#They feel like they need light colored hair.

[cloama]

I know the internet is full of hyperbole but I can honestly say that[to me] every Superman production has missed the mark on the Clark/Superman difference until now. I can confidently say that because it’s irked me for years.

This might be the first production to actually really get into the weeds with some simple changes, use lighting, costuming, hair&makeup (peep the contour!)to convey that Clark and Supes look nothing alike. This is so cool to me!!!!! They finally did it.

Shout out to the departments. Shout out to whoever realized they needed way bigger (longer)eyeglass frames with a thick bridge that would alter the appearance of his nose making him unclockable. Whoever you are, I love this work. I love how the base of the cape on the shoulders and the collar work together. It gets the job done but also looks like it was comfortable to wear during hours of shooting. I love that supes has a bit of contouring in the makeup differing from Clark. Shout out to whoever decided to make Clark’s suits oversized and flimsy! It accurately demonstrates Clark’s attempt to look like a little fish in a big pond. He’s not just like that; everything is a choice with him.

Shout out to Peter King and Lindsay McCallister on the hair design/hair story. They did their big one. Clark’s hair is such a big change(so fluffy and undressed!) and accurately shows how someone would manipulate their curly hair to change their appearance. Superman’s hair really works. Honey, that hair is dressed! It is reminiscent enough to please fans but different enough to feel fresh. I like that it’s rounded on top instead of square.

Also I’ve never seen this actor before in my life but he is embodying my man in the trailer so that is also exciting. I don’t even care if the movie is good. I’m a bit over hero movies but I love me some Supes. Everyone seems to really be invested in the visuals of this project. The commitment to color is commendable after years of dark grey low lit mess. Anyway…

I love new faces. I love movies! I love departments! I love unions! I hate David Zaslav!

[astrcmoni]

℘ ࣪₊ bleeding blue ࣪₊ ㅤㅤ℘

MASTERLIST

synopsis: after destroying her hair, billie turns to you, her fiancé, in hopes of you being able to fix it.

genre: fluff

pairing: cosmetologist fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 10.8k

warnings: slight cussing

authors note: i know y’all see how long this is, if there is any spelling mistakes or continuity errors ignore it, i was up for 2 days. enjoy x 💋

the hair salon is quiet now, the hum of blow dryers and chatter replaced by a peaceful stillness. the sunset pours through the large glass window, casting a golden haze over everything it touches. soft amber and pink rays stretch across the polished floors, catching on stray hair strands and scattering delicate reflections off the mirrors and the chrome edges of styling chairs. shadows of tall ferns and succulents perched on the counter sway gently, their movements dappled by the fading light. the air still carries the faint traces of shampoo and hairspray, mingling with the rich warmth of the evening, as if the room itself is exhaling, releasing the weight of the day into the tender embrace of the setting sun.

your last client had left over an hour ago, leaving you with just enough time to clean up and dream of how good your bed will feel once you finally sink into it. now, in the corner of the room, you’re sitting under the hooded dryer—not because you need it, but because it’s your favorite chair in your booth. its worn leather hugs your body, offering a secluded cocoon, perfect for resting after a long day of standing.

you lazily scroll through your phone, the cool screen contrasting with the slight ache in your hands. you tap open the messages app, clicking the second most recent contact—it pulls up your fiancé’s profile, her name sitting at the top in bold letters.

you: almost done, cleaning up and i’m omw home. 💗

a small smile tugs at your lips as you glance at the text, thumb hovering before tapping the blue arrow to send it. you’re about to switch over to instagram when the soft creak of the front door opening cuts through the silence.

your eyebrows knit together, your smile fading into a frown as confusion prickles at the edges of your mind. instinctively, your eyes flick toward the entrance, words already forming on your tongue, ready to tell whoever it is to leave and come back tomorrow.

but then, there she is.

billie stands in the doorway, framed by the last lingering rays of sunlight that sneak through the glass. she’s wearing her oversized tour zip-up, her name stitched neatly on the chest. the royal blue thread contrasts sharply with the heavy yellow fabric, the colors a loud declaration against the soft, muted tones of the salon. her thumb grazes her bottom lip, the tip of her nail caught lightly between her teeth as she crosses her ankles.

the lanyard of her car keys hangs outside the pocket of her sweats, a bold red and black that sways slightly as she shifts her weight. the key fob itself is tucked away neatly, hidden. her star beanie is tugged low over her head, barely peeking out beneath the hood of her sweatshirt, which is pulled up and cinched just enough to hide all of her hair.

“hey, baby,” she says, her voice syrupy, dripping with a softness that only she could manage. the corners of her lips press together in a tight, almost apologetic smile, but there’s a flicker of amusement there—a twitch of mischief that she just can’t seem to hide.

her wide, doe-like eyes dart toward you, then quickly away, like a child caught red-handed. guilt and playfulness swim together in her gaze, her cheeks tinged faintly pink. she bites her bottom lip, the expression teetering between sweet and sheepish, her fingers fidgeting at the hem of her hoodie as though it’ll keep her hands from giving her away.

it’s the kind of look that says: i know i messed up, but come on—you can’t really stay mad at me, can you?

you straighten in your seat, eyes narrowing as you take in her stance, her tone, her very presence in a place she knows she shouldn’t be after hours.

“what did you do?” you ask, your voice sharp with suspicion but softened by the ghost of a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“okay, so please don’t be mad,” she says, stepping further inside, her voice carrying that sugary lilt she always uses when she knows she’s done something questionable. her fingers clasp loosely together at first, but then they start to fidget, her thumbs tracing uneven circles over each other—slow, deliberate, and trembling. the motion falters, sometimes smooth, other times jerky, betraying the nervous energy humming beneath her calm façade. with each rotation, her thumbs press a little harder, as if the movement alone could ground her spiraling thoughts. even when her hands shift positions, the circling doesn’t stop, the weight of her tension held in that small, silent gesture.

“billie,” you warn, your tone light but firm, enough to let her know you’re not in the mood for whatever nonsense she’s about to throw your way.

her feet shuffle as she moves quickly across the room, closing the gap between you with a hurried urgency. before you can say another word, she’s on her knees in front of you, her hands reaching to cradle your own. the cool press of her engagement ring brushes against your skin—a sharp but gentle reminder of the promises you’ve both made, the weight of forever between you.

“first of all, i love you,” she whispers, her voice careful, the words wrapped in precision as she tilts her head up to meet your gaze. her expression teeters on the edge of vulnerability, her wide blue eyes swimming with a confession she’s not quite ready to say aloud.

your eyes narrow as suspicion prickles up your spine. “billie.” the repetition of her name carries a sharper edge now, though it’s softened by the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“and second…” her voice trails off as she reaches for her hood. slowly, she pulls it down, followed by the star-patterned beanie covering her head. when her hair finally comes into view, the mess of it hits you like a freight train.

your jaw drops. the usual cascade of silky brown strands is now a disaster—a patchy, uneven palette of brassy yellows, burnt orange streaks, and sections so dark they seem almost untouched. the back looks half-finished, with random tufts sticking out like stubborn weeds refusing to blend.

in shock, you reach out, your fingers lightly grazing her damp hair before cupping her jaw to turn her head from side to side. the light from the window catches the chaotic patches, making the disaster even more glaring. your brows knit together as disbelief bubbles out in a soft, incredulous laugh.

“billie. what the hell is this?” you finally manage, your tone caught between amusement and horror.

she winces, the sheepish grin on her face growing wider. “i tried to do it myself,” she admits, her voice a hurried tumble of words. before you can respond, she’s already jumping to defend herself. “it was a box dye, okay? it looked so easy, but it wasn’t. now it’s a hot ass mess. save me, please.” her hands clasp together, fingers intertwining as she looks up at you with a desperate, pleading expression.

you groan, the ache in your feet from the long day suddenly feeling heavier. “of course, you would try to dye your hair at home,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. your eyes scan the spotless, freshly cleaned station you’d been so close to leaving behind.

“but billie, i just cleaned everything,” you complain, dragging the words out with a soft groan.

“i’ll buy you dinner,” she interrupts quickly, her lips curving into a hopeful smile.

your eyebrow arches, unimpressed. “you buy me dinner all the time. you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

without missing a beat, she grabs your right hand—the one adorned with the diamond ring she gave you—and presses a kiss to your palm. the warmth of her lips lingers as she trails kisses upward, along your wrist, the sensation leaving a soft buzz in its wake.

“and dessert,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your wrist before working their way up your arm. her kisses grow slower, more deliberate, each one sending shivers racing down your spine.

“i’ll get you anything you want,” she whispers as her mouth grazes the curve of your neck, her words melting into the skin there.

your resolve wavers, her lips trailing a path of heat along the sweet spot of your neck until she finally stops, pulling back just enough to hover inches from your face. her thumb rubs soothing circles along the back of your hand, her eyes wide and shimmering as they lock onto yours. “baby, just please help me fix this,” she pleads, her voice soft and breathless.

you sigh, your gaze trailing over her disheveled form. she’s on her knees, hair an absolute wreck, begging you to fix it with promises of whatever you want. the vulnerability in her voice tugs at you, her cute, flushed face making it nearly impossible to say no.

“fine,” you relent, passing her your phone. the tension in her shoulders melts as she exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. slipping your phone into her pocket, she stands, her fingers brushing against yours as you lead her to the salon chair.

“thank you so much,” she whispers, her voice soft as she peppers kisses over your knuckles. her lips are warm, reverent, each touch delicate and lingering, like a silent apology.

you grab the back of the sleek black chair, spinning it around so billie can face the large vanity mirror. the gold and white accent jibbitz on your black crocs catch the light as your foot pumps the chair’s pedal, raising it to your height.

the soft buzz of the hvac fills the quiet salon, mingling with the faint sounds of a reality tv show playing faintly in the background. you move toward the cabinet, the cool metal handle pressing against your fingers as you open it to retrieve what you need.

you gather the essentials—sectioning clips, brushes, bowls, dye bottles in various shades of blue, shampoo, and conditioner—all of it placed into a plastic tub. setting it on the counter in front of billie, you grab a cape and apron from the nearby rack, the fabric smooth and familiar against your fingers.

slipping the apron over your head, you tie it behind your back before draping the cape over billie’s shoulders. the velcro tabs fasten snugly around her neck, securing her for what you both know will be a long evening ahead.

billie digs into the pocket of her sweatpants, pulling out her phone with the lazy precision of someone buying time. her fingers swipe absently across the screen, scrolling through apps and notifications, but her focus drifts as you step behind her. instinctively, her head tilts back, her damp, tangled strands crumpling slightly against your stomach. the warmth of her resting there is an unspoken intimacy, one that almost softens your irritation—almost.

“did you at least put vaseline on your edges like i told you to?” you ask, already knowing the answer but holding onto a sliver of hope.

her scrolling halts. there’s a pregnant pause as she processes your question, her eyes darting to the side in the way they always do when she’s been caught. she sucks in a breath, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she stares anywhere but at you, as if the walls themselves might save her.

“billie,” you whine, dragging her name out as your eyes instinctively roll toward the ceiling.

reaching for your hand on her shoulder, she turns her head just enough to press a quick, placating kiss against your knuckles. “i’m sorry,” she murmurs, her lips curving into that small, crooked smile designed to melt you.

“now when you start turning colors, i don’t wanna hear it,” you shoot back, exasperated. “how many times do i have to tell you to put some kind of protectant on your skin?” your voice lilts into an exaggerated dramatization because, without it, she’d never listen.

“i know, baby,” she coos, her tone dripping with faux contrition, and you can’t decide if you want to kiss her or strangle her.

with a heavy sigh, you let your fingers trail through her hair, the strands coarse and uneven as you assess the damage. the texture of her missteps lies in your hands, and though it’s a disaster, it’s a familiar one.

you exhale slowly, grounding yourself for what’s ahead. “okay, let’s see what we’re working with.” gently, you sift through her hair, pulling at a patch near the crown.

“girl…” you say, drawing the word out, “…what the fuck is this?” holding the brassy streak up for her to see, you tilt her head toward the mirror.

“i think that’s where i started,” she admits, her grin a sheepish curve that wavers as her eyes meet yours in the glass.

you shake your head in disbelief, spinning her chair so she’s facing you now. “do you know what that means?”

her brow arches in a silent question, waiting for your inevitable proclamation.

grabbing her hand, you guide her toward the shampoo bowl. the porcelain is cool against her neck as you ease her into position, your touch firm but gentle. your fingers cradle the base of her neck, their warmth grounding her as you lift her hair into the bowl.

“it means deep conditioning. lots of it,” you declare, the finality in your tone leaving no room for debate. “you better make peace with the dryer cap at home because it’s about to be your best friend.”

she groans, the sound low and dramatic, but she doesn’t argue. her resignation is written in the soft slouch of her shoulders as you step away, the sound of your footsteps echoing lightly in the quiet salon.

at your station, you grab what you need—a clarifying shampoo, a paddle brush, and a bottle of conditioner that promises miracles. your fingers graze the cool metal of the sink knobs as you return, twisting them to find the right temperature.

you test the water first, letting it pool in your palm before flicking a few drops toward billie’s face.

“hey!” she yelps, her head jerking slightly as she blinks up at you, mock offense written all over her face.

“what was that for?” she blinks rapidly, her blue eyes wide with mock betrayal, mouth slightly agape as if the water had shocked her soul awake.

“that’s because some people think it’s okay to be hardheaded and ruin their hair,” you retort, your tone sharp yet laced with teasing sass, the kind she secretly adores.

you grin, a mischievous edge tugging at the corners of your lips as you lean over her. “alexa,” you call out to the speaker perched in the corner, “resume my music.”

the soft strains of r&b flow through the air, warm and rich, filling the space between you. the song’s melody wraps around you both, threading its way into the moment as your fingers move to her hair.

