cabinets and fixes them both a cup.

“Here you go,” Davey says, passing him a mug.

Jack goes to take a sip, the freezes midway through the motion, heart seizing in his chest as he realizes what he’s holding.

The pottery place had been his attempt at a unique, memorable first date, figuring that he might as well weigh the dice in his favor by going with something artsy. He’d been so fucking nervous the entire week leading up to it, had wanted so badly to impress the beautiful, brilliant boy that had just transferred in, because he’s been in love with Davey almost since the moment they met and it’s not looking like that’s gonna stop any time soon.

So the fact that Davey’s throwing that back in his face, taunting him with the reminder of how something so wonderful has since shattered to pieces... Jack’s whole body tenses up, fury sparking hot in his stomach.

“What the fuck, Davey?” he spits out. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Davey has the fucking gall to look startled, maybe even a little hurt.

“Why do you still have this?” Jack demands, slamming the mug down so hard that some of the contents spill out, coffee pooling on the counter. “Why would you keep—?”

“Why wouldn’t I keep it?” Davey asks, like he honestly doesn’t see what the big deal is. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

And that is just... Jack almost wants to laugh, except he thinks he’s never heard anything less funny in his life.

“Oh, so that’s where you draw the line, huh?” Jack says, voice tight with anger. “That’s how it is? Knick knacks, keepsakes, sure, those you’ll keep around, but the stuff that’s actually worth having? That’s actually worth fighting for? You can just let all that go without ever sayin’ a fuckin’ word otherwise because who gives a shit—”

Davey’s expression twists.

“Right, because you were so fucking eager to stay?” he asks with a derisive scoff. “Give me a break, Jack, you couldn’t wait to leave. Just fucked off to the other side of the country and left me here to pick up the pieces—”

“You were all but pushing me out the fucking door!” Jack accuses, throwing his hands up. “‘It’s a wonderful opportunity, Jackie,’ ‘You’d be an idiot not to take it, Jackie,’ ‘It’s what you’ve always dreamed of, Jackie!’ What a load of horseshit—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being supportive?’ Davey asks, incredulous—as if Jack’s the one that’s in the wrong here. “Are you serious?”

“I’m just sayin’, you weren’t exactly bent outta shape at the thought of me leavin’,” Jack says, frigid, because if he lets himself think about it too much, if he lets himself remember the gaping hole that had formed in his chest when he’d realized that loves Davey more than Davey loved him, he thinks he might shatter completely. “Didn’t seem to bother you one fuckin’ bit. Probably relieved to finally have an excuse to get rid of me—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Davey hisses, and he strides forward until they’re standing nearly chest to chest—the closest they’ve been in almost a year. “I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe, missed you every single goddamn second of the last eight months, don’t think for a moment that I didn’t, you fucking asshole.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack bites out, not believing this for a second. “If you missed me so fucking much, then why’d we break up?”

“Because you were moving to Santa Fe!” Davey yells back. “You were leaving, Jackie! What else was I supposed to do, except let you go and try my best to be happy for you?”

Jackie. It sounds different coming out of Davey’s mouth. Something prickles at Jack’s eyes, and the threat of tears almost makes him angrier.

“If you really wanted me to be happy,” Jack growls, “you would’ve come with me.”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you!” Davey shouts.

“And you didn’t ask me to stay!”

“Ask you to stay? Ask you to stay?” Davey says, and his eyes are wild, burning and blazing as he stares Jack down. “Of course I didn’t fucking ask you to stay, I was never going to ask you to stay! It was Santa Fe, it was all you ever fucking talked about, it was your dream, Jack! It was everything that you wanted! I would never even suggest that you give that up, God, what kind of shit-ass person do you think I am, that you thought I would ever, ever try to stand between you and Santa Fe when I know how important it is to you—?”

“I’m not fucking hearing this,” Jack says, shaking his head, because he isn’t. He can’t be. Because it sounds like Davey is saying... Like he’s telling him that... “I am not fucking hearing this. I— You—“

Jack turns on his heel and storms out of Davey’s apartment, slamming the door behind him as he goes. He only gets a few steps down the hallway before his knees give out from underneath him, leaving him staggering into the nearest wall, his breaths coming in ragged pants.

Davey.

It’s like it’s seared into the space behind his eyes, woven right between his heartstrings—the look on Davey’s face, the sound of Davey’s voice, the shape and color of Davey’s eyes.

Davey. Always, always Davey

Jack loves him. It’s not like it’s a surprise, but then, Jack’s always known that.

Maybe Davey hadn’t known. Maybe Davey hadn’t known that there’s nothing on this earth that Jack loves more than him, maybe he hadn’t realized how utterly, impossibly, eternally in love with him Jack is.

Maybe Jack needs to tell him.

When he enters the apartment again he finds Davey right where he left him, and Jack can’t help but be reminded of the last time they parted, when Jack left for Santa Fe all those months ago. But this is the part he hadn’t seen back then, the part that Davey had hidden from him: he’d never been privy to the way Davey’s whole body can wilt in on itself when he’s heartbroken, had never witnessed the way Davey’s usually steady hands tremble when he’s holding back a sob.

Davey’s head jerks up as Jack steps back inside and his lips quiver when he shuts the door behind him.

His eyes are wet.

Jack steps forward, bunches his hands in the fabric of Davey shirt, and pulls him into a desperate, scorching kiss.

“I love you,” Jack says fiercely. “I love you. I loved you before I got the job offer, I loved you while I was searching for apartments and planning the move, I loved you every time I talked up Santa Fe to you, tryin’ to convince you to come with me any way I could think of. I loved you when we broke up, I loved you when I left, I loved you when I landed, and it’s been eight fucking months and I’m still so fucking in love with you—”

Davey kisses him this time, and the press of his mouth against his own, the tangle of his fingers in Jack’s hair as he tugs him closer, the taste and heat and feel of him—it’s like coming home.

“I love you too, Jackie,” Davey promises, and hearing the words finally soothes something deep down in Jack’s very being. He hadn’t thought he’d ever hear them again. “I love you and I’ve missed you so much—”

“I missed you,” Jack says, punctuating the declaration with another kiss. “You’re it for me Davey. There’s just you. And I… I can’t give this up again. Santa Fe ain’t worth nothin’ if you’re not there with me.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Davey murmurs, holding him tight. “I thought I had to let you go.”

Jack shakes his head.

“I wanted you to keep me,” he confesses—he’s never been brave enough to say it aloud before. “And I wanted to keep you too.”

“Then keep me,” Davey says, and it rings like a promise. “Keep me.”

00000

Tags! @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy @stroopwafeldetective @lyydiiaak

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #*ask #*ask game #different perspectives #this ended up being very long #and I stayed up wayyyy to long finishing it #but I’m really happy with it #😊

[likecastle]

In which Jaskier cuts Geralt’s hair

Well, folks, I was inspired by Geralt’s slightly wavier wig in the new S2 promo photos to write a story in which Geralt finally gets some proper haircare and it brings out his natural curl pattern. This somehow turned into 7,000 words of Geralt musing about his own terrible self-image and Jaskier tenderly negotiating a haircut.

Credit for Geralt’s 3-in-1 shower products goes to @exrayspex​, with my thanks for their enthusiasm about this exceedingly soft concept!  

I’d like to put this up on AO3 at some point, but the title has me stumped, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

“When are you going to let me cut your hair?”

Geralt snorts, incredulous. “I’m not.”

Jaskier fixes Geralt with a pleading look. The streaks of peacock blue Jaskier recently added to his hair really bring out the color of his eyes—all the better to beguile him with. “Come on, Geralt, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Geralt says, trying without much luck to keep his attention on the TV screen. Suddenly he has to fight the urge to tuck a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

“It would look so nice if you just took proper care of it,” Jaskier wheedles.

“It doesn’t need to look nice.” Geralt can feel his shoulders creeping up towards his ears, and he wishes Jaskier would look at something else besides him. “It’s just hair.”

“But—”

Geralt jabs the remote in the direction of the TV. “Are you going to let me watch this or do you want to go home?”

“Fine, you grouch,” Jaskier says, returning his attention to the screen.

