She's brushing Pucks hair, having sat him at her vanity while she does so. She likes playing with his hair, it's very soft and feels like they're bonding. Also he lets her do whatever she wants with it, including putting in a million little pink bows.
"Aww.... So pretty.... Like the daughter I always wanted ! " - @devotedfeline
SINCE LEAVING THE TEMPLE, Puck had, for whatever reason, not asked Iago to cut his hair. It wasn't that he believed himself capable of doing it himself without bloodshed, & certainly not that he didn't need a trim. The grown-out strands tickled his neck & shoulders like crow feathers hanging from his head, & made his skin crawl. He had stolen a few of Iago's hairbands to restrain his rat's nest in a half-do, lifting it just enough to prevent discomfort.
Normally, he would have simply asked to borrow them -- he wasn't much of a thief, & Iago likely knew it was their accessories that held Puck's hair in place, anyway -- but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to ask. They never confronted him about it, so they must not have minded.
He almost wished they would confront him. Then, maybe, he could tell them why he didn't want them to cut his hair. Or why he hadn't offered to braid theirs in months. Or why he always lingered in the opposite corner of every room they stood in together.
They both knew why, but Puck's body didn't understand what his mind did. The reason sat like bile in his throat, & it built up higher & higher yet never quite enough to verbalize it.
He missed having an excuse to run his fingers through their hair, or to feel the cool touch of theirs through his.
So, it sent a shiver down his spine when Asta sat him down & plucked the hairband from his head, unleashing a tangled mess that he had neglected stubbornly. The brush was harsh but not unkind, like tough love. It unraveled every knot with patient determination until his hair was smooth as silk.
It sent another shiver down his spine when Asta's fingers relished in the brand new softness, the feeling so tender & doting that it almost hurt. All Puck could do was lean into the touch & swallow pathetic, touch-starved whines as he tried not to remember whose hands it was that hers reminded him of.
Still, not everything Puck felt was melancholy. The attention had him behaving like a pampered little pup. His tail wagged, eyes slipped shut with his bliss, & one of his legs kept kicking underneath the vanity.
The word daughter made his leg kick so hard his knee smacked the bottom of the vanity. His eyes snapped open, a bewildered question prepped on his tongue, but then he spotted the many pink bows in his hair & found himself utterly silenced by his own gaudy appearance.
His mouth hung open for a moment, & then an incredulous laugh came up his throat. ❝ You've always wanted a poodle for a daughter ? ❞