“you better thank me for this later,” you tease, a hint of fondness creeping into your voice despite yourself.

her lips curl into a small smile, her eyes fluttering shut as you begin to work, the rhythm of the music syncing with the gentle movements of your hands.

you reach for the sprayer, its chrome gleaming under the soft light, and begin to rinse her hair. warm water cascades over her scalp in soothing waves, like liquid velvet flowing through each strand. the gentle pressure massages away the chaos of the day, and you can feel her body melt a little further into the chair.

leaning over her, your movements are both skilled and tender, the natural grace of someone who has done this a hundred times before but still finds joy in the ritual. you grab the red paddle brush, its bristles catching the light like a promise of transformation, and begin working through her damp hair. the knots resist at first, but the brush glides through with practiced ease, pulling softly, releasing each tangle like it’s freeing her from some invisible weight.

casting the brush aside, you reach for the clarifying shampoo. “this’ll strip as much of the box dye out as possible,” you explain, your voice a gentle melody against the background hum of water. “after that, i’ll tone it to fix the brassiness.”

the bottle makes a soft squelch as you squeeze a pearlescent glob into your palm, its silky texture catching the light. the faint, floral scent rises, intertwining with something sweet and clean, filling the air between you. rubbing your hands together, the shampoo blooms into a rich lather, and you hum softly along to the music as you work it into her hair.

your hands move with precision, starting at her roots. the pads of your fingers glide over her scalp, your acrylic nails grazing just enough to send a shiver down her spine. then you press a little harder, your movements circular and deliberate, coaxing the stubborn dye out while soothing her with each motion. the faint jangle of your bracelets punctuates the rhythm of your work, the charms clinking softly as you rub small, methodical circles along her forehead, her baby hairs curling as water meets skin.

at the nape of her neck, your pinkies trace gentle arcs, ensuring no dye lingers where her hair meets her skin. the suds build, thick and creamy, clinging to her strands like clouds ready to drift away.

you’re lost in the focus of your task until you feel her gaze on you, steady and soft, like she’s committing every detail to memory. glancing down, you meet her blue eyes, their depth catching you off guard.

“you okay?” you whisper, your voice low and warm, the question carrying more than just concern—it holds affection, reassurance.

her tattooed hand slips out from under the cape, inked angels adorning her skin as her thumb brushes against your forearm. her touch is light but insistent, pulling you closer until your arms rest against the sink’s edge, caging her in. her head tilts slightly, her smile soft and content as she hums a quiet acknowledgment.

you feel the weight of her trust in that moment, her complete surrender as her body relaxes under your hands. each movement of your fingers, each stroke through her hair, feels like an unspoken promise: i’ve got you. let me take care of this.

“i’m sorry. for real,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it wraps around you like a warm embrace.

you pause, your fingers still tangled in her hair, your brows furrowing. “for what, baby?”

her lips press into a pout, their natural blush deepened by her vulnerability. “for messing up. i didn’t want to make you have to work again, but… i panicked.” her free hand finds your thigh, resting there gently as if to anchor herself in the moment.

“oh, do not apologize, my love,” you reassure her, resuming the slow, soothing massage of her scalp. “it’s my job to fix these kinds of things. besides, i like doing your hair. i was just fussing to fuss, okay? it’s okay to make mistakes—especially when you’ve got me to help you out.”

you lean in closer, your voice softening as your fingers thread through her hair, combing through the strands with care. “you know i’d do this for you any day, right? so don’t worry about it. just sit back, relax, and let me work my magic.”

a small hum of contentment escapes her lips as she nods, her pout still evident. you lean down, closing the space between you, and press a soft kiss to her lips. her lashes flutter against your cheeks, her lips parting slightly as she tastes the faint mix of her mint chapstick and your strawberry gloss mingling together.

her hands find your back, tugging gently as if she can’t quite get enough of your closeness. a quiet laugh escapes you, light and airy, as you pull back, planting one last peck before returning to your work.

turning the water back on, you tilt the sprayer toward the base of her scalp, the warm stream washing away the thick suds. swirling ribbons of old dye and shampoo trail down the bowl, the colors melding into a soft pastel kaleidoscope before vanishing down the drain. the water flows smoothly through your fingers, its warmth lingering as you work through her hair, strand by strand, washing away every trace of her mistake.

and in the quiet intimacy of the moment, the rhythm of your work and the softness of her gaze make everything else fade away.

her eyes flutter closed, a soft breath escaping her lips as she melts into the sensation of your hands moving with steady intent. you cradle her head gently, guiding the stream of water with care, ensuring no spot is left untouched. your free hand parts the damp strands, fingers slipping through them like silk as you coax out the stubborn dye that clings to the ends, reluctant to let go.

as the water runs, the colors begin to bleed away, the once cloudy liquid shifting to clear, signaling the start of something fresh, something new. your nails graze softly against her scalp, soothing and purposeful, like a gentle caress that lingers, making sure every trace of dye is gone. the motion becomes rhythmic, almost hypnotic, and you can’t help but smile at the way billie’s body relaxes, her posture softening under your touch.

“see? all clean,” you murmur, your voice a gentle whisper, comforting and warm as you turn off the sprayer. the water runs from your hands like the last traces of tension, and you brush a damp strand of hair from her cheek with the same tenderness.

once the water runs clear, you set the sprayer aside, your fingers still lingering in her hair, smoothing through the damp strands as they fall into place. with practiced grace, you gather the hair in your palms, squeezing gently to coax out the excess water. the droplets fall softly into the basin, their rhythm steady and soothing, like the quiet pulse of a heartbeat. your hands move with an almost reverent precision, mindful not to tug, only wringing out enough water to keep the hair from dripping too much.

you extend your arm toward the counter, reaching for a fresh, warm black towel that rests nearby. the heat still clings to it from the dryer, and as you drape it over billie’s head, you cup your hands around it, tucking the edges securely. you press the towel softly against her scalp, the warmth radiating through the fabric, soaking up the last of the moisture, comforting her like a quiet embrace.

“there,” you say, a smile pulling at your lips as you step back for a moment, surveying the work. “all rinsed and wrapped up. ready for the next step, love?”

with a gentle nod, she follows you back over to the chair, her presence still relaxed, her smile a soft echo of the comfort you’ve given. you walk over to the coffee table, grabbing the remote and handing it to her as you turn her away from the mirror. she flips through the categories, her fingers tracing the screen as you move to the black bar, retrieving your supplies from the black tub and setting them on the counter in their familiar, ordered arrangement.

the first bottle to emerge is the black dye, cool and smooth in your hand, its cap unscrewing with a satisfying twist. you squeeze a measured amount into a mixing bowl, the thick, inky substance pooling at the bottom with a weight that feels satisfying, as if it holds all the potential for the transformation ahead. next, the developer, creamy and faintly metallic, pours in a controlled stream, the contrast between the jet-black dye and the pale developer stark, almost artistic, like night meeting day.

grabbing your dye brush, you begin to stir with slow, deliberate movements, folding the two substances together. the black streaks through the white, at first marbled and uneven, then gradually blending into a glossy, midnight-colored cream. you lean in closer, making sure the mixture is smooth, scraping the sides of the bowl with the brush to gather every last drop of product.

next, you grab the smaller bowls for the blue dyes, each one its own vibrant hue. you pour the colors in, no need for developer, knowing these are semi-permanents, their vibrancy untouched by the need for mixing. the blues swirl together, each one vivid and intense, and you can feel the excitement building—ready to blend them with the deep, dark base.

the rhythm of the mixing is calming, a ritual you know by heart, each movement of your brush a practiced, soothing motion. the anticipation swells in your chest as you prepare to bring together the perfect blend for billie’s hair.

when the dyes are perfectly mixed, you turn back to billie, positioning yourself behind her once more. you shake the towel before gently unraveling it from her head, the fabric slipping off her hair with a soft rustle. her hair—now long and wavy—falls freely, cascading in fluid, graceful waves over her shoulders like liquid midnight. you take in the beauty of the moment, before reaching for your parting comb. you move with practiced ease, carefully dividing her hair into six sections, the comb gliding smoothly through each strand, as if the strands themselves are eager to fall into place.

you begin by clipping the top half of her hair, then sectioning the lower half into two parts, ensuring that the color will apply evenly, without hesitation. the clips snap into place with precision, each movement deliberate. slipping your gloves on, you start applying the dye to the roots, your hands steady and deliberate. the dye meets her scalp, each brushstroke a quiet promise, ensuring that every strand is perfectly coated. the comb moves through effortlessly with each section, your touch confident and fluid. billie can feel you behind her, though she can’t see what you’re doing. yet, there’s a trust that hangs between you, a deep and unspoken understanding that makes your heart swell with quiet affection.

“you’re so good at this,” billie murmurs, her voice low and admiring, watching as the color sinks in effortlessly.

“you can’t even see what i’m doing, babe,” you chuckle softly, setting the bowl of dye down. you lean over, placing your elbows on the chair as you spin it, bringing her face to the mirror so she can watch your every move.

“okay, but i know you, and i know you’re good at what you do. i swear, i’m never doing my own hair again.”

her compliment lingers in the air, a sweet echo, and you smile as you pick up the bowl once more, moving behind her with a sense of purpose. billie flinches slightly as the cold dye touches her scalp, but you smooth it out with gentle strokes, your acrylics gliding through her hair, the sensation soft and calming. you focus entirely on the application, taking your time to make sure each section is perfect. “it takes years to perfect,” you whisper, as the color settles into her strands, dark and even.

the tv show hums softly in the background, but you’re not really paying attention to it. billie’s eyes flicker between you and the mirror, her gaze never straying far from your hands, which move with precision and care.

“are you excited for the tour?” you ask, keeping the conversation flowing, your voice a steady current as your hands continue their work.

billie nods slowly, the slightest furrow of concern crossing her brow. “yeah, but… it’s also nerve-wracking. i mean, i haven’t toured in a while, so i’m a little anxious.”

you glance at her, surprised. “why are you nervous, baby?”

your hands pause, the brush hovering mid-stroke as you meet her gaze in the mirror. her eyes dart away, a subtle shrug rolling through her shoulders, hidden beneath the cape. “i don’t know,” she admits softly, her voice carrying a faint edge of vulnerability. “i guess… i’m worried people won’t connect with the new stuff, or that i’ll mess up. it’s been a while, you know?”

you set the brush down in the bowl, wiping your hands on a nearby towel, then moving to stand beside her. one hand rests gently on her shoulder, your fingers grazing the curve of her collarbone, your thumb moving in slow, reassuring circles against the fabric of her shirt. “billie, you’re amazing,” you say, your voice warm, but firm. “you’ve got nothing to prove to anyone. you’ve worked so hard on this, and i know it’s going to blow people away. plus,” you add with a playful smile, “if anyone’s got the nerve to doubt you, i’ll just have to handle it.”

she meets your gaze in the mirror, her eyes softening, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “thanks,” she whispers. “it helps hearing that from you.”

you kiss the top of her head lightly, mindful of the dye, before stepping back to your place behind her. “anytime, love,” you say, picking up the brush again. “now hold still—i’m almost done.”

as you finish applying the dye, billie’s expression softens, her earlier tension slowly giving way to a quiet sense of ease. the warmth of her trust fills the room, wrapping around both of you, and for a moment, the low murmur of the tv fades into the background, leaving only the sound of the brush smoothing through her hair, each stroke a quiet act of care.

“what’d you wanna eat?” she asks, breaking the silence, her voice light.

“um…” you pause briefly, considering. “it’s whatever you want.”

she rolls her eyes, a playful glint lighting her expression. “you always say that,” she teases, her tone affectionate but laced with knowing. “but then when i pick, you’ll complain about it.”

you chuckle softly, setting the brush down and giving her hair a final once-over to make sure the dye is even. “that’s not true,” you counter, your grin betraying your words. “okay, maybe sometimes. but i promise, i won’t complain this time.”

she tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror, a smirk tugging at her lips. “mmhmm. so if i say vegan sushi, you won’t pull that face you always do?”

“no…?” you trail off, narrowing your eyes playfully.

“if you say so,” she laughs, leaning back in the chair, her shoulders relaxing at last. she pulls out her phone, the light from the screen flickering against her face as she pulls up the website to order food.

you grab your comb once more, your hand settling gently on the back of her head, tilting it slightly so you can part the back. the metal end of the comb glides smoothly through the mid to low portions of her hair, creating an even part with ease. gathering the spare hair in your hand, you bend slightly, reaching for a clip and securing it with careful precision.

turning back to your station, you pick up the light blue dye, starting to apply it about three inches down from the roots. the color glides on with a vibrant pop against the black, a striking contrast that’s already beginning to take shape. you feather the dye carefully, blending it seamlessly into the black, creating a smooth, ombre transition. billie’s hair is thick, and you take your time, moving with quiet intention, combing through each section to ensure the colors blend perfectly. with gloved fingers, you work the dye into her hair, making sure it’s just right, the blues flowing into the black in perfect harmony. you repeat the process with the other two shades of blue, each one vibrant, intense, creating a masterpiece of color with every stroke.

the atmosphere is calm now, the warm glow of the lights spilling across the polished surfaces, casting soft reflections that shimmer like a quiet symphony. every little moment between you two seems to stretch longer, the air thick with the deepening connection, the space between your souls growing closer with each passing second. you finish the blue ombré, your hands steady as you apply the final touches, then grab a plastic cap, gently placing it over billie’s head to let the dyes process. the room is silent, save for the low hum of the tv and the rhythm of your breathing, until a knock on the door breaks the peace.

you remove your gloves with a practiced motion and make your way to the door, finding a delivery man holding a bag labeled “take out.” with a soft smile, you reach into your back pocket, pulling out ten dollars for his tip, exchanging it for the food as you offer a quiet thank you. the door closes behind you, the warmth of the room welcoming you back in.

you retreat back inside, removing the black cape from billie’s shoulders, followed by your apron, tossing them carelessly into a corner, the fabric settling like memories discarded in haste. crouching down, you sit cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, billie mirroring your movement beside you. you open the boxes of the chinese takeout, the aroma instantly filling the air—soy sauce, garlic, and something sweet and tangy all blending together, making your stomach rumble in eager anticipation.

the fluffy carpet beneath you contrasts against the cool, smooth hardwood of the salon, the softness of it grounding you in the moment. you open the boxes slowly, careful to not spill any of the steaming food. inside, the noodles glisten, their texture tender and inviting. the spring rolls are crispy, their golden brown crusts promising a satisfying crunch, and the stir-fried veggies glisten, coated in a savory sheen, the light catching each vibrant color like jewels in the dim room.

handing billie a pair of chopsticks, you take your own, your fingers easily finding their grip. you dive into the food, the two of you settling into a rhythm—eating, talking, and occasionally laughing at the little moments between bites.