It must not hold Jaskier’s interest, though, because he can feel Jaskier’s gaze returning to him periodically throughout the rest of the film—which in itself isn’t all that unusual, since Jaskier watches even movies he really likes with one eye on his phone. Except that when Geralt meets his gaze, Jaskier’s looking at him with a wistful, almost sad expression. Geralt doesn’t let himself wonder what might be on his mind.

Later, Jaskier yawns wide and says he’d better be going if he doesn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It’s just a dramatic excuse not to help clean up, Geralt knows, but he can’t help smiling at the way Jaskier rubs at his eyes, smudging the faded remnants of his eyeliner. Geralt walks him to the door, and for a moment Jaskier just stands there on the porch, looking at Geralt thoughtfully.

When his hand reaches up, Geralt freezes. He thinks for a moment that Jaskier’s about to cup his cheek and drawn him down—but he just takes a strand of frizzy hair that’s come loose from Geralt’s ponytail and twists it around a finger.

“I thought so,” Jaskier says, with a private little smile.

Geralt’s sure Jaskier must be able to hear the way his breath’s gotten jammed up in his chest. “Thought—?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts down the front steps. “G’night, Geralt.”

As Geralt tidies away their takeout containers and empty beer bottles, his mind keeps wandering back to Jaskier’s offer. He knows Jaskier’s just trying to be nice—or trying to fix him, the way he tried to “liven up” Geralt’s wardrobe early in their friendship and tried to set him up on dates after he split up with Yen last year. But the options he tries to push on Geralt—the overpriced bomber jacket Jaskier bought him that’s still sitting at the back of his closet, the gorgeous chestnut-haired nurse Jaskier introduced him to—always seem to reflect more about Jaskier’s idea of Geralt than they do about Geralt himself.

Because the thing is, he’s not brash and stylish like Jaskier, who’s all eccentric colors combinations and flashing rings that accentuate his expressive hands. Jaskier knows how to construct an outfit that tells the world exactly who he is at any given moment, from his ever-evolving hairstyles to his painstakingly-sourced vintage clothes. Geralt, on the other hand, is just—nothing, an absence of style. His idea of a good outfit is one he can forget he’s wearing, one that will make everyone else forget him when he’s wearing it. His relationship to his appearance is as estranged as his relationship to his ex-wife. Being in his body, making use of it when he’s lifting weights or hammering a nail or swinging Ciri up in his arms—that makes sense to him. But thinking about his body is the opposite of that. He doesn’t like being looked at, even by himself. He avoids the mirror on his medicine cabinet as much as he can and starts feeling close and queasy if he so much as looks at himself in a dressing room mirror.

Before he goes to bed that night, he shakes his hair out from his ponytail and makes himself take a long, hard look in the mirror. All he sees is the sallow, tired-eyed face of a man who can hardly remember how to smile anymore, a face scarred from carelessness and creased from years of worry. His dull white hair, which Jaskier had twisted so carefully around his finger, is somehow greasy and dried out at the same time, limp around his face but bristly at the ends. He can’t find any sign of the potential Jaskier seems to think is there. He suspects it was never there in the first place—a mirage visible only to well-intentioned flatterers like Jaskier—and he feels foolish for looking.

No, Geralt decides, he’s not going to let Jaskier cut his hair, or do anything else to him. Better not to bother at all.

*

The next time the topic of Geralt’s hair comes up, he’s brought Ciri into Jaskier’s salon for an emergency haircut. Ordinarily, Yennefer handles things like haircuts and clothes shopping, but Saturday night, Ciri emerged from the bathroom with the front her hair lopped off somewhere around her eyebrows and a dawning expression of anxious regret on her face. Geralt had reassured her that everything would be OK, while texting Jaskier frantically for help and silently panicking about what Yen was going to say when she came to pick Ciri up on Sunday night. Thankfully, Jaskier was able to squeeze Ciri into his schedule this afternoon, and he promised to fix Ciri up.

So now Geralt is sitting awkwardly in the waiting area, hunched on a squeaky vinyl-upholstered chair. He’s been to Jaskier’s salon plenty of times—to meet him for lunch or a post-shift drink, to drop off something he left at the house or to give him a ride home—but he rarely does more than stand uneasily just inside the door. The relentless pop music and the echoing acoustics never fail to overwhelm him, as does the muddle of scents—clouds of different hair products and the pervasive smell of something sharp like ammonia. The abundance of mirrors unnerves him, too. Nobody can possibly need to see so many views of their own reflection, can they? Between the curious patrons peering at him in the mirrors and passersby staring in through the plate glass storefront, Geralt feels like he’s on display. And to make matters worse, he keeps catching glimpses of his reflection, his own hunted expression looking back at him from unexpected angles.

Ciri, at least, is having a great time, chatting happily with Jaskier as he snips away at her hair. The last time Geralt took Ciri for a haircut, it was at one of those children’s salons where the chairs looked like toy cars, and now here she is, sitting beside grown women almost like she’s one of them. It scares him, sometimes, to think of her growing up—more than sometimes. There are so many ways the world can fail her, and he can only do so much to protect her. There’s going to come a time when she’s going to get into some kind of trouble he won’t be able to bail her out of, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes. But for now, at least he can pay Jaskier to fix her disastrous home-brew haircut.

“What d’you think, Dad?” Ciri calls, and he looks up to see Jaskier removing her cape with a flourish. When he turns Ciri’s chair around to face him, Geralt’s heart catches in his throat. How grown up she looks, he thinks, but what really makes his chest ache is how much she’s coming into herself—becoming someone with her own unique taste in clothes and books and music, who won’t compromise about the bullshit dress codes at school and is brave enough to try something new even if the results are atrocious. He doesn’t know where she gets it.

“You like it?” he asks, not trusting himself to say something that won’t embarrass her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, and hops down from the chair.

“We could do yours next, Geralt,” Jaskier offers, sweeping up the little blonde fragments of Ciri’s hair from the floor around his station.

“Ooh, yeah!” Ciri grins up at him. “I bet Jaskier would give you a really cool haircut.”

“I’m sure he would,” Geralt says mildly. He doesn’t want to quash Ciri’s enthusiasm or impart his own discomfort to her. It’s one of the things that keeps him up at night, the fear that he’ll pass down all his insecurities. He tries so hard to keep that shit buttoned up, to shield her from his own shortcomings—and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s just going to mess her up in other ways, but he wants to do better for her, has to do better. “Maybe some other time.”

“So you’ll consider it!” Jaskier says triumphantly, coming over to tell the receptionist the total for Ciri’s cut.

Geralt notices Ciri looking at herself in the big mirror behind the front desk, fussing self-consciously with her new fringe. Jaskier must notice, too, because he gives Ciri a big hug and says, “You look great, kiddo. Right, Geralt?”

“Definitely,” Geralt says, surrendering his credit card to the receptionist to pay a frankly staggering amount. He tips a hundred percent.

*

“You should take him up on it,” Yennefer says that evening when Geralt concludes the story of Ciri’s haircut by telling her about Jaskier’s offer to cut Geralt’s hair.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “Really?”

She glances back to where Ciri is waiting for her in the car. “Jaskier did a good job. She and I are going to have a serious conversation later about when to ask for permission and when to ask for forgiveness, but I have to admit it suits her.”

“It does,” Geralt agrees. He realizes he doesn’t know what it would be like, to feel his appearance suited him. He’s never tried, really, to make his exterior reflect his interior, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Besides,” Yennefer says, gesturing to his haphazard ponytail, “you really do need to start taking better care of yourself, now that I’m not around to make sure you’re presentable anymore.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile twitching his lips. “Is that what you were doing? Looking after me?”

Yennefer lifts one hand to tug a lock of his hair, the gesture so similar to Jaskier’s that it makes him shiver, for some reason. “No, but somebody ought to.”

He ducks his head, hoping to hide the ache that washes through him—a longing for something they both wanted but never quite managed to find together. “If you keep Ciri waiting much longer, she’s gonna make a break for it.”

“She would, too,” Yennefer says affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Geralt.” She surprises him by brushing a kiss against his cheek, then turns to go.

