May I have some fluffy headcanons about braiding King's hair, even if we're tiny, we somehow make it work?
Braiding Kings Hair
No one touched King’s hair. No one dared. It wasn’t exactly a rule—it was just understood. But the first time you asked, all he did was glance over his shoulder… and kneel.
You still had to stand on the bed or a wooden crate to reach him properly. The top of his head felt like a mountain, his back a wall of obsidian armor. But you were determined. And he was... oddly still.
He didn’t say a word that first time. Just sat there, wings relaxed, while your fingers carefully worked through thick strands of his silver-white hair.
You hum when you braid. Soft little nothings, sometimes old lullabies from your childhood. At first, you thought he wasn’t listening. But then you caught him humming one of them under his breath two days later.
His hair is surprisingly smooth despite the chaos of battle and flight. You told him once it reminded you of moonlight reflected on steel. He said nothing—but he didn’t pull away either.
When you braid it tight, he’ll sometimes leave it in for the entire day. Other times he undoes it right after you finish—but only once you’ve turned away. Never in front of you.
One evening, just being playful, you tied a little fabric ribbon at the end of his braid. It was a silly thing you had lying around, a soft scrap of color against all that dark. He didn’t remove it. Wore it into the war room.
Someone commented. King didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The silence was answer enough.
After long flights or brutal missions, you’ll find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, silent. Waiting. No words spoken—but he’s waiting for you. You always come.
Braiding his hair became a ritual. Your fingers in his hair. His presence grounding yours. No threats. No Beast Pirate hierarchy. Just a giant soldier and the one person he let this close.
Once, when your fingers brushed the back of his neck mid-braid, he murmured, almost inaudibly, “You’re the only one who does this.” You smiled. “I know.”
He didn’t reply. But his wing shifted behind you—slowly curling around your legs, a sheltering gesture he didn’t acknowledge.
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