“this is so much better than sushi,” you joke, nudging her lightly with your knee as you twirl some lo mein onto your chopsticks.

billie rolls her eyes, grinning. “you’re lucky i was in the mood for chinese. otherwise, you’d be starving right now.”

you laugh, taking another bite. the savory flavors burst across your tongue, comforting and satisfying, grounding you in the simplicity of the moment. “guess i owe you one, huh?”

billie raises an eyebrow, a playful glint lighting her eyes. “oh, you definitely do. next time, i’m picking. no arguments.”

“i told you to pick, but deal.” you say around a mouthful of food, earning a mock look of disapproval from her, but you both laugh, the sound of it rich and warm, like music in the quiet room.

the tv continues to play softly in the background, but neither of you are truly paying attention, too lost in your easy banter, too caught up in the gentle rhythm of being together. every so often, you catch her stealing a glance at you—her expression soft, her gaze full of unspoken things—and your heart swells with something quiet and content. you can’t help but smile back, the warmth in your chest blooming as if it’s something you’ve known all along.

as you twirl the noodles onto your chopsticks, the sharp bite of a voice from the tv slices through the air, pulling both of you from the comfortable rhythm you’d settled into.

“you know what? i don’t need this energy from fake ass bitch like you of all people!” a woman yells, her tone dripping with venom, and you both freeze mid-bite. the camera cuts to her, hurling a drink across the room, the liquid splashing like a violent cascade as gasps rise from the background.

“ohhh shit.” you gasp out, sounding like a toddler on the verge of telling on someone.

“wait, what the fuck jus’ happened?” billie asks, sitting up straighter, chopsticks suspended in the air like a moment frozen in time.

you squint at the screen, fingers reaching for the remote to turn the volume up, the faint hum of the tv now louder in your ears. “hold on—what’re we watching right now?”

billie shakes her head, a laugh bubbling out as she points to the screen. “i don’t know, but that was—did she just—was that a margarita?!”

“oh yea, most definitely,” you confirm, a grin tugging at your lips as you set your box of food down on the coffee table, the subtle thud of it breaking the silence. “who even does that?”

“apparently her,” billie says, gesturing to the woman storming off-screen, her heels clicking sharply against the floor like a declaration of finality.

you both watch, eyes wide, as the scene cuts to a confessional, the same woman ranting with a voice full of venom. “she thinks she can talk about me behind my back? please. i’m not the one with a cheating ass boyfriend.”

simultaneously, you and billie gasp, grabbing onto one another in shock at the confession, and then burst into laughter. the sound of it warm and effortless, a shared joy.

“oh my god,” billie says, leaning back onto her hands, her eyes dancing with amusement. “she’s so real. i kind of love it.”

you nod, picking up another spring roll, letting its crisp warmth settle in your hand as you sink deeper into the moment. “you’re so messy. like, look at you encouraging violence,” you tease, giving a light kiss of your teeth as you shake your head.

the two of you continue watching, caught in a tangled mix of laughter and genuine debate, the absurdity of the show now grounding the conversation. billie leans in closer, her chopsticks tapping absently against the edge of her box, the sound soft but rhythmic.

“okay, but listen,” she says, her voice animated, a new layer of thoughtfulness pulling at her tone, “i get why she’s mad, but did she have to throw the drink? i’m not gonna lie, that’s just embarrassing for her.”

“nah, i don’t know,” you counter, your voice playful but threaded with a hint of consideration. “if someone called me a fake ass bitch on camera, i’d probably snap too. but maybe i’d throw something less sticky.”

“like what?”

“water? a smoothie? i don’t know—something that doesn’t smell like tequila,” you answer with a smirk, the edge of your voice soft and teasing.

billie laughs, shaking her head with mock exasperation. “remind me never to cross you.”

you nudge her playfully with your knee, the motion light and easy. “just don’t talk shit, and we’ll be fine.”

by the time the episode ends, both of your food containers are empty, the remnants of your meal scattered across the coffee table like the final traces of a good time. you’re fully invested now, the show pulling you in deeper with every outrageous twist. you glance at billie, eyes flicking to the next episode’s preview, torn between indulging in another round or letting the dye process take center stage. billie grabs the remote, already clicking through, her focus sharpening as the screen changes, the night stretching on.

“one more,” she says, her eyes glinting with mischief, a sly smile curling at the corners of her lips. “just to see if they make up. we have time, right?”

“definitely,” you agree, but you get up from your place on the floor, your fingers lightly tapping her knee as you stand. “but we do need to get this dye out of your hair, so come on.” you move toward the corner, pulling her cape from the pile where you had tossed it earlier, and she follows you, reluctant but amused.

“fine,” billie grumbles, dragging her feet in mock protest as she moves toward the wash bowl. “but if i miss something, it’s your fault.”

you laugh, shaking your head, the sound light and free. “girl…you’ll survive. besides, you don’t want to leave the dye in too long. trust me, it’s not cute.”

billie settles into the chair with a long sigh, tilting her head back into the basin, the soft curve of her neck exposed in the dim light. “you’re the expert,” she says, teasing but soft, her trust in you woven into the words.

“damn right,” you reply, pulling the wet cap from her head, the colors leaving faint imprints on the plastic before you discard it, the faint hiss of it hitting the trash can like a small exhale. slipping on a fresh pair of gloves, you turn on the water, testing the temperature against your wrist before letting it cascade over her hair, the black and blue dyes swirling together in a quiet, colorful dance. the stream flows over her scalp, soft but persistent, coaxing a small hum of contentment from her, and you smile to yourself, pleased by the soothing rhythm.

“feel good?” you ask, your fingers gently massaging her scalp as you check to make sure all the dye is rinsed away, the soft friction of your touch making her relax even more.

“so good,” she murmurs, her eyes closed now, her body sinking further into the chair as the warmth of the water works its magic.

you can’t help but admire the way the rich black fades into the striking blue, the ombré already catching the light in delicate flashes, as if the colors themselves are in conversation. once the water runs clear, you turn it off and reach for a towel, gently squeezing out the excess water from her hair, your hands careful but purposeful.

“hold still,” you whisper, wrapping the warm towel snugly around her head. she lets out a soft sigh as the heat seeps into her scalp, the tension melting from her, her lips curling into a small, content smile.

“you really spoil me, you know that?” she says, her voice soft but sincere, the words a gentle confession.

“someone’s gotta keep you in line, besides if not me then who?” you tease, helping her rise from the chair, your fingers brushing lightly over her arm as you lead her back to the station. you turn around, your mind already shifting to the next step, reaching into your closet for the next set of tools—heat protectant, blow dryer, round brush, scissors, leave-in conditioner, straightener, parting comb, and clips, all free of dye.

you place your items on the countertop, moving with practiced ease as you quickly dispose of the dying supplies, along with your gloves, and dumping the bowls into the sink with a quiet clink! you grab the bottle of leave-in conditioner, squeezing a generous dollop into your palm. the creamy product is cool against your skin as you rub your hands together, warming it up before stepping behind billie. your fingers slip gently through the damp strands, working the conditioner in from roots to ends. her hair feels soft, pliable, and just slick enough as the product absorbs, and you take your time, your movements slow and deliberate, each touch soothing, grounding, and tender.

“gotta make sure this stays healthy after all that dye,” you murmur, the words soft, half to yourself, half to her, as your hands glide over her hair in slow, steady strokes. your nails graze her scalp occasionally, sending soft tingles down her spine, a delicate reminder of the connection between you.

once the conditioner is evenly applied, you plug in the blow dryer and straightener, the soft hum of the machines filling the space as they heat up. your hand rests lightly on her shoulder, a quiet comfort. “alright, let’s get this dried and looking perfect,” you say, your voice low as you grab the blow dryer and a large round brush.

the warm air begins to flow, a gentle wave of heat that seeps into her scalp, contrasting with the coolness of the conditioner. you work methodically, sectioning her hair, rolling it around the brush with a careful precision. each pull of the dryer tightens the strands, smoothing them, while the brush’s bristles tug gently, almost coaxing her hair into submission. the heat locks in the shine, giving it a soft, glossy finish, and your movements are rhythmic, like a quiet dance—the steady hum of the blow dryer blending with your occasional quiet remarks about the netflix show still playing on the screen.

for her, the process is a symphony of sensations—gentle tension from the brush, the comforting warmth of the dryer’s air, and the soothing, skilled touch of hands that know her hair better than anyone else. each stroke of the brush feels like a small act of love, a silent promise wrapped in care, leaving her hair light, fluffy, and full of life, as if it’s been reborn under your hands.

once the hair is dry, you set the dryer down with a soft click and pick up the flat iron, adjusting the temperature with a practiced flick of your wrist. “okay, babe, i need you to be absolutely still,” you say with a grin, wagging the iron lightly in the mirror so she can see that you’re serious. you section her hair once more, your hands steady, not wanting to risk burning her, knowing how delicate the process is.

you spray the heat protectant over her hair, the thick mist settling over the strands, a silent shield against the heat. then, with a steady hand, the flat iron glides through each section, releasing a soft, sizzling sound, like a whispered promise. the heat smooths the strands into sleek perfection, each pass making her hair feel even silkier, even smoother. she can feel the warmth of the iron passing through her hair, not too hot but just enough to make her scalp feel cozy, like a gentle caress. with every pass, her hair becomes more unreal to the touch, soft and straight, as though it belongs to someone else, someone who knows exactly how to treat it.

as you finish, you run your hands over the newly straightened hair, letting the strands slip between your fingers like liquid silk, smooth and soft. “there we go,” you murmur, stepping back to admire your work, the faint shimmer of the pretty blue peeking out from beneath the jet black hair, catching the light in the most subtle way.

your fiancé tilts her head slightly to get a better look at her sleek hair in the mirror, and you grab your shears and a fine-tooth comb, the tools gliding through your hands with ease. “let’s add a little shape, yeah? just some light layers to bring it all together,” you say, your voice warm and reassuring, a soft promise of perfection.

sectioning the hair again with clips, your movements are fluid, practiced—each step a dance of familiarity. picking up a strand, you comb it straight, the fine-tooth comb catching the light with every pass before snipping carefully. the soft snick of the scissors echoes in the space, each cut precise, deliberate. the loose pieces of hair fall away like delicate threads, spiraling softly to the floor, almost weightless in their descent. your touch is gentle, yet purposeful, your head tilting slightly as you examine the angle of each layer, making sure it’s exactly right.

the r&b music playing softly in the background shifts, slowing down to something older, smoother, soulful. without thinking, you start whisper-singing along, your voice low, raspy but sweet, a sound that carries the tune effortlessly as you work. “oh my gosh, this is my song,” you murmur with a small smile, not stopping your quiet singing even as you shift your position to trim the next section, your hands steady and sure.

billie watches you in the mirror, her gaze fixed on you, captivated by the way you hum and move in sync with the music. your lips form the words to a song that feels like comfort, like nostalgia, a piece of your soul woven into each note. it’s intimate—your voice barely audible over the sound of the scissors snipping, but the harmony of it all feels like a private concert just for her, the world outside fading away.

when the cutting is done, you set the scissors down with a soft click and reach for the flat iron again, the familiar weight of it in your hands grounding you. “now to finish it off,” you say softly, your voice still laced with the quiet energy of the song. as the flat iron glides through the freshly trimmed layers, you move slower, almost mesmerized by the way the hair falls perfectly into place, each strand a work of art under your touch. the song plays on, and you hum the last verse under your breath, your hand following the rhythm as you smooth out the ends with expert care, the warmth of the iron leaving the hair sleek, as smooth as your voice.

once the final section is done, you spray a fine mist of finishing spray, the light scent filling the air as it locks everything in place, giving her hair that glossy, healthy shine. stepping back with a soft smile, you run your comb through her silky layers, the strands gliding effortlessly, almost weightless. “there. perfectly layered, silky smooth, and bone straight,” you murmur, brushing a few stray strands away from her face, your fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “what do you think?”

billie turns her head slowly from side to side, inspecting the smooth jet-black color that bleeds into a bright, vibrant blue at the back, the contrast stunning against the sleek, rich darkness. she smiles, her eyes lighting up, a quiet satisfaction dancing in her gaze. “wow. you really pulled it off. i look… amazing.”

grinning, you wipe your hands on a towel, the soft fabric absorbing the last of the dampness. “i told you i could fix it.” pride blooms in your chest, warm and content. your fingers reach for the back of her neck, gently undoing the velcro tabs, removing the cape with a practiced motion, shaking off any excess hair that clings to the fabric. as you lean her body back in the chair, billie tilts her neck, her eyes locking with yours. a soft, playful smile forms on her lips as she puckers them, her gaze full of quiet affection. a small giggle escapes you, and you meet her in a tender kiss, your lips lingering, a momentary pause where everything else fades.

a sleepy smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she whispers between kisses, her voice soft and sincere, “thank you.”