Geralt waits until Yennefer’s car is out of sight before he goes inside. As he loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he thinks again about Jaskier’s offer. He’s never been good at asking for things, let alone holding on them once he has them, but it’s been especially hard since he and Yennefer split—even the littlest things feel like they require an effort it’s not worth making. It’s so easy to tell himself he doesn’t need anything—a fancy haircut, a new jacket, a reassuring glance, a gentle touch. But sometimes, maybe, it’s enough to want them.

Wiping soapy water off his hands, Geralt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Jaskier. Does your offer to cut my hair still stand? Only if you’ve got time.

OMG YES!!! comes the immediate reply. I can be there in 20. Then, a moment later, Jaskier amends, Shit wait make that 40 need to run to get some supplies

Geralt huffs out a laugh. Have to get up early tomorrow. This weekend?

All booked up this weekend but I’m off on Tues so I can come over to your place in the pm if that works for you

He’d hoped to give himself a few days to cancel, just in case he changes his mind, and in this respect Tuesday’s almost no better than forty minutes from now. But he does like the idea of doing this at home, instead of in the salon. He types out OK and hits send before he can think better of it.

Don’t chicken out before then

No promises, Geralt answers.

Jaskier responds with a string of emoji that Geralt finds completely inscrutable, but which make him smile nonetheless.

*

Jaskier arrives on Tuesday evening with a six-pack of cold beer and bag crammed full of supplies.

“I thought you were going to cut my hair, not outlast a siege,” Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists with nerves over this impending ordeal. He should have cancelled. He should never have said yes to this ridiculous idea.

“Oh, none of this would be remotely useful in warfare,” Jaskier replies. Then, contemplatively, he says, “Well, maybe some of it. But first, I thought we could have a drink.”

“So you can cut my hair drunk?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and brushes past Geralt into the kitchen, dumping his bag into an empty chair at the table. “So you can relax a little for once. And so we can talk.”

Geralt feels the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten even further. “What is there to talk about? It’s just a haircut.”

Jaskier lets out a long-suffering sigh as he rummages around in Geralt’s cutlery drawer in search of a bottle opener. “Geralt, have you not listened to a single word I’ve said about my job?” He pops off the caps of two bottles of beer and hands one to Geralt. “No, don’t answer that, I know you haven’t.”

Geralt takes a sullen sip of his beer, but he doesn’t dispute the accusation.

With a nod of his head, Jaskier gestures for Geralt to follow him into the living room, and flops down on what Geralt has come to think of as his side of the couch. Geralt sits at the other end, turned to face him. “You need to know what you want going into this, or you won’t get good results.” Jaskier fixes him with a gaze that makes Geralt take another swallow of his beer. “Have you ever given any thought to what you like, or don’t like, about your hair?”

“Not . . . really,” Geralt mumbles, wondering how angry Jaskier would be if he called this whole thing off now.

“Well,” Jaskier says patiently, “why do you keep your hair long? I always assumed it was because you liked how it looked, but I’m realizing now I’ve never asked about it.”

Geralt takes another sip of his beer and tries to think of answer that’s not Because I do. He’s worn it long since high school, when it was primarily something to hide behind. It felt like a kind of fuck-you, an off-putting choice to keep people from looking too closely at him—and to help him forget about other people, too. “It’s easier,” he says finally. “Don’t have to get it cut every few weeks, and I can keep it out of my face.”

“OK, that’s good to know.” The calm, encouraging tone Jaskier’s taking should feel condescending, but Geralt finds he doesn’t mind—or maybe it’s just the beer starting to relax him a little.

“You don’t always tie it back, though, do you?” Jaskier goes on.

Geralt shakes his head. “When I’m working, yeah, but the rest of the time . . .” He shrugs. It depends—on who he’s around, how comfortable he feels with them, hell, how hard the wind is blowing. Sometimes he can’t stand the feeling of it in face, and sometimes the pressure of the hair elastic at the base of his skull is enough to make him want to rip it out.

“Can I . . . ?” Jaskier gestures to Geralt’s hair, and Geralt inclines his head. It’s inevitable that Jaskier will have to touch him if they’re going to go through with this, so there’s no point in being shy about it. Jaskier scoots forward on the couch, and Geralt holds very still, letting him reach back and undo the tie holding his hair back. A sheet of frizzy white strands spills around his bowed head, almost obscuring Jaskier from view.

He can feel Jaskier, though, running his fingers through his hair. The touch makes Geralt’s scalp tingle and a shiver runs through him that he tries and fails to suppress.

“OK?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“You’ve never told me when you went grey.” Jaskier’s voice is hushed, almost as if he’s afraid of startling him. He continues to card his hand through Geralt’s hair—with professional curiosity, Geralt realizes, but the touch is so gentle it also feels like a reassurance. Geralt closes his eyes, grateful to be shielded from Jaskier’s view.

“Started in high school,” he says. It’s been a long time since he thought about how, when those first thick streaks of white were coming into his dark hair, kids at school would call him skunk and Cruella de Vil, shit he knew better than to respond to but that just made him even more self-conscious. It occurs to him now that most of his memories of being looked at—really noticed—are colored by other people’s derision for things he can’t help. “It was all like this by the time I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Someone told me once it’s genetic, but . . .” He shrugs again. He’s got no one to ask about a family history of premature graying, no photos of distant relatives to compare himself to.

Gentle fingers tuck his hair back behind one ear, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier smiling at him. “I would pay good money to see pictures of you in high school. I bet you were so surly.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Geralt says “I was insufferable.” Miserable and ungrateful and roiling with self-righteous anger all the time, hardly able to string a civil sentence together.

Jaskier rewards him with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You’re insufferable now and I like you just fine.”

This is true, Geralt thinks. His anger has banked down somewhat since those days, but he’s no less difficult to be around, and Jaskier’s never seemed to mind his rough edges. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate Jaskier in those day. His constant talking and absurd jokes would have grated on Geralt’s nerves, back then. They did when he first met Jaskier, in fact. He tried, for a long time, to keep his distance, sure that there was nothing he and Jaskier could possibly have to say to each other. But Jaskier kept turning up, kept surprising him, kept being kind to him for no damn reason. Geralt’s glad he did.

“So,” Jaskier says, pushing the conversation back in his desired direction, as he always does, “what I’m hearing is, you like wearing your hair long?”

Geralt considers, taking another swallow of his beer. Liking doesn’t figure into his thinking much, but it’s not just out of habit that he keeps it this way. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s nod is solemn. “Anything you don’t like about it?”

Again, Geralt has to give this serious thought. “There are, uh . . .” He gestures to the wiry flyaways that tend to form around his head by the end of the day. They tend to tickle his face unpleasantly as he works, which is irritating when he doesn’t hand a hand free to brush them away.

“Yeah, it’s a little dry,” Jaskier says. “But we can fix that up.” Geralt knows exactly how soft Jaskier’s hair is, and he can’t imagine his own ragged hair could ever come close. “Anything else?”

Geralt shrugs.

“OK,” Jaskier says, “enough with the interrogation. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Jaskier gets up and retrieves another beer—not for himself, but for Geralt. Jaskier’s fingers brush his as he hands over the bottle, and it gives him the same little shiver that he felt when Jaskier was combing through his hair. “D’you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or just surprise you?”

Geralt’s gut instinct is to make Jaskier tell him what he’s got in mind, so that he has the option to veto it and put this whole thing to a stop. But he thinks of Jaskier’s teasing question the first time they talked about this—Don’t you trust me?—and how he’d said no when the answer is really yes. So he takes a deep pull of his beer and says, “Surprise me.”

The look of glee on Jaskier’s face is worth the knot of dread that immediately forms in Geralt’s stomach. He takes another drinks and reminds himself that it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

“You’re not gonna regret it, I promise,” Jaskier says, and then his warm hands are urging Geralt up and off the couch.

It takes them a while to get everything situated to Jaskier’s liking—the bathroom is too cramped to accommodate a chair, so Jaskier has Geralt drag one into the kitchen, covering the floor in newspapers to catch the stray clippings. Then Jaskier sends Geralt to wash his hair while he sets up the rest of his supplies. When Geralt comes back downstairs, his hair soaking into his t-shirt, there is a truly staggering array of equipment spread out on the counter, Jaskier’s own little traveling apothecary kit, with everything from dangerously sharp scissors to brightly-colored bottles of product to some kind of instrument that looks like a bowl full of dull spikes, which Jaskier says attaches to his hair dryer.

“Rule number one,” Jaskier says, grabbing the towel out of Geralt’s hands. “No more regular towels on your hair. Your hair deserves to be treated with care.” Geralt snorts, but the towel he hands Geralt is pleasantly soft, with finer knap that’s soft as fleece in his hands. “And don’t rub at it,” Jaskier scolds. He steps closer, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s to guide him, his hand moving in a gentle squeezing motion. “That’s good,” he says, and Geralt feels his cheeks flush.

Once Geralt’s hair is toweled dry, Jaskier maneuvers him into the chair, and combs out his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Jaskier is exceedingly careful not to yank on the knots, but even so the gentle tug sets his skin tangling. Geralt knows his scalp is sensitive—he can remember fighting back tears while Vesemir struggled to brush out his unruly hair as a kid—but it’s never felt like this before. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that ordinarily, when he finally breaks down and subjects himself to a trim, he just asks Eskel do come over and cut it with the kitchen scissors. Even with someone he trusts as profoundly as he does Eskel, it’s still an uncomfortable ordeal that makes him unaccountably tense. But this isn’t painful, or unnerving at all. It’s . . . nice, embarrassingly so. He can’t help wondering what it would feel like if Jaskier were to drag his nails along his scalp—and then he has to force himself not to think about it, because even the thought of the sensation sends a shudder through him.

Thankfully, Jaskier is busy fiddling with his phone, and a moment later he puts on a playlist he likes to call Geralt’s Sad Dad Rock mix. Geralt appreciates the background noise—familiar songs he can tune out if he wants to, quiet enough that the music’s not intrusive.

“OK,” Jaskier says, snapping a cape around Geralt’s throat. His hand comes to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and he leans in to speak almost directly into Geralt’s ear. “Ready?”

Geralt suppresses another chill and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaskier gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gets to work. Geralt’s grateful for the lack of mirrors, because it means he doesn’t have to see what Jaskier’s doing, but at the same time it leaves him without much to go on—just the touch of the comb, Jaskier’s hands carefully repositioning his head, his fingers pulling this or that lock of hair taut to snip at them with the scissors. Eventually, Geralt closes his eyes and lets Jaskier’s voice wash over him. Jaskier often accuses Geralt of not listening to him when he talks, but in truth it’s easy to get lost in the lilting cadence of his speech, like hearing a song but not its lyrics.

“. . . and the thing is,” Jaskier’s saying, though Geralt lost the thread of his rambling long ago, “the more you do it, the better your results will be. You just have to help them along . . .”

He can see why Jaskier’s clients like him so much, how nice it is to fall into the pattern of someone else’s words, especially when that someone has as nice a voice as Jaskier. He’s often grateful for Jaskier’s conversation, which fills silences Geralt didn’t even realize were empty until he came along.

When Jaskier says, “OK, you’re all done,” Geralt is surprised by how quickly the time has passed. “We can just leave it at that and just let it air dry, or . . .” Even though he can’t see Jaskier, he can picture the hopeful expression on his face.

“What?” Geralt asks, twisting around in the chair to look Jaskier in the eye.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, looking almost nervous. “Or I could show you how to style it. If you wanted. Nothing over the top, I promise.”

Geralt thinks it over. On the one hand, there’s no way he’ll ever bother repeating anything Jaskier shows him how to do, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t mind having Jaskier’s hands on him a little longer. “All right.”

“Really?” Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Nope, never mind, I’m not gonna second-guess this. No take-backs! You’re committed now.”

Which is how Geralt finds himself being hustled back upstairs and into the bathroom. Jaskier pulls back the shower curtain and is about to start issuing instructions when he lets out a squawk and staggers backward.

Geralt looks around in alarm, expecting to see a giant spider in the tub. It’s only belatedly that he realizes he’s thrown an arm out in front of Jaskier, as if that will protect him from whatever nonexistent threat he was reacting to. “What?”

“Geralt, for shame!” Jaskier exclaims, pointing to the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash on the edge of the tub. “Is that yours?” He says it with all the breathless horror of someone discovering a murder weapon.

“Uh . . .” Geralt has the distinct feeling he should try to deny it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend. “Yes?”

And then Jaskier is laughing, but it’s warm with delight, not mocking or cruel. In fact, he looks up at Geralt with such fondness that Geralt almost can’t bear it. “Oh, you poor man,” Jaskier says between gusts of laughter. “No wonder your hair is so dry!”

“. . . It’s efficient,” Geralt mutters in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

“It’s like washing your hair with dish soap. But don’t worry,” he adds, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest, “I’ll get you sorted out and then your hair will be so soft it’ll be completely irresistible.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dubiously, but Jaskier just grins at him.

“OK, this next part is going to be a little awkward. Ordinarily you’d do it by yourself in the shower, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’d rather not jump in the shower with me right now.”

Geralt very much does not acknowledge the wave of heat that rolls through him at the thought.  “Probably wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Eh, I’ve made it work in smaller spaces than this,” Jaskier says, with such casual confidence that Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “But luckily, you’ve got one of those detachable showerheads, so we should be just fine. Might be easier, though, if you, uh, take off your shirt off.”

Geralt’s already come this far, and, besides, it’s not like Jaskier hasn’t seen him without his shirt on before. As Geralt strips off his shirt, Jaskier puts a towel down on the floor and beckons him to kneel down at the edge the tub. He’s careful to get the water to a comfortable temperature before he puts a warm hand on Geralt’s bare back, guiding him to lean over, his head bowed.

The routine Jaskier directs him through is more complicated than Geralt could ever have anticipated. There’s a thick, dark purple shampoo that Jaskier instructs him to use only once a week—he has another shampoo he’ll give Geralt to use at other times, but really, Jaskier insists, he should only be washing his hair a couple of times a week, anyway. Jaskier shows him how to rub the shampoo into his scalp only and let the water draw it down through the rest of his hair. The pressure of the spray on his scalp makes his skin tingle, as does the press of Jaskier’s body against his side. When Geralt doesn’t apply the conditioner to Jaskier’s liking, he adjusts Geralt’s hands with his own, smoothing their joined fingers through Geralt’s slippery hair. And when it comes time to rinse the conditioner out, he shows Geralt how to cup the water in his palms and press it into the wet mass of his hair.

“You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, and Geralt is grateful his face is hidden behind ropes of his wet hair.

Finally, Jaskier pronounces himself satisfied and turns off the water. Now that they’re done the task of washing his hair, Geralt’s awkwardly aware of his chest dripping with water in the cool air of the bathroom—and of Jaskier standing less than an arm’s length away from him.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is nothing but professional, rubbing a series of products into his hands and then smoothing them over Geralt’s hair. After each application, he gathers Geralt’s hair in his hands and presses it up toward Geralt’s scalp, just like they did with the water. It’s a bizarre motion, like nothing Geralt’s ever seen before, but it seems to be having the desired effect, because the strands of hair hanging down in front of his face are slowly forming into thick coils, and Jaskier keeps making little satisfied humming sounds with each new application. Jaskier finishes by wrapping Geralt’s hair up in another one of those extra soft towels.

“And now we wait,” he says, hopping up onto the sink.

Geralt pulls his shirt on again, careful not to disturb the towel on his head, and he might be wrong but he thinks that he catches a little disappointed frown cross Jaskier’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Jaskier says. “I know you don’t really like this kind of stuff, but I’m having a great time.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Geralt replies. But that sounds worse than it did in his head, and he hastens to add, “I mean—it’s nice—when it’s you.”

Jaskier’s smile is something Geralt can’t quite get to the bottom of—fond and wry and maybe a little sad, too. “Well, I’ve been dying to do this pretty much since the moment I met you, so, you know, thanks for that.”