“always. i’m not gonna let you walk around looking crazy, you know that.” you plant a soft kiss to her forehead, the warmth of your lips lingering for just a beat before you gently guide her to a chair, where she can relax while you finish up.

moving around the salon, you begin to clean up your station, tidying the space where you’ve spent the last several hours. the air hums with the low, steady sound of the television playing in the background, switching from the show you’d been watching earlier to a late-night talk show filled with random jokes and light chatter. billie sits in the corner, her eyes still sparkling as she admires her hair, now glowing softly under the warm, inviting lights of the salon. she pulls out her phone, capturing a few pictures of her new look, turning her head from side to side, caught in awe of the transformation.

as billie scrolls through her pictures, you wipe down the counter, returning your tools to their places with careful precision. but you can’t help but notice the subtle shift in her energy. her usual spark, that lively brightness, seems to dim as she leans back in the chair, her eyelids fluttering as exhaustion starts to settle in. the day has been long, and you can see it catching up with her.

with a soft, knowing smile, you hurry to finish the last of the cleaning—sweeping the floor, wiping down the counters, making everything neat. each motion is quick, purposeful. you want to get billie home, tucked in, where she can unwind after the whirlwind of the day. the thought of resting together, of the quiet comfort of home, fills you with a quiet urgency.

when you finish, you grab the remote, clicking off the tv with a soft sound, followed by the gentle hum of the alexa, music fading into silence. you gather your things from the rack behind the door, zipping up your jacket, slinging your purse over your shoulder. you walk over to where billie is softly dozing in the corner, and with careful fingers, you reach into her pocket, fishing out her car keys and your phone. her body stirs as she feels your light touch, but she remains blissfully unaware.

lifting her hand gently, you help her up. “come on, let’s get you home.” you turn off all the lights, the soft click of switches echoing in the quiet space, before locking the door behind you. the cool night air of LA greets you as you step outside. with a press of the key fob, the porsche unlocks, and you slide into the driver’s seat, feeling the weight of the day settle into your bones. billie slips into the passenger seat beside you, curling up in her spot, her head leaning against the window. the car roars to life with the press of the ignition, and you begin the drive home, the rhythm of the road steady and comforting as billie’s eyelids grow heavier with every passing moment.

the drive back is peaceful. the soft hum of the car engine creates a gentle lullaby, accompanied by the occasional sound of tires gliding over the smooth asphalt. the streetlights flicker in rhythmic succession, casting brief, golden glows that sweep over the streets in the night’s embrace.

your gaze drifts over to billie every now and then, catching glimpses of her peacefully dozing off, her features relaxed in the quiet of the car. the streetlights spill through the windows, bathing her face in a soft, warm glow that makes her look even more serene. it’s a perfect, tranquil moment, and your heart swells with a quiet affection. she looks so at peace, safe and calm, wrapped in the comfort of the night.

the car slows to a gentle stop as you approach a red light. the warm glow from the traffic light washes over billie’s face, painting her delicate features in a soft, crimson hue.

a smile tugs at your lips, tender and full of love, as you glance at her once more. billie’s lashes flutter softly, stirring ever so slightly, but she doesn’t wake. your hand moves away from the wheel, fingers grazing across her cheek before cupping her jaw. she leans into your touch instinctively, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. the connection feels like a fleeting, yet eternal, moment, a promise of care and warmth.

as the light turns green, you pull your hand back, placing it gently on the steering wheel. you continue the drive home, the rhythmic flicker of streetlights through the windows adding to the serenity of the moment. billie stays curled in her seat beside you, her soft breaths the only sound accompanying the steady hum of the car.

as the familiar sight of your shared home comes into view, you ease the car into the garage, the low rumble of the engine settling into stillness. putting the car in park, you turn it off, nudging billie softly as she stirs awake, her eyes blinking open slowly. you reach for your keys, her hand slipping into yours as you unlock the door to the house. the quiet of the night surrounds you as you lead her inside, slipping your shoes off before guiding her to your bedroom.

once inside, you cross into the adjoining bathroom. billie leans gently against the doorframe, watching as you crouch down, rummaging through the cabinets beneath the sink. you pull out two shower caps, the simple task feeling comforting in the stillness of the moment. you place hers on her head, tucking each strand of her black and blue hair under it with careful hands. then you repeat the process for your own hair, your movements slow and deliberate. once the caps are securely in place, you turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature to the perfect warmth.

turning back to her, you both begin shedding your clothes, each piece falling softly to the floor like whispered secrets. the air is thick with warmth and steam, and as you step into the shower together, the water cascades down in soothing rivulets, wrapping you both in its embrace. billie leans against the cool tiled wall, letting the steam unwind her body, and you quickly wash yourself, the soft sound of water splashing around you almost meditative.

“you okay over there?” you ask, your voice low, careful not to break the peaceful silence between you. you glance over at billie, her eyes barely open, her face softened in the steam.

without a word, she steps behind you, her warmth pressing against your back as she rests her head in the crook of your neck. the dewy droplets from the shower roll onto her skin, adding a shimmer to her closeness as she wraps her arms around your waist. her thumbs draw light, absentminded circles on your skin, the motion gentle and soothing.

the water flows steadily over both of you, its warmth sinking into your muscles, loosening any lingering tension. billie’s embrace is a gentle weight, her body leaning into yours as if trying to melt into you completely. you tilt your head slightly, allowing her to settle more comfortably in the curve of your neck. in that moment, everything else fades away—the world outside the shower, the thoughts swirling in your mind—all that’s left is the quiet intimacy between you, like a soft blanket wrapping you both in its warmth.

“you’re gonna fall asleep like this,” you whisper, though there’s no reprimand in your voice—only tender amusement, the rhythm of your breaths matching hers.

billie hums softly in response, her voice muffled against your damp skin, “can’t help it. you’re too comfy.”

your lips twitch into a smile, a soft sigh escaping you as you reach for her rag on the side. you grab the body wash next, squeezing it onto the cloth, and then rubbing it together, watching as the lather builds. the air fills with the fresh scent of citrus, mingling with the warmth of vanilla, a fragrance that blends perfectly with the steamy space around you.

“come here,” you murmur, your voice soft, as you gently turn her so her back faces you. your hands begin at her shoulders, moving in slow, deliberate motions, the soap spreading across her skin like silk, tracing the curves of her swirl tattoo as it slides down her back. each touch of your fingers against her skin sends a wave of relaxation through her muscles, the tension unwinding as you move down her arms, then back to her spine. the steady rhythm of your movements is mirrored by the soft patter of water on the tiled floor, the sound like a quiet lullaby that wraps around you both.

“you’re spoiling me,” billie murmurs, her voice soft, almost lost beneath the sound of the water.

“always,” you reply with a quiet laugh, your hands trailing down to her sides, making sure not to miss a single inch of her skin, your touch tender and precise.

turning her back to face you, her half-lidded eyes meet yours for a brief moment before fluttering closed, surrendering to the warmth and intimacy of the moment. you begin washing her front, your touch light, like a feather brushing against her collarbone, down her shoulders, and across her arms. she exhales softly as your hands dip lower, brushing against her stomach, her body swaying gently as the warmth of the water and your care lull her deeper into relaxation.

“all done,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the water, guiding her under the spray to rinse away the suds. your hands move with care, ensuring that every trace of soap is gone, leaving only the warmth and comfort of the moment lingering between you.

you place a hand on her back, your palm gently meeting the light droplets still clinging to her skin, the soft scratch of your acrylic nails trailing across her damp flesh as you lean in to turn off the tap. the water’s rhythmic trickle fades into the background, and with a fluid motion, you slide open the glass door, stepping out into the steamy air. reaching for the towels hanging nearby, you wrap one around each of you, the plush fabric absorbing the last of the warmth from your skin. you remove your shower caps, stepping onto the soft mat, her damp body leaning into you as you guide her back toward the bedroom.

once there, you grab two band tees, one for you and one for billie, slipping them on as you moisturize your skin, the cool scent of lavender and vanilla mingling with the steam still lingering in the air.

you help billie into her pajamas with slow, careful movements, making sure every action is deliberate, your touch gentle as you rub lotion into her arms and legs. the scent of the lotion fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a comforting embrace.

“i hope you know this is going into your girlfriend tax,” you say, your voice light and playful as you massage lotion into billie’s hand.

“don’t you mean wife?” a smirk dances across her lips, her hand pulling you lightly by the waist, her engagement ring catching the soft light from the bedroom as she tugs you closer. a small giggle escapes you, a sweet reminder of what’s to come. you reach behind you, taking her hand from your hip and guiding her over to the vanity.

you pull out the stool for her to sit, your fingers grazing her shoulder as you remove her shower cap, the remnants of water flinging away with the movement. grabbing a comb from the table, you part her hair carefully, your fingers soft and deliberate as you begin to weave two french braids. the light taps of rain against the windows add a soothing rhythm to the quiet room, the sound merging with the gentle flow of your touch, easing billie further into relaxation.

when you’re done, you reach into the drawer, pulling out a silky brown scarf. you open it with a delicate flick of your fingers, folding it into a neat triangle. aligning the longer side with her forehead, you tie it gently, making sure the knot is firm enough to stay in place, but soft enough to not cause discomfort. it rests just so, a quiet gesture of care before the night settles in around you both.

billie scrambles to your bed, her movements quick as she throws herself under the duvet with a soft sigh, sinking into the softness like she’s finally found her place. you shake your head softly, smiling to yourself as you grab a scarf, pulling it over your hair with the same practiced care. you make your way over to the bed, the quiet click of the lamp turning off filling the space before you slide in next to her. the weight of the day seems to lift in the darkened room, the only sound the gentle tap of rain against the windows.

reaching into your bedside drawer, you slip off your ring, placing it carefully in its box, the cool touch of the metal against your skin a reminder of the bond you share. you stretch your hand back toward billie, palm facing up, and she mirrors the gesture. the coolness of the .48-carat diamond meets your touch as she slides her ring into your hand. you place both rings in their box, closing the drawer softly, the faint sound of the wood settling a quiet punctuation to the moment.

billie drapes her arm over your torso, pulling you closer, her warmth seeping into your skin as your limbs tangle together, two bodies finding comfort in one another. your thumbs trace soft, lazy patterns on her arm, the motion slow and deliberate, a silent promise of peace. she buries her face in the crook of your neck, her breath warm against your skin.

outside, the rain continues its melodic tapping, the rhythm a lullaby as billie’s breathing slows. her body relaxes completely, her embrace a cocoon that shields you from the world.

as she drifts off to sleep, you press a soft kiss to her palm, the touch tender, a quiet act of love. your own eyes grow heavy as the night wraps itself around you both, cocooning you in its warmth. the sound of the rain serenades you into dreams, its rhythm guiding you to sleep, where you rest together, the world fading away.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[mingi-s-dimples]

Raw Need - Yunho

KINKTOBER DAY 29, REQ. BY 🤧

~"IM BACK AGAIN W ANOTHER REQUEST okay so its an omegaverse , reader is an omega and their dear partner is an alpha ( lets say yunho) and like this is readers first rut she couldnt control it at all because it was her first ever rut and she didn’t want to go tell yunho but because of the sweet smell of her pheromones yunho instantly knew what happened and it was clear that reader was feeling hotter and redder than usual when yunho asked her about at first she said no but after a little time she told him which make yunho go feral he asked “Would u mind if i helped” (They never did the bombaya before but they took showers and he was BIG.) but yunho didnt wait for an answer and he put his head in her neck slowly kissing her neck inhaling her sweet smell making him go crazy and get hard (a little skip time like they got undressed blah blah blah ) and when it was time for him to enter her like she told him to go slowly and that shes a little bit scared because she never took him before aka like a over all like gentle first time but after he stretched her out he was rough going deeper and deeper every time and maybe a little after care too 👉🏼👈🏼"

pairing: alpha!yunho × omega f!reader

genre: 18+, omegaverse, slight filth

summary: your first rut washed rough over you... and even if you didn't wanna do anything about it... your man made sure he'd fuck you senseless thru your rut.

wc: 5.1k

warnings: omegaverse, harsh dom!yunho, virgin/first rut for reader, marking, love at first then rough sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, pussy eating, making out, praise, some pet names, unprotected, completely consensual, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: I loved writing this one tbh... bestie I hope you like it and it's to your liking 😁 ily 🤍

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The quiet hum of the afternoon wrapped around the room like a cocoon, its tranquility disrupted only by the faint shuffle of papers and the occasional sound of distant footsteps. The room was nothing short of lavish, its opulence apparent in every detail. Velvet curtains hung heavy over the tall windows, filtering the sunlight into soft, golden streams that spilled across the polished hardwood floor. A grand bed sat in the center of the room, its plush, cream-colored duvet perfectly arranged, though you hadn’t dared to sit on it. Across from the bed, a gilded mirror stretched nearly to the ceiling, its ornate frame gleaming faintly in the dim light. Yunho had chosen its placement himself, a detail that always made your cheeks flush when you caught his lingering gaze in its reflection. Now, with the heat of your rut clouding your thoughts, the mirror felt more intrusive than ever.