It’s strange to think Jaskier has been harboring private aspirations where Geralt is concerned. But then Jaskier’s always been full of surprises when it comes to him—immune to his ill temper, amused by his rudeness, tenacious enough to bully his way past his silences. He’s never understood what Jaskier sees in him, and he often feels he offers a poor reward for the hard work Jaskier puts in to being his friend. Because it’s not easy, Geralt knows. Plenty of people have decided Geralt was too difficult to get to know, or too prickly to stick with. Even Yennefer, who’s loved him better than he could possibly deserve, struggled to make inroads against Geralt’s defenses. It never seemed to matter how much he loved Yennefer, he could never bring himself to relax around her. He was always on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop—until, in time, it did, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. He can’t blame Yennefer ending things. She wants things he doesn’t know how to give. He couldn’t figure out how to change himself into the sort of person she deserved.

“D’you want another beer?” Jaskier asks, nudging Geralt’s knee with his bare foot.

He wouldn’t mind another drink, but he’s loathe to puncture the peaceful little moment that’s grown up between them. “Let’s just stay here.”

Jaskier nods, and a moment later Fleetwood Mac comes on over Jaskier’s phone speakers—one of the only bands they can agree on—and Jaskier treats him to an inspired rendition of “Dreams,” his voice turned otherworldly by the chill acoustics of the bathroom tiles. Geralt watches Jaskier dance on his perch on the edge of the sink and wonders, with an ache in his chest, what it would be like to be so uninhibited, so comfortable in his own skin. He can’t imagine it, but sometimes he feels like he’s maybe just a half-step closer to knowing when he’s around Jaskier.

When the song fades out, Jaskier hops down from the counter and says, “OK, time for the last step.”

Jaskier sticks that torture device attachment onto his hair dryer and lets Geralt’s hair down from the towel. Jaskier lets him stay seated, and starts drying his hair. He doesn’t pull Geralt’s hair taut with a brush, as Geralt has seen Yennefer do when styling her own hair. Instead, he gathers it up a section of hair in that little torture device accessory and holds the dryer still, letting the air work around the strands. Geralt closes his eyes against the noise and sensation of the air against his scalp. It lasts a long time, Geralt bracing his arms on his thighs as Jaskier moves the hair dryer around his head. The noise of the dryer makes conversation difficult, and Geralt feels strangely distant from Jaskier all of a sudden, even though he’s standing so close Geralt could press his face to the soft flesh of his stomach if he wanted to. He knots his hands together between his knees to keep himself from just reaching out and pulling Jaskier close.

When Jaskier finally switches off the hair dryer, the silence it leaves feels big. It’s probably just the heat from the hair dyer, but Geralt feels flushed and a little rubbed raw.

“All right,” Jaskier says, fixing him with a considering look. “Let me just . . .” He reaches out and grips Geralt’s hair in both hands. He doesn’t so much tug as gently crush the strands, but the pressure is enough to make Geralt’s mouth fall open, and he doesn’t exactly make a noise but something happens in his chest like his lungs kickstarting. Jaskier glances down at him with an inquisitive smile. “Sorry, too hard?”

It’s all Geralt can do to shake his head.

“All done,” Jaskier says. When he lets go, Geralt immediately misses the touch. “Wanna take a look?”

Geralt stands up and turns to regard himself in the mirror. To say he doesn’t recognize himself would be an overstatement, but the sight of his reflection is a surprise. The cut doesn’t seem all that different in terms of length, but the ragged edges are gone. The dingy white of his hair has turned a gleaming silver, and it hangs around his face not in its usual lank tangle, but in softly curling waves. It’s almost . . . pretty, a word he’s never associated with himself in his entire life. The new brightness of his hair makes his face seem clearer, more open somehow, and the gentle curls offset the hard lines of his face in a way that make his features look almost delicate, or in any case less roughly hewn than usual. He reaches up to touch it, and to his amazement, it’s just as soft as Jaskier promised it would be. Maybe not as soft as Jaskier’s own hair, but much nicer than he can remember it ever feeling before.

“You like it?” Jaskier asks, and in the mirror, Geralt can see he’s looking at him with a hopeful expression. It makes something twist in his stomach—longing, and at the same time a rejection of what he wants, the certainty that he can’t possibly hang onto anything nice for long enough to enjoy it.

“You know I’ll never go to all this trouble,” he says, gruffly, and immediately regrets it when he sees Jaskier’s smile slip from his face.

“No, I know,” Jaskier says, and starts packing up his supplies. “I just wanted to try it. I’ll still leave you all the products, just in case you change your mind, or—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallows hard, and puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I—”

Jaskier looks at him with such a searching expression that Geralt hardly knows how to look at him. He’s never known someone who’s so much all the time, expansive and loud and demanding and generous and so goddamn bright.

“What I should have said,” Geralt says, against the tension threatening to stop his throat, “is that I wouldn’t have tried this if it weren’t for you. It’s . . .” He’s not sure how to answer Jaskier’s question. Does he like it? He looks so unlike himself that he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t tell if it suits him or not, because he still isn’t sure what that would mean. But he likes the idea that Jaskier’s uncovered this version of him, that this might be how Jaskier sees him in his mind’s eye. “I’m glad we tried it. Thank you.”

“I am, too,” Jaskier says, quietly. “Even if you never do it again, I’m glad you trusted me enough to try. And for the record?” The twist of his lips is almost pained, but it’s a smile all the same. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt ducks his head, his shoulders inching up. “Jaskier . . .”

“No, I’m serious, Geralt.” Jaskier sounds annoyed, almost angry, all of a sudden. “I know you don’t care about superficial stuff—”

“That’s not—”

“—but take it from someone who spends a lot of time looking at people and doing my best to make them look as good as I possibly can: you’re objectively really fucking good-looking.” Jaskier lets out a harsh, reckless laugh. “And if you don’t care about my professional opinion, I also happen to think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met in my entire life, so there’s that.”

“I—”

Now that Jaskier’s started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “You’re the most incredible person I know, Geralt,” he says, in a breathless rush, “and I’m not talking just about your looks—although you are genuinely so ridiculously handsome that it’s really not fair. You’re kind for no reason and incredibly devoted and, OK, sort of a dick sometimes, but also so goddamn careful with other people and so fucking hard on yourself, and I just—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish I could show you, even for just a second, because—”

“You did,” Geralt says. Jaskier stares at him, stunned into silence, and Geralt takes the opportunity to continue. “You do. Not just tonight.” He’s breathing hard, and he tries not to think about how dangerous this feels, like standing up on the top of a tall ladder or walking the line of a roof that might collapse under him at any moment. “When I’m with you, I feel like I could be that person you see in me, maybe. I just . . . don’t know how.”

Jaskier laughs again—softer this time. “You dummy,” he says, “you already are. You’ve just got to believe it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Jaskier says, waving one hand dismissively. “You’ve got me to convince you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt can’t help the smile spreading across his face, despite the shivery feeling still simmering under his skin. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well . . .” Jaskier takes a step towards him, and then another, settling his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips. “I’d probably start a little like this . . .”

The first touch of Jaskier’s lips on his is like a breath of clean air after a storm, and Geralt can feel something that’s been knotted tight inside him for a long time unfurling itself. It doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, that buzz under his skin transmuting into a golden glow. He knows it’s not as simple as it feels—he can’t expect Jaskier to change him with a single kiss—but for the first time in a long while, something feels purely, unequivocally good, and he wants more of it.

In time, Jaskier’s hands creep up Geralt’s sides to his back, even as Geralt’s own hands drift down past Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s hands slip into his hair, Geralt wrenches himself free with a shiver. “You’re going to undo all your hard work,” he says, teasingly.

“D’you really care?” Jaskier asks, and scratches his nails along Geralt’s scalp, wringing a whine from deep in Geralt’s chest that should be embarrassing but isn’t.  

“Not really,” Geralt gasps, his whole body pressing closer against Jaskier’s. “You can always do it again.”

Jaskier’s smile is wide as he bends to kiss him again. “That’s what I thought.”

#the witcher #witcher modern au #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla of cintra #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #gerlion #some background yennalt here #i've got 99 problems and aus are all of them #hairdresser!jaskier #i can't believe i wrote modern au witcher fic and still wound up writing a bath fic #the witcher fandom loves baths apparently #somebody please help me title this thing #i need a title that isn't when the rain washes you clean you'll know

[fanmoose12]

Hange was crunched over her laptop, typing furiously - it was probably another strong worded letter to one of their associates. If nerves weren't currently eating him up, Levi would have found the scene in front of him amusing. But as the case was, he was barely able to keep it together. He tried to distract himself, looking around Hange’s office. Even though, it was only the beginning of December, she was already in a festive spirit. There was a small Christmas tree on her table, and on her wardrobe hung a string of Christmas lights. Hange adored Christmas, so it was no surprise that she was getting ready for it so early.

Levi glanced back - thankfully, everyone else had already left the office. At least, no one would see him stare at Hange like he was some kind of a creep. It was bad enough that some interns jumped away from him in hallways.

There was nothing to be worried about, though. He just needed to ask Hange a small question. She was his best friend, there was nothing scary in asking your best friend a question. Besides, Hange probably wouldn't even accept his invitation. Knowing her, she received dozens offers already. She'd apologize and refuse, Levi would wave her off and then they'd forget about this incident altogether.

Just like they’ve forgotten about last year's incident.

Yes. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.

Levi straightened his shirt, fixed his tie and took a deep breath. And then finally— he knocked on the door.

"Yes!" Hange shouted. "Come in!"

"Oh, it's you," she said, as Levi walked inside. "I thought it was janitor coming to kick me out again," Hange laughed at her own joke.

The smile turned into a frown, as soon as she saw the look on Levi’s face.

“Is… everything alright?” she spoke gently, getting to her feet and coming to stand beside Levi. She tilted her head, looking at him worriedly. “You look kinda tense.”

Levi lowered his head, hiding his eyes behind the hair. “It’s… my mother,” he managed finally.

“Your mother?” behind the lenses of her glasses, Hange’s eyes widened. “Did something happen to her? What can I do to—”

“She’s fine,” Levi quickly assured her. He wasn’t going to tell it to her, of course, but Hange’s concern warmed his heart. “She just…” he cleared his throat and looked up at her, staring straight in her eyes. “She invited you over for a dinner. At Christmas.”

“Christmas?” she scratched the back of her head in confusion. “Are you asking me to spend Christmas with you?”

“My mom asks you,” Levi corrected. “But yeah. You don’t have to agree, though! If you have other plans already, it’s more than fine. She’ll understand. No hard feelings whatsoever.”

“Are you kidding me?” Hange beamed. “Christmas with Ackermans? How can I possibly refuse? Besides,” she elbowed him in a side with a mischievous look. “It’s not every day that Levi Ackerman—”

“My mom—”

“Invites me over to a Christmas party. Don’t worry, shorty,” Hange reached out and ruffled his hair. For some weird reason - probably because he let Hange get away with literally anything - he let her assault his immaculate haircut too. “Of course, I’ll come.”

“Great,” and Levi actually meant it. Despite, the fiasco during the last year’s Christmas party, he was looking forward to spending this Christmas with Hange by his side. “Now, c’mon, it’s almost nine pm. Get your shit, four-eyes.”

“Huh? Levi, are you offering me—”

“A ride home?” he scoffed. “Yes, I do, Hange. Or have you fixed your car already?”

Hange chuckled sheepishly. “I keep forgetting about that… you know how it is.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, I do. So hurry up before I change my mind.”

“I’m on it, Captain!” she dashed to her desk, getting her bag and phone. Then Hange went to the wardrobe and took out her coat. She hastily put it on and haphazardly wrapped a scarf around her neck. “And I’m ready!” she announced proudly.

Levi tsked. “You’re such a mess,” he pulled her closer and fixed the wrapping of a scarf, making sure that it covered Hange’s neck completely. “There,” he patted her arm. “Now, you’re ready.”

“Thanks, dad,” Hange giggled and started to lead the way. “So, who else is going to be at the party?”

“You, my mom, Kenny—”

“Oh, your uncle?” she rubbed her hands together with a sly smile. “I like him! He’s so much fun!”

Levi huffed. “Just be careful around him, four-eyes. Or he’ll get you involved in some of his shady shit.”

“There is no need to be jealous,” she teased.

“Keep dreaming.”

“And that’s it?” Hange asked. “Your father—”

“Fuck no,” Levi replied instantly. “Kenny is more than enough to fill the asshole’s quota.”

Hange raised an eyebrow, amusement written all over her face. “So your uncle’s an asshole, huh? Didn’t he raise you, though? You know what they say – an apple doesn’t fall far—”

“Oi,” Levi interrupted, before more shit came out of her mouth. “I may be too straightforward sometimes, and sometimes I’m a little harsh and can come off as rude, but I’m nothing like Kenny.”

“If it helps you sleep at night,” Hange patted his shoulder with a sympathetic look.

“Shut up, four eyes,” scowling, he gave her a light shove.

“Ah!” Hange suddenly exclaimed, spinning around. “Christmas with Ackermans! I’m already looking forward to it!”

“Weirdo,” Levi commented, desperately fighting to keep an affectionate smile off his face.

“You’re saying it as if you aren’t the same,” Hange giggled. “Admit it, Levi. You’re as much of a weirdo as I am. That’s why we’re so compatible.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, refusing to even entertain the idea. “Hurry up by the way. It’s late already, I don’t want to spend the whole night with your crazy ass.”

“Oh, Levi?” Hange put on an innocent look on her face, twirling a stray lock of her hair. “Can we stop to eat somewhere, please?”

Levi gave her a flat look. “Your fringe is empty again?”

“I just forgot to do the groceries…” she mumbled.

“Fine,” Levi sighed. “We’ll make a stop. But we’re going to my favorite place. Those disgusting burgers you love so much make me want to puke.”

“Let’s eat your boring soup then.”

“My boring soup is healthy. It won’t give you an atherosclerosis.”

“I need another favor from you…”

He groaned. “Let me guess, you forgot your wallet again?”

Hange shrugged with a smile. Levi cursed.

“Alright, I’ll pay for you. But it’s the last time, four-eyes,” he warned with a stern face.

With a smile still on her face, Hange nodded. They both knew that Levi was lying.

“Wait,” Levi said, as they neared the front door of the building. He turned to face Hange, eyeing her critically. “Where are your gloves?”

Hange rolled her eyes, but obediently opened her bag and started rummaging through her things. “Aha!” she exclaimed a couple of moments later, proudly showing Levi a couple of gloves. “Here they are!”

“Put them on,” Levi instructed, walking outside and heading towards his car. “And let’s leave this place, before the café closes.”

“Coming!” Hange shouted, following after Levi with a wide grin.

***

It was a Christmas Day already, and Levi was standing on a porch of his mother's house, waiting for Hange to show up. Knowing his friend, she would be late for at least ten minutes, so Levi leaned against the door, debating if he should go back inside to get his pack of cigarettes. His mother hated when he smoked, but it was going to be a stressful day, Levi knew it. Even without the memories of his last Christmas, nagging at him, there was Kenny he had to deal with, and the relationship between him and his uncle was at the very least, strained. If he wished to end this evening without strangling Kenny, Levi needed a lot more than just one cigarette.

However, before he could decide, he saw Hange at the other end of a street. She was walking with a spring in her step, dangling a couple of bags in her hands.

Levi crossed hands on his chest, watching her approach.

"What is this shit?" he pointed to the bags she was carrying.

"Presents!" she grinned widely.

“Presents?”

"Yes! For you, your mother and uncle."

Levi didn't drop the look of skepticism. "There are four bags."

"Of course, silly," Hange shook her head. "I've got two presents for you."

"Two?" Levi frowned. "Why two? I got only one for you."

"Well, it's not my fault your birthday is on Christmas," Hange complained. "Speaking of!" she spread her hands, "it's time for a hug, birthday boy!"

Levi cringed. "Is there a way to avoid it?"

"No!" Hange announced cheerfully. "C'mon, I'm waiting!"

Levi sighed, but obliged and came closer, letting Hange wrap her hands around him. She hummed happily, nuzzling his cheek.