The air was thick, though, laced with something so delicate and sweet that it bordered on intoxicating. You didn’t notice at first. Or maybe you did, but the swirling haze of heat pooling in your stomach had grown too overwhelming to let you focus on much else.

Your rut was coming on fast—too fast.

Leaning against the edge of the heavy wooden desk for balance, you drew in a shaky breath, your hands gripping the smooth surface like it was the only anchor in the storm raging inside of you. A feverish heat coursed through your veins, making your skin flush and your breaths uneven. You swallowed hard, your gaze darting toward the door as anxiety churned in your chest.

Yunho was just outside.

You hadn’t planned on telling him. How could you? The thought alone made your cheeks burn hotter than they already were. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—he was always so gentle with you, so caring, even when his alpha instincts occasionally surfaced in subtle ways. But this was different. This was your first rut. An experience so raw, so visceral, that it made you feel exposed in a way you couldn’t explain.

But Yunho would never let it go unnoticed.

The soft knock on the door startled you, your pulse jumping as you instinctively turned your head toward the sound.

“Y/N?” Yunho’s voice, low and warm, slipped through the crack in the door. It wasn’t just a question—it was a demand cloaked in care, his presence pressing against the threshold like a force you couldn’t escape.

You pressed your lips together, debating whether to respond. Surely he wouldn’t notice anything if you just—

The door creaked open before you could finish that thought, and Yunho stepped inside. His eyes found you instantly, and the moment they did, the room shifted.

The air grew heavier, electric, as his gaze darkened. His nostrils flared subtly, and you watched his jaw tense as he inhaled deeply. That sweet, unmistakable scent of your pheromones had reached him, and the effect was instant. His shoulders stiffened, the usual calm in his expression shattering as raw, unfiltered instinct bled through.

“Are you okay?” His voice was softer than you expected, but the tension behind it was unmistakable. He took a step closer, then another, his broad frame making the room feel impossibly small.

You nodded quickly, too quickly. “I’m fine,” you said, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Yunho’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze sweeping over you. You could feel him dissecting every detail—the way your hands trembled against the desk, the sheen of sweat on your flushed skin, the way your breaths came faster than normal. He knew.

“It’s your first rut, isn’t it?” His voice was lower now, rougher, the barely contained growl in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

You hesitated, caught between denial and the truth that your body had already given away. Finally, you nodded, your gaze dropping to avoid the intensity of his stare.

But that was all it took.

Something inside Yunho snapped. A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, and the tension that had been building between you broke like a dam. In the next instant, he was in front of you, moving faster than you could process. His hand cupped your face, firm and unyielding as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You should’ve told me.” His voice was rough, feral, his breath hot against your skin. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I’d let you go through this alone?”

His other hand found your waist, his fingers pressing into your hip as though anchoring you to him. His body was impossibly close now, radiating a heat that only seemed to amplify the storm inside you.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he rasped, his tone more growl than words.

Before you could answer—or even breathe—he leaned in, his lips brushing the curve of your neck. The kiss wasn’t soft; it was open-mouthed, searing, and possessive in a way that left you breathless. He wasn’t holding back anymore. The restraint he’d always shown around you was gone, replaced by something wild and uncontrollable.

His teeth grazed your skin, not enough to hurt but enough to make you tremble beneath him. “You’re mine,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and rough, like a vow. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you.”

Yunho pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your knees weak. “Let me take care of you,” he growled, his fingers tightening their hold on your waist. “Don’t you dare hide this from me again.”

Yunho’s eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils blown wide with a feral hunger that made your breath hitch. The intensity of his gaze was almost too much, but it was impossible to look away. He leaned in, his hand still firm on your waist, pulling you closer until the heat of his body overwhelmed your senses.

His lips captured yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was desperate, messy, and entirely consuming, his mouth moving against yours like he couldn’t get enough. When his teeth caught your bottom lip, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, a low growl rumbled deep in his chest. His nails dug into your waist, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you of the sheer strength he was holding back.

“Bed,” he rasped against your lips, his voice rough and commanding. Before you could even process the word, his hands were on you, guiding you backward. The desk’s edge scraped against your hip for a fleeting moment before his grip tightened, lifting you just enough to move you effortlessly.

You barely registered your back hitting the plush mattress until you felt the weight of his body hovering over you. Yunho’s movements weren’t rough, but they were purposeful, deliberate, as though his instincts had taken full control. His hands roamed your sides, firm and possessive as they found your waist again.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with intensity. His thumb brushed against your cheek, a moment of tenderness that contrasted starkly with the raw hunger in his expression.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice softer now, though the strain in it was evident. His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, the tension in his body clear as he awaited your answer.

You swallowed hard, your lips parting slightly as you nodded, shy but certain.

That was all the permission Yunho needed.

His hands moved with urgency, tugging at your shirt as though it offended him. The fabric yielded easily under his grip, and though his movements bordered on aggressive, there was a reverence in the way his fingers ghosted over your skin as he worked. He paused only briefly, his gaze raking over you before his lips were back on your neck, trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses that left you breathless.

The heat pooling in your belly intensified as his hands slipped lower, brushing the waistband of your shorts. His touch was firm, unyielding, and it sent sparks through every nerve in your body.

A sudden thought flared in your mind, unbidden but vivid. You remembered the time you and Yunho had taken a shower together, an innocent moment that had left you more flustered than you cared to admit. You hadn’t been able to stop your gaze from wandering, and what you’d seen had stayed with you ever since. He was… packing, to put it mildly.

The memory alone was enough to make you press your thighs together, your body betraying the heat swirling inside you. Yunho noticed instantly. His eyes darkened further, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as though he could read your thoughts.

“You’re thinking about something,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Something that’s turning you on even more, isn’t it?”

You tried to shake your head, but Yunho wasn’t having it. His hand slid down to your thigh, gently coaxing it apart as his nails grazed your skin. The possessiveness in his touch was unmistakable, and it only made the ache in your core worse.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough with want. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Yunho’s lips didn’t relent, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. His hands gripped your waist firmly, fingers digging into your skin as though anchoring himself. You could feel the possessiveness radiating from him, the way his touch claimed every inch of you.

“Mine,” he growled softly against your neck, the word vibrating against your skin before his teeth sank gently into the sensitive spot just below your jaw. The sensation sent a wave of dizziness washing over you, the heat pooling low in your belly becoming nearly unbearable.

Your hands moved instinctively, tangling in his dark hair as his lips continued their path downward. He seemed to revel in the way you clung to him, his low growl vibrating against your skin as his mouth traveled to your collarbone. He didn’t hesitate, leaving marks in his wake—small, dark bruises that bloomed on your skin like a map of his devotion.

“Yunho,” you whispered, your voice shaky and breathless as your body arched into his touch.

“Shh,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. His lips pressed to the curve of your shoulder before trailing lower. “Let me take care of you.”

Every kiss, every bite, every graze of his teeth left you reeling. His lips found the swell of your chest, your nipples hard, pressing kisses that were as reverent as they were feral. When his mouth closed over them, you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped you, your head falling back against the bed as your body melted beneath him.

“You’re so perfect,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. His hands moved to your sides, holding you steady as his lips continued their descent. He kissed along the curve of your ribs, his teeth scraping lightly against your skin just enough to leave a tingle in their wake.

By the time his mouth reached your belly, you were dizzy, your mind fogged with the overwhelming sensations flooding your body. His tongue traced the sensitive dip of your navel before his teeth grazed just above it, and your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging softly in response.

Yunho groaned at your touch, the sound sending another jolt of heat through you. His lips continued their path lower, pressing kisses to the soft skin of your hips before finding the tender flesh of your inner thigh.

He paused for a moment, his breath ghosting over your skin as he looked up at you. The sight of him—his dark, feral eyes gazing at you from between your thighs, his lips slightly swollen and marked with your taste—made your breath hitch.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. His hands slid to your thighs, gripping them firmly before pulling you closer with a single, powerful motion.

Before you could process the movement, his mouth was working its way on your folds, his lips pressing against you with a hunger that left no room for hesitation. The sudden intensity of it made you gasp, your head falling back as the heat in your belly surged, consuming you completely.

Yunho didn’t hold back. His mouth moved with precision and fervor, his tongue working against your sensitive flesh in ways that left you gasping. Each stroke was deliberate, calculated, his lips and tongue dragging over every nerve ending until your entire body trembled beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs, firm enough to keep you open for him, his nails pressing into your skin as though daring you to move.

The sounds leaving you were unrestrained, soft moans mixed with whimpers that only seemed to spur him on. He groaned against you, the vibration sending a shockwave through your body that made your legs shake.

“Yunho—” you managed to gasp, your fingers tangling deeper into his hair, pulling just enough to draw another low growl from him. The way his tongue teased and circled your clit, the sheer intensity of his focus, had you spiraling.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and possessive. “Let me hear you.”

The coil in your belly tightened with every flick of his tongue, every gentle scrape of his teeth. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the heat spreading through your entire body as your breaths grew shallow. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything except the relentless pleasure he was giving you.

When you finally reached your high, it hit you like a wave, crashing over you in a blinding surge of heat and sensation. Your body arched, your hands clutching at Yunho as soft cries spilled from your lips. He didn’t stop, his tongue coaxing you through every second of your orgasm until you were trembling from the overstimulation, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Good girl,” Yunho rasped, his voice laced with satisfaction as he finally pulled back, his lips glistening. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

He stood, towering over you as his hands moved to the hem of his shirt. His muscles flexed as he pulled it over his head, tossing it aside without care. The golden light from the room caught the lines of his chest and shoulders, every movement accentuating the raw strength in his form.

You couldn’t help but stare as he reached for the waistband of his pants, his fingers deftly undoing the button before sliding them down. He was stunning, every inch of him commanding your attention.

Yunho’s eyes darkened as he caught you looking, his smirk widening. “See something you like?” he teased, though the heat in his gaze left no room for denial.

He climbed onto the bed with an ease that belied his size, his hands finding your waist again as he pulled you up into his lap. The shift was sudden, and you let out a soft gasp as he positioned you effortlessly. His knees rested on the mattress, and he held you securely, your legs draped on either side of his hips.

You realized the mirror was directly in front of you now, its reflective surface catching every detail of the moment. Yunho’s grip shifted, one hand sliding beneath your knees as the other found your chin, tilting your face toward the mirror.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and command. “So beautiful. So perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed as you caught your reflection. The sight of yourself, completely exposed in his lap, was almost too much. You tried to avert your gaze, but Yunho’s fingers on your chin held firm, gently pulling you back.

“Don’t look away,” he said, his tone soft but unyielding. “I want you to see how stunning you are. I want you to see what I see.”

His hands shifted again, his fingers gripping beneath your knees to spread you open further. The action made you gasp, the vulnerability of the position sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.

“You’re mine,” Yunho said, his voice low and reverent as he held you in place. “Every inch of you is mine.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Yunho's hands were firm but gentle as he guided you into position, pulling you into his lap. Your back pressed against his chest, and the warmth of his body surrounded you, his presence overwhelming in the best way. His hands moved to your legs, his fingertips sending little shivers through your skin as he positioned you just right. You could feel the heat of him beneath you, his cock brushing over your lower back with each movement. The proximity made your pulse quicken, the sensation of him so close that it nearly drove you wild.

You paused for a moment, your breath shallow, a mix of excitement and nerves flooding you. The overwhelming heat of the situation, the closeness, made your mind dizzy. You reached back, placing your hand on his chest to steady yourself, and your voice trembled as you spoke.

“Yunho,” you whispered, the sound almost a plea.

“Yes, darling?” he stopped everything, looking in the mirror at you.

You hesitated for a moment. “It’s... my first time… c-can you... can you be gentle with me, at first?”

Yunho froze for a moment, his hands stilling under your knees. He could feel the nervousness in your touch, your soft voice carrying the weight of your vulnerability. He leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and reassuring.

“Of course, baby,” Yunho murmured, his voice steady and soothing. “I’ll take care of you, always.”

You felt his hands shift, adjusting his position beneath you, and he moved with such careful attention. His body was so close that you could feel the heat of him against your back, the pressure building with every slight movement, but he held back, moving only as slowly as you needed. His grip on your legs tightened just enough to give you comfort and security, and you melted into his touch.

With a deep breath, Yunho slowly guided you down, inch by inch. You felt the initial stretch, the unfamiliar sensation, but his slow movements allowed you to adjust, your body beginning to relax into him. The feeling of his chest against your back, of his heat surrounding you, made your body respond, even if it was just from the closeness.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice a soothing hum in your ear. “You’re doing so well. Just breathe, take your time.”

You shifted slightly, the soft friction sending tiny jolts of pleasure through you, and Yunho’s body tightened beneath you, a low growl escaping from his throat. He was fighting the urge to move faster, to take you with more force, but he restrained himself, focusing on you.

Slowly, the tension in your body began to ease, the heat in your core building as you adjusted to the feeling of him. You could feel him brushing against your back, his warmth spreading, and every soft touch, every movement, only made you crave more of him.

“You okay?” Yunho asked, his voice filled with concern, though there was a darker edge of hunger just beneath the surface. “Need me to go slower?”

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper as you breathed out, “ I’m okay.”

The slow, steady rhythm continued as Yunho guided you, his hands holding your legs outwards as he effortlessly pulled you up and down on his cock, slowly. You could feel the power in him, the control, but also the tenderness with which he held you, the care in every movement. He was taking his time with you, making sure you were completely comfortable, completely lost in the moment with him.

After a few moments, you felt your body adjusting, the heat growing, and the soft ache turning into something deeper, more intense. You shifted again, this time pressing your back more firmly against his chest, seeking a deeper connection. Yunho immediately noticed the change, his breathing picking up as he responded with a slight shift of his own.