"Ah, that was a good one," she said, as she took a step back, releasing Levi. He, however, couldn’t agree with her statement. It was a good hug, but it ended too quickly for his liking. Well, it wasn't like he could ask Hange to repeat it. She would agree, of course, but his reputation would suffer tremendously.

"Goddamn it, four-eyes," Levi scowled, when he took a good look on Hange's hands. "How many times do I have to remind you about the gloves?"

He grabbed her red and freezing palms in his, softly rubbing them. "Let's get inside, before you freeze to death."

"You worry too much," Hange rolled her eyes, but didn't try to shake Levi off and let him lead her inside.

The moment they crossed the threshold, Kuchel was already standing in front of the door, smiling from ear to ear. Levi awkwardly let go of Hange's hands and took a step back, allowing his mother to welcome her.

"You came!" Kuchel laid her hands onto Hange's shoulders, kissing both of her cheeks. "I'm so happy to see you, my dear!" she took a step back and faced Levi, giving him a stern gaze. “And you told Hange wouldn’t accept our invitation. You should bring her over more often.”

Levi looked down, mumbling something so quietly, neither Hange, nor Kuchel were able to catch it.

Watching the scene in front of her, seeing an embarrassed Levi, who was just scolded by his mother, Hange couldn’t help – she doubled over with laughter.

“Sorry!” she raised a hand, still chuckling. “I’m just— Levi looks so much like you, Mrs. Ackerman, it’s adorable!”

“Ah,” Kuchel smiled, reaching out to ruffle Levi’s hair. “He was always his mother’s boy.”

Levi groaned, desperately trying to hide his red face from Hange’s amused gaze. “Can you two please stop humiliating me?”

“And here she is!” Levi had never wanted the Earth to swallow him more than he did in this exact moment. He recognized that deep, booming voice instantly. “The only person who can tolerate my dear nephew!” Kenny walked out of the room to welcome them.

That infuriating smirk was already plastered on his face, and Levi cursed under his breath. It would be a very long evening.

“Hange, my darling!” Kenny took a step closer, meaning to take Hange by the hand. Levi was instantly by her side, glaring at his uncle.

“Watch your hands, old man,” he spoke darkly.

Kenny whistled. “Someone’s jealous, huh?”

Before Levi could retaliate and come up with another insult, his mother came to stand between them, wearing an annoyed expression on her face.

“Stop it, boys,” she sighed. “Kenny, don’t pick up on Levi, and you, Levi,” Kuchel shook her head. “Be nice for once, alright?”

“Yes,” Kenny and Levi answered in unison. Kuchel beamed.

“Now you two take your coats and shoes off and then join us in the living room. Hange?” Kuchel turned to her. “You’ll stay the night with us, right?”

“I…” Hange scratched her neck, unsure.

“Stay,” Levi whispered, nudging her in the side. “Mom already prepared the guest room.”

“I guess I have no choice then,” she grinned. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Ackerman.”

“Don’t mention,” Kuchel waved her off. “And please, call me just Kuchel. Levi talks so often about you, I feel like you’re a part of our family.”

“Ah, a-alright,” Hange stared at Levi, but he turned his face another way, stubbornly refusing to meet her eyes. His mother was exaggerating, he didn’t talk about Hange that much.

Kuchel sent them another warm smile, and then left to the kitchen.

"Aw," Hange pouted as soon as Levi took off his coat.

"What's wrong now?"

"You're wearing a simple shirt and cardigan.”

"And?" Levi prompted, feeling his patience go thin.

"Why not a Christmas sweater?" Hange clasped her hands, frustrated.

Levi looked at Hange's bright red sweater with a big reindeer right in the center of it. "No thanks," he mumbled. "My eyes hurt just looking at the monstrosity you're wearing."

"It's called fashion, Levi, you should look it up sometimes."

"Says a person, who can wear the same shirt for two weeks in a row. By the way," Levi outstretched his hand. "Give me it."

"Give you what?"

"My present, four-eyes, give it to me."

"A-ah," Hange resolutely shook her head. "Wait until midnight."

Levi gritted his teeth in frustration. "Fine, you can keep the other one, but you have two presents. Give me the one for my birthday."

"Nope."

"Hange, today is my birthday, I deserve to receive my birthday gift."

"Have some patience, will you? I'll give it to you at midnight."

"Why can't you—"

"Let's go!" Hange pushed him forward, leading him away from the presents. "Your family is already waiting for us."

***

As Levi watched Hange chat with his mother and uncle, sharing jokes and stories about him, he couldn't help but wonder - could it be that Hange actually forgot about the incident that had happened last year? It was the only possible explanation, she was so calm, so nonchalant, while he was practically brimming with nervous energy, trying to think about literally anything to distract himself from the awkward memories.

Noticing his stare, Hange smiled and winked at him, before resuming her story about Levi's meeting with investors. She wasn't nervous in a slightest and Levi decided to follow her example. If Hange was unbothered, what reason did he have to panic? If she didn't remember the events of last Christmas, he should try to forget about it too. *** "Hange, honey, come here," Kuchel beckoned, interrupting Hange's conversation with Kenny. "There is something I want you to see."

"Oh," as soon as Hange saw what Kuchel was holding out to her, she rubbed her hands in anticipation. "Is it what I think it is?"

Kuchel nodded, wearing the same giddy expression as Hange. "It's our family photo album."

Levi, who just came back from the bathroom, felt his heart drop. His mother wouldn't dare...

"Mom, it's my birthday," he reminded, sitting down next to her. "You can't embarrass me at my birthday."

"But Levi," Kuchel pouted. "I'm not embarrassing you! I just want to show Hange, how cute you were as a child."

"Yeah," Kenny chimed in. "She needs to see what your face looked like before you got a severe case of constipation."

"Shut up," Levi hissed, glaring daggers at his uncle.

Meanwhile, Hange was already opening the album...

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed delightfully, staring at the first page. "Levi, you looked so cute! You were the most adorable baby ever!"

"He still is," Kuchel softly patted Levi's cheek.

Levi groaned, covering his face with a hand. It was the worst moment of his life.

"Look at this face!" Hange continued to coo. "And these pretty eyes!"

Levi's cheeks were on fire.

"Tell about this to anyone, four-eyes," he warned quietly, careful not to let his mother hear. "And you're dead, got it?"

"Of course," Hange smiled, amusement swirling in her gaze. "My lips are sealed."

 ***

As the evening progressed into the night, Kuchel excused herself, insisting that she needed to go and rest. Levi and Hange were sitting on a sofa in the living room and watching TV. As they were on the second part of Die Hard, Kenny left too, claiming that there was something he had to take care off. Начало формы

“He’s definitely up to something unlawful,” Levi commented off-handedly as soon as Kenny closed the door after himself.

“Oh?” Hange grinned, muting the TV. “What do you think he’s going to do? Rob someone? Murder?”

“I don’t care,” Levi replied. “And you shouldn’t care too. The lesser you know, the better.”

“You’re no fun,” she smacked his shoulder, before collapsing on his lap with a quiet giggle.

“Get off,” Levi complained. “I’m not your pillow.”

“But you’re warm,” Hange wiggled a little, taking a more comfortable position. “And soft.”

“Shut up,” he sighed, trying to ignore the pleasant feeling that appeared because of Hange’s words. “It’s almost midnight,” he nodded at the clock on the wall. “So get up and bring me my present.”

“Oh my,” Hange looked at him with a sly look. “You really can’t wait to receive it, huh?”

“Give it, four-eyes.”

“Fine!” she huffed, getting to her feet. “But I want to see my present too.”

“Hurry up!” Levi called after her.

He rose from the sofa and headed to his room, where Hange’s present was hidden. When he came to the living room, Hange was already sitting on the floor by the Christmas tree, wearing a wide, excited grin.

"My present," Hange demanded, reaching with her hand.

Sitting down next to her, Levi rolled his eyes and passed the package to her. Instantly, Hange started opening, tearing the paper like an overexcited child. Levi glared at the pile of paper on the floor, but Hange was too excited to notice his dark expression.

"Oh!" she breathed out, as soon as she saw the present. "Levi, is that—"

"Your hands are always cold," Levi explained, watching Hange try the new pair of gloves he got her. "I know it's not much, but..."

"No!" Hange protested, pressing the gloved palm to her chest. "They're perfect! So warm and soft!"

"Good," Levi let himself relax. "It's my first time doing something like this, so I was afraid—"

"Wait!" Hange shrieked, eyes wide. "You made them by yourself?"

"Yeah," Levi said with a frown. "It's a not a big deal, though. Knitting isn't so hard, so..."

"You've knitted the gloves for me..." Hange whispered with a big, dreamy smile on her face. She kept staring at the gloves like they were a damn miracle. Levi couldn't look away from her, as a warm feeling spread through his veins. He could never guess Hange would like his present that much.

"Thank you!" Hange wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer for a brief hug. "Well now!" she grinned, letting go of him. "It's time for your presents!"

“Finally,” Levi muttered.

Reaching behind her, Hange handed him the first package. "That's your Christmas present," she said softly.

Levi nodded, taking it from her hands and then carefully unwrapping. Once he was finished, he put the pieces of paper in a neat pile. Then, he looked at his present. It was a sweater, an exact copy of the one Hange was wearing right now, only slightly smaller and green, wherein Hange's was red.

"Matching sweaters!" Hange announced gleefully. "Put it on!"

Reluctantly - the sweater was kind of ugly - Levi put it over his shirt. He felt like an idiot, but the beam he received from Hange was making it kinda of worth it.

"You look really handsome," Hange noted, making Levi's heart skip a bit. "I should have gotten you reindeer antlers, though. They would have completed the look," she added, ruining the sentiment completely.

"Shut up," Levi grumbled. "How give me another one."

"I feel kinda stupid about it now," Hange began, fidgeting a little. The gesture was so uncharacteristic to her that Levi arched his eyebrow, looking at her in surprise. "Especially after your mother showed me a different one, and it contains cuter pictures," Hange smiled at that. "But, well, here. Happy birthday, Levi."

Levi greedily snatched the present from her and took off the wrapping paper. Inside there was a book - a photo album - Levi realized as he took a better look.

He opened the first page, and saw a picture of himself and Hange. Hange was smiling into the camera, one hand was making the piece sign, while the other was wrapped around his shoulders. His face was as emotionless as always, but there was a soft look in his eyes.

"I put our photo at the first page, because I know my face is your favorite," Hange teased with a sly smile.

Levi didn't answer - there was no need to confirm that Hange's words were actually true. Instead he turned the page. The next one showed him, Erwin, Mike and Nanaba, looking relaxed and slightly drunk. Hange obviously took this picture, since she wasn't in it. Then he saw a photo of him and Mike building a sand castle and after that a picture of him and Erwin, while they were playing Mario Kart on Erwin’s sofa. On the next page, there was a group shot of every employee of their firm. He, Erwin and Hange were stood at the center, with Erwin's arms on their shoulders. After that, it was a picture of Levi with their interns, Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Jean, Sasha and Connie. It was taken after they finished a seminar, Levi remembered. The kids were on cloud nine, since it meant that they could finally rest after a long and tiring weekend. They did well on the seminar, so when they asked for a picture with them, Levi just couldn't say no.

"You look like a proud dad here," Hange commented, leaning over his shoulder to look at the photo.

Levi let out a noncommittal grunt and continuing flipping over the pages. There was a lot more, almost three dozens of pages and each one showed a dear memory.

"I know that you like this stuff, keeping small mementos," Hange said. It was true - as much as Levi loved order and cleanliness, he also gathered all kinds of tickets, receipts and other small trinkets that reminded him of good memories. He kept all of them hidden in his desk drawer, though, so he was surprised that Hange knew about it.

"Thank you," he told her.

"You like it?"

"I love it," he confessed. He didn't say it often, probably had never actually said it out loud, but he valued, loved all of his friends. They were the best thing in his life. Of course, he couldn't say it now too. There was a reputation he had to uphold after all. "I've never seen a bigger collection of ugly faces."

Hange laughed then, throwing her head back. Levi watched her with a small smile.

"Happy birthday," she repeated, putting her head back on his lap.

Levi didn't protest this time, simply stared down at her. The Christmas lights were dancing across her face, making Hange look softer around the edges. Without thinking, Levi reached out to brush some hair out of her forehead. Hange smiled, looking up at him.

"Hey," she began. Levi nodded, motioning for her to continue. He stretched his hand, taking his teacup. "Do you remember last Christmas?"

The hand with a cup froze midair, as he stared at Hange with wide eyes. He thought she was going to launch in another lengthy and boring story, not bring this thing up.

"I don't," he answered stiffly, fighting the urge to get up and run. Hange shouldn't have known about this.

"You really don't?" Hange asked, disappointment in her voice. "We were at the party at Erwin's place, I had a bit too much eggnog and—"

And then she staggered out on a balcony, while Levi was having a smoke break. She was clearly drunk and a thought flashed in Levi's mind that he should bring her home or lay her down in one of Erwin's guest rooms, before she did something stupid. And that's what she did in the next moment. Something stupid. She snatched the cigarette from his hand and threw it away. Levi opened his mouth to reprimand her for that, but wasn't unable to actually say anything. Because Hange— Hange was kissing him. Before he could react to it in any way - push her away, bring her closer, entangle his hand in her hair - anything, Hange took a step back.

Whatever was reflecting on his face, Hange didn't like it. She pursed her lips in thought and a line formed between her eyebrows.

"That's not good," she said finally. "Just— just forget anything happen."

And just like that she was gone, giving Levi no time to respond and leaving him alone at a dark, cold balcony.

The next morning, she gave no indication that that kiss had ever happened.

"You do remember," Hange poked his cheek with a finger. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Then why the fuck have you asked?" the hand that wasn't holding a teacup, tightened into fist. What the fuck Hange wanted from him? She told him to forget, didn't she?

"I just wanted to— doesn't matter now," she looked away from him. "I've got my answer already.

Hange moved, trying to get up. Levi pressed on her shoulder, pushing her back.

"You were the one, who told me to forget it.”

"Because you clearly weren't interested!"

Levi frowned. "Who said that?"

"You!" Hange pointed a finger at him, almost hitting him in the nose.

Levi waved her hand away. "I've never said such thing."

"You didn't need to. Your face said it for you."

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

"You don't understand?" Hange huffed. "When I kissed you, you were scowling!"

Levi crossed hands on his chest. "That's how my face always looks like. You know it."

"You didn't kiss me back!" she accused.

"You didn't give me the time to do it!"

Hange felt silent after that. She kept looking at his face, as though searching for something there.

"Does it mean that... you wanted to kiss me?"

"Yes," Levi sighed. "For a very long time now."

"Oh," Hange's cheeks became an adorable shade of pink. "That's a bit unexpected. But... If I were to kiss you again—"

"I'd more than welcome it."

"Alright," she nodded, getting up. Hange leaned in, until their lips were almost touching. She glanced in his eyes, checking his reaction. Then she slowly moved closer, leaving a gentle kiss on his lips. She withdrew almost instantly, looking more than a little embarrassed.

"So," she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Did you like that?"

"It will take me some time to get used to it," Levi admitted.

"We can take it slow," Hange offered. "Would you like that?"

"Yeah," Levi agreed. "I would like that."

"C'mon then," Hange got to her feet and then held her hand out to Levi, helping him up as well. "Let's finish the movie."

He followed Hange back to the sofa and then resumed the movie. At first, he sat at the other end of sofa, deliberately putting some distance between them, in case Hange felt awkward. She rolled her eyes at the gesture, moving closer and laying her head on his thigh.

"Is this okay?" she asked, looking up.

"Yeah," Levi carefully put his hand on her shoulder and started rubbing it softly. "More than okay."

Hange smiled and turned her attention to the TV screen. Levi smiled back, staring down at her.

It was his best Christmas ever. Much better than the last one.

#ok i know it's not exactly what anon was requesting but still???? christmas fluff???? #ALTHOUGH i wanted to make a fic about levi as santa's elf so badly :((( #also!!! merry christmas to everyone who is celebrating! #and who isn't then i wish you happy holidays!!!!! #ohhh and happy birthday levi i guess lmao #levihan #hange zoe #levi ackerman