“I think you’re ready for more,” he muttered softly, his voice a mixture of admiration and hunger. “Tell me if I’m right, baby. You want more?”

You nodded shyly, your breath quickening as you felt the weight of his gaze on you. “Yes… please.”

Yunho smiled softly, pressing another kiss to the back of your neck, and without waiting another moment, he began to move with you, slowly, steadily, a little deeper, a little more insistent. The heat inside you began to build with each motion, your body finally responding fully to his touch.

As the moment stretched on, Yunho could feel his control slipping. The slow, steady pace had done its job—it had allowed you to adjust, to relax—but the desire building inside him was too much to bear. He couldn’t stay patient forever, not when the way you moved against him, so delicate and needy, was driving him wild.

With a low, barely contained growl, Yunho suddenly shifted. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you forward with a force that took you by surprise. You gasped as your chest pressed into the soft mattress, your body tilted just enough to feel the change. His hand moved swiftly to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair as he held you in place, his chest pressed against your back.

“May I go rougher?” Yunho’s voice was hoarse, his breath ragged against the back of your neck. “I can’t take it anymore. I need more.”

The words, so full of need, sent a rush of heat through your body. You could feel the raw desire in his voice, and without hesitation, you nodded faintly, unable to speak as your breath caught in your throat.

The moment you gave him that silent permission, Yunho’s pace shifted, becoming more intense. His hands gripped you more firmly as he guided you forward, his movements faster, deeper. Every shift of his body sent sparks through your skin, the heat in your belly intensifying with every thrust. The pressure in your chest built as your body responded to him, the sensual rhythm becoming more urgent, more powerful.

His lips brushed against your shoulder, his breath warm on your skin. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice strained, but still soft with reverence. “So perfect for me.”

Each movement sent you spiraling, your body trembling with the force of the connection, with the overwhelming intensity of the moment. Yunho’s hold on you was firm, possessive, yet still filled with the tenderness he couldn’t hide. He was in control, but it was clear that every inch of him was completely consumed by you.

Yunho’s grip in your hair tightened slightly, pulling just enough to send a shiver down your spine. The sensation was electrifying, the sharp contrast between his strength and the reverence in his touch overwhelming. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing over your skin as he whispered, his voice a low growl.

“Look at you, completely perfect,” he murmured, the words laced with possessiveness. His hand on your waist slid lower, his grip firm as he guided your body to move with his. Every shift, every deliberate motion, sent ripples of warmth through your skin, your senses heightened by the intensity of his presence.

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice rough but filled with awe. “That’s all you, baby. You’re driving me insane.”

Your legs trembled as Yunho moved with more purpose, the power behind his actions leaving you breathless. His body fit against yours so completely, every part of him enveloping you as if he was meant to. His hand slipped from your waist to rest on your belly, pulling you even closer against him as he leaned down to kiss the corner of your jaw, his lips moving slowly, savoring every inch of you.

“I want you to let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice softening slightly as his lips moved back to your ear. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you, every sound, every feeling.”

The tension building in your body was unbearable, the heat pooling low in your belly as Yunho continued, his movements growing rougher, more commanding. The way he whispered praise into your ear only added fuel to the fire, each word wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

“You’re incredible,” Yunho groaned, his tone heavy with admiration and something darker, more primal. “I could stay like this forever.”

When the orgasm overtook you again, your body arched instinctively, every nerve alight with sensation. Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you, the overwhelming release leaving you breathless as soft cries escaped your lips. Yunho didn’t stop, his movements steady and sure as he helped you ride the high. His hold on you tightened, his growls low and guttural as he watched you come undone.

Even as the waves of sensation subsided, Yunho’s pace didn’t falter. His grip on your waist grew stronger, his other hand tangling in your hair once more as he pulled you back slightly to meet him.

“Stay with me,” he growled, his voice rough, his breaths shallow. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His movements became more intense, his need for you taking over as his strength pressed you firmly into place. The sound of his voice, the feeling of his body surrounding you, was too much. You could feel his restraint slipping, the raw hunger in his actions showing through as he drove himself toward his own high, spilling his load inches deep inside you, filling you up good.

When he finally stilled, his breath heavy and ragged against your ear, he buried his face into the crook of your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as he pressed soft, lingering kisses to your skin.

“You’re amazing,” Yunho whispered, his voice softening, though the roughness from before lingered in the edges. “You’re mine. Always mine.”

With a tender strength, Yunho sat back, lifting you effortlessly into his embrace. Your body felt light against his, completely enveloped in his warmth as he guided you to lean against his chest. His hands moved gently now, tracing slow circles on your waist as he whispered soothing words into your ear.

Tilting your chin upward with his fingers, Yunho made you look into the mirror once more. Your reflection was a testament to the moment—your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen, your hair slightly mussed… body all sweaty and your cunt dripping with both of his and your juices on his thighs. His gaze, dark and full of pride, met yours in the glass as he kissed your temple softly.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured, his voice deep but tender. “Do you see what I see? How beautiful are you?”

Your face heated further, and you tried to look away, but his hand was quick to guide your chin back, holding you steady.

“Don’t shy away,” Yunho said, his voice firm but full of affection. “You’re breathtaking. Perfect. Mine.”

And as he held you there, safe in his embrace, the intensity of the moment melted into a warm stillness. You could feel his heart beating steadily against your back, his lips pressing one final kiss to the crown of your head as he whispered once more, “Always.”

As the intensity ebbed and warmth began to settle over you both, Yunho’s grip on your waist softened slightly, though his presence remained firm and grounding. His breath was still uneven as it fanned against your ear, and his hand shifted to cradle your face gently, his thumb brushing across your flushed cheek.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges but filled with tenderness. His eyes searched yours as his fingers trailed softly down your jawline, grounding you even as the sensations still lingered. “You were so good for me… I need to know you’re feeling alright.”

You nodded faintly, still catching your breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m okay… I promise.”

Yunho’s lips twitched into a faint smile, the kind that was just for you, warm and full of pride. “Good,” he said softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “Because you were perfect. Better than perfect.”

With gentle yet deliberate strength, Yunho guided your body to turn and face him fully, his hands steady on your waist as he pulled you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you so close it was as if he wanted to shield you from the world. The feeling of his warmth, his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, made you feel completely secure.

“That was your first rut,” he murmured into your hair, his voice reverent but laced with something darker, the remnants of his earlier feral energy still flickering beneath the surface. “And you handled it like you were made for me.”

His fingers trailed down your spine, his grip firm but soothing, as though he couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t let go even for a moment. “You have no idea how proud I am of you,” Yunho whispered, his lips brushing against your temple before finding your ear. “You’re mine. Every single part of you, and I’ll never let you forget it.”

The possessiveness in his tone sent another shiver through you, but the tenderness in his embrace made you relax completely. When Yunho pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze was unwavering, dark with adoration and a lingering hunger, though his smile softened the edges.

“You’re incredible,” he said, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before tucking you back into his arms. “Always.”

And in his embrace, the weight of the moment dissolved into something sweeter, safer. Even as your body hummed with the remnants of everything you’d just shared, it was his presence, his unyielding care, that made you feel entirely, utterly his.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive

[to-the-stars8]

Learning to Love Slowly

Jason Todd x Reader All Chapters AO3 18+ MDNI

The Christmas Tree and Fine Dining

 It had hardly been five minutes in the door before your boyfriend was practically yanking down your underwear. He'd been horny all evening, acting in ways you hadn't seen before. You chalked up his excitement as him missing you immensely after being away on a mission for three weeks. 

Now, you were sitting on the arm of the couch as Jason ate you out. 

The flat of his tongue was pressed directly on your clit, slowly flicking upward before repeating the same motion before sucking on your labia. He continued the same motions until your legs were shaking. Jason had a knack for making you feel like you were on cloud nine. You had always loved the feeling of Jason’s curly black hair between your fingers as you pulled at them.

When you were on the cusp of an orgasm, he pulled away, quickly trying to unbuckle his belt. You giggled as you went to help, peppering kisses on his jaw and neck as you tugged at his pants until his cock sprung free. Biting your lip, you felt an almost overwhelming excitement about having Jason on and in you. He smiled, beginning to push you down on the couch before stopping. 

“What is it?” You asked. 

Jason strode across the room to his Christmas tree where he flipped a switch and the relatively dark room burst with colorful warm lights. You giggled as you beckoned him over with outstretched arms, needing him in a way you really couldn’t describe. Jason kissed you deeply as he roughly flipped you onto your stomach. 

“At least you took me dinner first,” You joked. 

Jason chuckled. “I was raised a gentleman, after all.”

You laughed, but it quickly turned into a long, breathy moan as you felt the tip of Jay’s cock sweeping through your folds. His tip pressed against your clit, feeling hot and sticky, before he slowly dragged it to prod at your entrance. You pushed back against him, urging him to put it in you, and he complied happily. The way his cock stretched your pussy made your toes curl and your mind blank. 

Jason leaned over, kissing the back of your shoulder, before beginning to thrust. Every time his hips knocked against yours, you couldn’t help but loudly moan. When one of his hands rounded your hips to play with your clit, you had to grab a pillow to muffle your cries. The way Jason fucked you was dizzying and euphoric—The only way you managed to stay grounded was by listening to his sweet whispers.

“Prettiest girl in the world,” He said between moans. “I love you so fucking much.”

Looking over your shoulder at him, you saw the little grin on his face as he looked down at your connecting hips. It must have been disgustingly arousing. Every time he slammed his cock into you there was an audible wet sound that echoed off the walls. He’d been teasing you all evening, going as far as to finger you in the restaurant, so you couldn’t even imagine just how wet you looked with his dick in your pussy.

“Oh,” You grunted out. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Jason moaned as he squeezed your hips whilst he rammed his cock harder into you. You squealed, eyes rolling back into your head, before coming undone. Your body tensed and your back arched as white-hot pleasure coursed through your veins. Despite your orgasm, he didn’t slow down his thrusting, keeping you close to him so he could chase his own high. You shamelessly moaned loudly, not caring if the neighbors heard, as you mumbled incoherently. 

Jason groaned, taking one of his hands and squeezing your ass. He praised you for taking him so well and complimented his words by putting his body atop yours. His chest felt hot against your back, his lips pressing into your skin with wet kisses, and his cock pushed deeper into you.

“Fu-uck!” You shrieked as you felt another wave of your orgasm wash over you. Jason held your hand as your body began to shake with pleasure, and you couldn’t think of anything besides how pretty the tree looked. 

He was so close, you could feel it in the way his cock was beginning to twitch in your pussy. Jason whined into your ear, his hips stuttering a bit as he tried to hold himself back. 

“Oh, shit,” Jason said breathlessly, his voice cracking. “Gonna cum. Damn, baby.”

You encouraged him to cum in you, to fill you up and make you his. You felt filthy saying such words out loud, but it felt too damn good to say anything polite. Jason’s hips stilled, him pressing as close to you as he could, as he came. Just as his orgasm hit, you felt another one rip through your body. You screamed his name into the pillow, tears in your eyes, and pulled yourself off his cock.

 Both your bodies were shaking with pleasure, yours more so with the overstimulation, and Jason could hardly pull himself off of you. He pulled you into his side when you tried to get up to clean yourself. When you said you didn’t want to get the couch dirty, all he responded with was, “Fuck the couch.”

Smiling, you laid your head on his chest, admiring the Christmas tree. His hands slowly caressed your side as he kissed your head. You felt his hand wander down to your ass, where he squeezed it again. 

“I need you again,” Jason said, his free hand going to his cock. It was half-hard, but, as he gently jerked it, it started to get hard again.

You looked up at him smiling before moving to straddle him. “Well, I guess we should see if I can get you to scream my name this time.”

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ Danny Phantom ~

If you need a hug, Danny will give you one.

———————

I wish I could wear a smile as easily as you do. There’s something about it—your smile—it lifts me up in ways I don’t fully understand.

Thank you for that.

But seriously, stop using that cold, irresistible charm of yours—it’s distracting, Danny.

———————

Atleast he gave me a cold hug. Because I needed one.

Colored sketches/drafts, whatever. Again. I am so lazy these days… depression hits hard.

———————

It’s late—far too late for anyone to be awake. But here I am, once again, sitting on the cold floor of my room, with my knees hugged to my chest. The dim glow of my cozy lights barely reaches the shadows stretching across the corners.

I don’t even know how he got here, but Danny is leaning against my doorframe, his face half-lit, half-lost in the gloom. His arms are crossed, but his usual lighthearted demeanor is gone. His glowing green eyes… they’re heavier than usual, like they’ve seen too much—carried too much.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his voice almost fragile, as though the words might shatter if spoken louder.

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

My throat feels tight, my chest heavier than the silence pressing down. Instead, I shake my head, my hair falling over my face like a curtain I don’t want to pull back.

Danny sighs, the kind of sigh that feels shared—like he knows exactly how I feel but doesn’t want to admit it. He steps into the room, his boots scuffing against the floor. Slowly, he lowers himself to sit beside me, his cold shoulder brushing against mine.

“I know how it feels,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “To… feel like everything’s too much. Like you’re carrying the weight of the world, even when it’s not yours to carry.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you disappear for days?” I glance at him, his expression flickering between guilt and understanding. “You don’t really have to be here, Danny. I’ll be fine. I’ll always be fine.”

But instead of answering, he reaches out, his gloved hand trailing against mine. It’s tentative, almost shy, but his cold seeps into my warm skin, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.

“Stop that,” he murmurs. “Stop pretending you don’t need anyone. And stop pretending that you’re fine, because you aren’t.”

My breath shudders, and before I can stop myself, tears spill over, rolling silently down my cheeks. I hate crying in front of anyone. I hate that vulnerability, the exposure.

But Danny doesn’t look at me like I’m weak.

He just looks… sad.

For me.

For himself.

For whatever weight we’re both carrying.

Without a word, he pulls me into a hug. It’s awkward at first, like he’s not sure if I’ll push him away.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

His arms are strong, but there’s a hesitance to them, as if he’s afraid I might shatter in his grasp.

I don’t.

Instead, I fall into him, my head resting against his shoulder, his purr steady against my ear.

“You know I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Just remember that. I’ve been by your side as long as I can remember, even when you didn’t realize it,” he whispers, his voice trembling slightly. “But you have to let people in, instead of pushing them away. Just know you don’t have to do these things alone.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong, that I’ve always been alone. That even when people care and I let them in, they leave anyway.

But his arms tighten around me, and the words crumble before they can leave my mouth. For once, I let myself believe him, even if it’s just for a moment.

The hug lingers, long after the tears stop falling. Neither of us speaks.

There’s no need to.

His presence says enough—he’s just here.

———————

My imagination is beyond otherwordly at this very moment.

[imreidswifey]

Paint-Stained Promises -Fluff-

Spencer Reid x Artist!Reader

Credit to @drowning-rabbit their head-cannons was the only thing that made this possible!Please go follow and like their posts!

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid never expected to find love amidst the chaos of profiling criminals and chasing shadows. But when he meets you, a free-spirited painter with a penchant for covering yourself—and your apartment—in splashes of color, his life begins to shift in ways he never imagined. From quiet evenings spent as your muse to secret notes tucked into his lunch bag, Spencer discovers a kind of intimacy and joy that feels as brilliant and messy as your art.

Warnings:

Fluff Overload: This story is heavy on romance, intimate moments, and playful teasing.

Mild Embarrassment: Expect Spencer to be adorably awkward and flustered in social situations.

Team Banter: Includes friendly teasing, nosy colleagues, and found-family dynamics.

Themes of Vulnerability: Emotional intimacy and personal growth are central to the story.

Mentions of Profiler Work: While the story focuses on romance, it references Spencer’s work with the BAU, which involves criminal profiling (no graphic details).

Reader Discretion: Ideal for fans of soft, romantic fanfiction and anyone who loves a good balance of humor, love, and heartwarming moments.

———————————————————————————-

The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds, casting soft, golden streaks across the room. You’re perched cross-legged on the floor in front of your easel, a brush tucked behind your ear and smudges of cerulean and ochre streaking your hands and cheeks. The smell of turpentine and acrylic paint mingles with the faint scent of lavender from the candle flickering on the windowsill.

Every piece of furniture within paint-splash radius has been meticulously wrapped in cling film. Your living room looks like a scene from a crime drama—a precautionary measure after the last time you accidentally turned the couch into a canvas.

The familiar jingle of keys in the lock pulls your attention.

“Spencer!” you call out, not looking away from your painting. “Be careful where you step! It’s chaos in here!”

“I noticed,” he says, stepping inside. His voice, soft and amused, makes your chest flutter.

You glance over your shoulder to find him standing in the doorway, his bag slung over one shoulder, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. His sweater vest is slightly askew, and his hair, as always, has that artful messiness to it that makes your fingers itch to sketch him.

He sets his bag down, tilting his head as he takes in the scene. “I assume the cling film is for… protection?”

“Exactly,” you reply, gesturing with your brush. “I’m not cleaning paint off the sofa again. And before you ask—yes, I learned my lesson last time.”

His laughter, soft and genuine, fills the space between you. He crosses the room, carefully stepping over paint tubes and discarded sketches, and leans down to press a kiss to your temple.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

You smile, the warmth of his presence already sinking into your skin. “Missed you too. But hold that thought—I need you to sit still for me.”

Spencer raises a brow. “Sit still?”

“Yep. I’m drawing you,” you announce, dragging a chair into the light. “Here. Sit. Read. Don’t move too much.”

He hesitates for only a second before complying, pulling a book from his bag and settling into the chair. He’s used to this by now—the spontaneous bursts of inspiration that seize you at the oddest times.

You watch him as he opens the book, his long fingers flipping through the pages with practiced ease. He adjusts his glasses, and the golden light catches on the frames, making him look like something out of a Renaissance portrait.

“You’re staring,” he says, not looking up.

“You’re pretty,” you reply without missing a beat, grinning when you catch the faint blush creeping up his neck.

Your brush moves almost of its own accord, capturing the curve of his jaw, the way the light dances in his hair. You’ve drawn him a hundred times before—in little doodles on post-it notes, in margins of notebooks, on scraps of paper that find their way into his pockets and desk drawers. But there’s something about this moment, the quiet intimacy of it, that feels different.

Every now and then, Spencer’s brow furrows or his lips twitch as he reacts to whatever he’s reading.

“Stop that,” you tease, smacking his arm lightly with the handle of your brush.

“Stop what?”

“Reacting. You’re ruining the pose.”

He looks up, feigning innocence. “You want me to be an unfeeling statue?”

“Yes. Just for a little while.”

He shakes his head, but the smile on his face betrays him. “You know I can’t help it. This chapter is fascinating.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “Fine. But keep the dramatics to a minimum.”

You lose track of time, the rhythm of your brushstrokes and the sound of Spencer turning pages creating a kind of harmony. Occasionally, you catch him sneaking glances at you over the top of his book, his expression soft and adoring.

“Done,” you announce finally, stepping back to admire your work.

Spencer closes his book, setting it aside as he stands to join you. He leans over your shoulder, studying the painting.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, his voice tinged with awe. “You make me look better than I do in real life.”

“Liar,” you reply, nudging him with your elbow. “You’re perfect, and you know it.”

He laughs, pulling you into his arms. His sweater smells faintly of coffee and the library, and you sink into him, paint-stained hands be damned.

The next morning, you’re up early, packing his lunch like you always do. It’s a quiet ritual, one that’s become second nature. You slip a note into the bag—a quick sketch of a coffee cup with the words Stay caffeinated and brilliant scrawled beneath it.

When Spencer leaves for work, he’s none the wiser about the speck of glitter clinging to his sleeve or the faint smudge of yellow paint on his collar.

At the BAU, Derek Morgan squints at Spencer as he sits at his desk, pulling out a sleek new pen to sign some paperwork.

“Pretty boy,” Morgan says, leaning against the desk. “Where’d you get that pen? Looks fancy.”

Spencer freezes mid-signature, his ears immediately turning red. “It’s, uh… It’s just a pen,” he says quickly. “Not that fancy. Just—uh—a gift. From someone.”

“Someone, huh?” Morgan’s grin spreads slowly, his interest clearly piqued.

Spencer clears his throat, focusing intently on the paper in front of him. “It’s a practical pen. The ink quality is exceptional, and the dry time is virtually instantaneous. Which is important for someone who writes as much as I do. The weight and balance are also—”

“Spence.” Morgan cuts him off, laughing. “I’m not asking for a dissertation. Just tell me—who’s the someone?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Spencer stammers, the papers in his hands suddenly fascinating.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “Is there a ‘someone’ in your life we should know about? Fancy pens, glitter on your clothes… you’ve been walking in here like you’ve got a whole secret world going on.”

Before Spencer can respond, Emily Prentiss spins her chair around, joining the conversation with a smirk. “Wait, wait, wait. Did you say glitter?”

“It’s subtle,” Morgan says, crossing his arms. “But it’s there. And now I want answers.”

Spencer looks like he’s considering fleeing, his wide eyes darting between them. “It’s… not important. Really. Can we get back to work?”

“Not important?” JJ chimes in from her desk, her expression far too curious. “Spence, you’re blushing. It’s definitely important.”

Rossi walks by at that exact moment, sipping his coffee. “Sounds like our resident genius is in love,” he says casually, earning a chorus of laughter from the team.

Spencer groans, burying his face in his hands. “Can we please not do this right now?”

Morgan claps a hand on his shoulder, grinning. “Come on, pretty boy. Who is she? Or he? Or they? Give us something.”

For a moment, Spencer hesitates. Then, with a resigned sigh, he mumbles, “Her name is… Y/N.”

The room falls silent for a beat before bursting into a flurry of exclamations.

“Y/N?” JJ asks, her smile soft. “You’ve been holding out on us, Spence!”

“Okay, but the glitter makes so much sense now,” Emily says, leaning back in her chair.

“Do they pack your lunch too?” Morgan teases. “Because you’ve been looking suspiciously well-fed lately.”

“Enough,” Spencer mutters, though the corners of his mouth betray him with a faint smile. “Yes, I’m… dating someone. Her name is Y/N. She’s an artist. And that’s all you’re getting.”

Morgan snorts. “Oh, we’re getting way more than that. This is just the beginning.”

Spencer shakes his head, but his blush deepens. As much as he protests, there’s an undeniable glow to him that the team can’t help but notice.

And while they tease him mercilessly, it’s clear that they’re thrilled for him—because Spencer Reid, their brilliant, awkward, kind-hearted genius, deserves all the love in the world.

And every night, when Spencer comes home to find you covered in paint with that familiar smile on your face, he’s reminded of just how lucky he is.

That night, Spencer steps through the door, his usual quietness replaced with an air of nervous excitement. His bag is slung over one shoulder, and there’s an extra gleam in his hazel eyes as he finds you standing at the kitchen counter, a bowl of pancake batter in your hands.

“Hey, genius,” you greet, not looking up as you stir. “How was work?”

“Uh…” He hesitates, and the sound of his bag hitting the floor grabs your attention.

You glance up, catching the telltale flush creeping up his neck. “What happened?”

“They… um…” He rubs the back of his neck, his voice softening. “They know.”

Your heart skips a beat, the spoon slipping from your fingers. “They know?”

“About us.”

You freeze for a moment, staring at him, before breaking into laughter. “What gave it away? The glitter, the notes, or the fact that you’ve been using pens too nice for a government salary?”

He cracks a sheepish smile, stepping closer. “Morgan asked about the pen, and I… may have overexplained.”

You laugh even harder, clutching the counter for support. “Oh, Spencer. Of course you did.”

His hands find your waist, steadying you as you catch your breath. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, though his lips are twitching with the hint of a smile.

“It’s hilarious,” you counter, looping your arms around his neck. “What did they say?”

“They were… amused,” he admits, his gaze dropping. “Morgan gave me a hard time, and JJ said it was sweet. Rossi just smirked like he already knew, and Emily—well, she asked if you’re the reason I’ve been smelling like lavender lately.”

You snort, shaking your head. “So, basically, they love it.”

His arms tighten around you, his forehead resting against yours. “They think I’m lucky,” he says softly. “And they’re right.”

Your breath hitches, the sincerity in his voice sending a wave of warmth through you.

“You are lucky,” you tease, brushing a paint-stained thumb against his cheek. “But so am I.

Later that evening, after dinner and a shared bottle of wine, you find yourselves on the couch, your legs draped across his lap. A sketchpad rests on the coffee table, abandoned in favor of the moment.

Spencer is reading again, his brow furrowing every now and then as he flips through the pages. You’re half-watching him, half-daydreaming, your heart full to bursting.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop teasing you?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

He doesn’t look up, but a small smile plays on his lips. “Probably not. But I don’t mind. They’re happy for me—for us.”

The words hang in the air, soft and certain, and you feel a lump rise in your throat.

“Come here,” you murmur, tugging gently on his arm.

He sets the book aside and shifts closer, letting you curl into his side. His hand comes up to cradle your head, his fingers threading through your hair.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words slipping out as naturally as a breath.

He freezes for a moment, his hand stilling against your hair. Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

It’s the first time he’s said it, and the weight of it settles over you like a warm blanket. You can see it in his eyes, the quiet reverence with which he holds those words—holds you.

You lean up to kiss him, your lips brushing against his in a way that feels like a promise. When you pull back, he’s smiling, his cheeks flushed and his eyes alight with something that looks a lot like forever.

Over the next few weeks, life settles into a new kind of normal. The team’s teasing becomes a regular occurrence, but Spencer takes it in stride, his quick wit and encyclopedic knowledge often leaving Morgan speechless.

You keep sending him off to work with lovingly packed lunches and scribbled notes, and he keeps coming home with faint traces of glitter on his clothes and stories that make your heart ache with pride and love.

One evening, as you’re sorting through your art supplies, you find a small stack of post-it notes tucked into one of your sketchbooks. They’re all doodles of Spencer—some detailed, others hastily drawn in moments of inspiration.

You gather them up and slip them into his desk drawer, smiling to yourself as you imagine him finding them later.

And when he does—when he texts you a picture of one with the caption You’re amazing—you know you’ll never get tired of loving him.

Because with Spencer, even the quiet, everyday moments feel extraordinary. And together, you’ve created something messy, colorful, and perfect—a masterpiece all your own.

[jadeshifting]

🍒 — FRUIT ASK GAME

( reblog … send a fruit … get an answer !! what will the fruit oracle tell you about other realities hmm )

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

— 🍋 TERRIBLY SOUR LEMON … who’s your least favorite person in your DR? a poisonous ex, a toxic professor—maybe someone who tried to straight up murder you. who do you truly go sour in the face at the thought of?

— 🍎 SHINY RED APPLE … what are you the absolute best at in your DR? the thing that, when people need help with it, they let out the most gigantic sigh of relief when you walk in the room—everyone knows you do it best

— 🍓 SUGAR SWEET STRAWBERRY … what’s the most romantic, sugar-sweet moment you’ve had or will have in your DR? something so terrifically soft and perfect it could’ve come straight from a wild strawberry patch

— 🍆 DEEP UMBER EGGPLANT … what’s the most thrilling fantasy you have about your lover in your DR? no information is too much or too little, it’s all according to your comfort—a midnight rendezvous, a sudden vacation for two, or maybe just a night in with one-or-two extra glasses of wine and hanging out :)

— 🥝 FUZZY BURST KIWI … what’s something about you in your DR that people wouldn’t expect to be true? it doesn’t quite line up, some fabulous detail about you. when people find out, they’re positively shocked

— 🥭 TROPICAL LUSH MANGO … what adds the most dynamic, vibrant color to your DR? a person, a place, an activity, a part of your identity—its presence lights up your existence there like sun rays on a blank canvas

— 🍏 CRISP GREEN APPLE … what’s a memory from your childhood in your DR that stands out amongst the others? the edges of the picture are crisp, it may not be particularly good or bad—but intricately memorable

— 🍈 HONEY BLISS CANTALOUPE … what’s your favorite season in your DR? do you enjoy sun-drenched summers, an exhilarating back to school time in autumn, or perhaps some particularly festive Christmas traditions that make the wintertime special?

— 🍒 BLOODRED CHERRIES … what is your biggest fear in your DR? you don’t have to get deep if you don’t wanna—it can be as small and horrifying as a spider or the dark. something that truly rattles you to your bones

— 🥑 EARTHY AVOCADO … what’s the most comforting part of your daily routine in your DR? it’s grounding—something that no matter where you are or what you have going on, will always give you reprise and solace

— 🫐 DEWY BLUEBERRIES … what’s your comfort meal or dessert in your DR? maybe it’s something your parents make for you, something you order from room service while you’re reclined in a hotel room, or something simple you prepare for yourself—it makes you feel better the second you sink your teeth into i

— 🍑 OVERRIPE PEACH … what kind of a future do you imagine for yourself in your DR? white picket fence material, with marriage and a couple kids? perhaps childless but continuing on your adventures til old age, or all of the above?

— 🍌 SUNNY BANANA … what’s a piece of art, literature or music that truly moved you in your DR? perhaps something that shaped your identity, something that you enjoy for purely academic reasons, or just your favorite

— 🍅 SCARLET TOMATO … what’s the juiciest secret you’ve ever kept or will keep in your DR? the kind of scandalous thing that would positively burst into drama if revealed

— 🥥 SUN-KISSED COCONUT … what would your ideal vacation be in your DR? a tropical getaway, with white sand and bungalows? a secluded retreat into the foggy mountains? where would you go, and who would you bring with you?

— 🍉 JUICY WATERMELON … what’s your favorite thing about your lover in your DR? the way they smell like home, how they make your chest hurt with laughter, how they take care of you. maybe the way their hair falls in their face just so

— 🍍 SPIKY BOLD PINEAPPLE … if your life in your DR had a color palette, what would it look like? perhaps pastels, or a range of jewel tones? maybe a collection of shades that seem totally random, but that make perfect sense just to you

— 🍐 MELLOW PEAR … what’s a dream or goal you’re pursuing in your DR? it could be as small as reading more often, or going out with your friends more, or as large as saving the entire cosmic universe. whatever you’re working towards!

— 🍇 TART PURPLE GRAPES … if you could bottle the scent of your favorite memories in your DR, what would the notes be? base notes of parchment and ink for your academic pursuits? middle notes of jasmine and rose petals for a lover you hold close to your heart? perhaps top notes of sea salt and sand for a place you find solace in?

— 🍊 SUNSET CITRUS ORANGE … what’s your favorite kind of outing to go on in your DR, with your friends, family, or your partner? whether it’s a classy art gallery, a carefree rocky beach, or an urban jaunt to the mall, you know you’ll have a good time every time

— 🍋‍🟩 ZESTY SOUR LIME … do you have any scars in your DR? a little mark on your knee from a childhood mishap on a scooter, or some gigantic mark left as proof of your world-saving tendencies—one that tells a story, big or small

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

[lh44girl]

A New Year’s Spark

It was the perfect winter retreat. Lewis had invited a few close friends to his sprawling mountain cabin in Colorado to ring in the New Year. Snow blanketed the ground, the fireplace roared, and the house buzzed with easy laughter and clinking glasses. You felt grateful to be included in his circle, even though being around Lewis always made your heart race a little faster than it should.

He was a friend—a good one at that—but there were moments when his smile lingered a little too long, or when his teasing made your cheeks flush. Tonight, with the cozy atmosphere and the gentle glow of the firelight, those feelings simmered just beneath the surface.

The evening passed in a blur of board games, drinks, and stories, and by the time everyone retreated to their rooms, the cabin was silent except for the soft creak of settling wood. Exhausted, you slipped under the plush duvet, letting the warmth lull you into a deep sleep.

The dream hit you out of nowhere. You were in the kitchen, but it wasn’t like before. Lewis stood close, too close, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His hands brushed your waist, his touch searing. You were raped in his strong arms his lips hovers around your ear “I notice how your body respond around me, you’re captivating” he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine

Before you could answer, his lips claimed yours, hot and insistent. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you whispered his name— “Lewis…” you moaned his name. You’re body arching towards him as desire overtakes you. As one of his hands trace along the line of your sweet spot, you murmur in your sleep “God, Lewis ..” the words spilling from your lips unbidden.

In the quiet hallway, Lewis Froze, he was passing by to get some water when he heard his name, his eyebrows shot up as he realized the tone was not one of distress. a slow, amused grin spread across his face , while passing by your room.

The next morning, you woke up remarkably well rested,though vaguely aware of a dream that had left you warm and flushed . You stretched lazily walking around to find Lewis in the kitchen brewing coffee. He seemed his usual self—relaxed, charming, and effortlessly cool—but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes whenever he spoke to you.

“Morning” you greeted each other

“Sleep well ?” he asked casually over breakfast, leaning against the counter with his coffee mug.

“Yeah, surprisingly well ,” you replied quickly, avoiding his gaze.

He smirked. “Good to know. You seemed… pretty comfortable last night.”

Your spoon clattered into your bowl. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged, his expression innocent. “Nothing. Just saying you were… vocal. Must’ve been a great dream.”

Your face turned scarlet as the memory of the dream hits you like a freight train . the implication sank in. He knew. He noticed how you cheeks turned all the colors of red, how your lips were shivering as you bite your lower lip trying to contrôle it while hiding behind your coffee mug

“I—uh—don’t remember,” you lied, your brain stuttered, trying to focus on your coffee as your cheeks burned, and your legs crossed and squeezed together. you felt that your panties were socked & needed to run back to your room asap.

“Mm-hmm,” he said, clearly unconvinced but merciful enough to let it go. He noticed all your body language, and how you weren’t aware that your Pjs were a little bit of a light fabric showing how your nipples were hard and perky

During the day, activities out door took place, you were not a skier so you ended up just around your friends who skied or on the snow motorcycles . When it was time for dinner or just being inside, everyone was busy with preparing food or drinks or just deciding on indoor games, Lewis all day long couldn’t take his eyes off of you, when none was looking or noticing, his gaze would linger a little long on you, noticing the color of your laced lingerie that would pick out of your jeans or through that cotton top warmer. You on the other hand, your face said it all, flushed as if you had a fever coming along, even one of your friends where worried you got one !!

That night, as Lewis lay in his room, his thoughts betrayed him. He had brushed off what he heard with teasing ease, but the memory of your voice murmuring his name had replayed in his head all day, the way you looked in the morning perky & undeniably messy cute & shy . Now, as he drifted off, the boundary between reality and fantasy blurred.

In his dream, you were standing in front of him wearing nothing but the black laced lingerie that he noticed picking from your jeans and through your white blouse ( that he had noticed during the day) smiling coyly. The air crackled with unspoken tension. He reached out, his fingers trailing along your arm as your breath hitched. In the dream he could remember all your delicate details , your neck,your breast,your smell, he explored your body with curiosity with his soft finger tips. The dream escalated quickly, and when he woke up with a sharp intake of breath, the remnants of it lingered in vivid detail. He groaned, running a hand over his face“This is bad,” he muttered to himself, his body betraying him ,waking up with boner he couldn’t hide. Lewis decided to take a cold shower just to try to brush off the excitement.

The next day, he couldn’t stop noticing you. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the soft laugh that escaped when someone made a joke, the curve of your neck & waist as you leaned forward. It was maddening.He found himself stealing glances, his mind wandering to places it shouldn’t. Every little movement you made seemed to draw him in, and the tension simmered beneath the surface. Each time, both of you were next to each other, he would steal a smell of your perfume, perks of being short & petite he would stand behind you hovering over you. Your face would turn red, and you would feel hot to the point that you wanted to be out side in the snow in your underwear. Lewis also experience uncontrollable excitement each time your hand touches his or you to would end up just next to each other on the crowded couch on movie night. During the skie trip, you were having trouble with your snow board, Lewis offers to help, this made the tension between the two of you more accelerated, holding you close by the waist , manhandling you so you won’t slip and fall , hearing you laugh with excitement. His touch to you , having his breath minty fresh next ear and neck trying to explain the technique. He was surprised that he had no contrôle over his excitement having to deal with a boner (publicly) while you on the other hand, had trouble keeping your panties clean.

By the time New Year’s Eve arrived, the two of you could hardly meet each other’s eyes without feeling that undercurrent of something unsaid. As midnight approached, the group gathered around the fire to count down, champagne glasses in hand “Ten,Nine..” everyone cheered, but your gaze met Lewis’s, & the rest of the world seamed to blur.

When the clock struck midnight, the room erupted in cheers, but for a brief moment, it felt like it was just the two of you. He leaned closer,his lips hovered over yours stealing a kiss at midnight while saying, “Happy New Year.”

The weight of his words & both of you exchanging a kiss hung between you, a promise of something yet to come.

[lotsofsq]

THANK YOU SO MUCH I COULD CRY i was grinning wider with every word oh my gosh thank you so much i’m so so happy to hear about you noticing, and finding joy in the little things i add!!

id love to tell you about my process! i love rambling about why i do certain stuff because sometimes i don’t even realize until after it’s down! often i have a feeling of a picture in my head and i just need to think of how to capture it

overall i try to do what feeeels right, but i often focus the most on differentiating eyes, i like for my designs to have distinct eyes and i was really able to do that with TMBS.

also with the colors they are a perfect set like the minimum pack of crayons

for reynie: i really wanted him to look gentle but not completely round, he’s very dependable so that leans more toward square shapes. reynie has always had a very specific look in my head because for years i pictured him looking like one of my childhood friends. his eyes both, look more asian, and lower eyelids often make a character appear more calm. the clovers are a little indicator i put often to show like?? good will almost? idk how to describe it but like when you can see the genuineness of someone.

for sticky: he’s such a nervous ball of energy and so sweet, he has this really round visual energy his eyes really mirror the shape of his glasses, big open eyes can be nervous or observant, in this case both! sticky has always been that deep blue color in my head, deep blue is a great indicator of vastness; the ocean, the night sky. fits well. yes little nervous sweats.

for constance: the epitome of angry squishy little kid, the almost white hair actually makes her look younger, since most people’s hair darkens as they age. i love her little tiny eyes, it makes her look like a stuffed animal. and i feel like the hair clip shows there are people who care enough to put it there. the little jagged lines always make me think of glaring and intensity

for kate: out of all the kids her eyes are the most realistic, she has a true eyelid and a natural shape to her eyes. i’m not entirely sure why i like to do that but i might be because i find her very wise, old soul kind of deal. i tried to make her look slightly older than the boys and i just adore her sunny disposition and humor, it’s so important for her personality. of course hee symbol is little rays of light coming off of her.

all these answers are kinda all why i did things instead of how, if you want that for anything i’d love to tell you if i can but i’m not sure that will be very interesting its a lot of trying until it feels right.

-

once again thank you so so much for this i hope you enjoy my response! it really touches my heart to hear people try to pick apart my art it makes me so happy

THE MYSTERIOUS BENEDICT SOCIETY!!!!!!

i’ll be posting most of my stuff chronologically so enjoy my journey

[ID copies from alt text: four headshots of the four society members: reynie is smiling calmly, his hair is sweeping left over his forehead. he is wearing a green sweater vest with a line of little sprouts on it over a button down. sticky has a nervous expression, he is fully bald. he is wearing a blue sweater over a button down. constance looks peeved and has wispy blonde hair with red hair clips. she is wearing a red coat over a yellow shirt. kate is excited and winking, her gold blonde hair is in a high ponytail. she is in a red and white striped t-shirt. all 4 have emphasized lines around them in their respective colors: reynie has green flowers, sticky has blue sweat beads, constance has red jagged lines, and kate has yellow radial lines around her. ]

[starksweasley]

Gravity // Remus Lupin

Summary: In which Remus is jealous (slight angst, fluff)

Word Count: 1243

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with laughter and the mellow warmth of firewhiskey. James had one arm slung around Sirius’s shoulders and the other around yours, his messy black hair flopping into his face as he laughed uncontrollably at one of Sirius’s jokes. Across from you, Lily’s green eyes sparkled as she leaned forward, recounting a  tale from Potions class, while Peter, perched on the armrest of a chair, blushed at her playful teasing.

You caught Remus’s eyes from across the room. He was reclined in his usual spot, legs stretched out, a soft smile playing on his lips. But there was something else in his gaze—something that burned brighter than the fire crackling in the hearth. That look wasn’t for the group. It was for you, only you. For months now, those glances had spoken louder than words. They’d said everything he tried so hard to deny.

It was a dangerous game, the one you played with him. Secret meetings, whispered promises, kisses that left you breathless and aching for more—and then the inevitable, his anguished voice pulling you back to reality. “We can’t do this,” he’d say, guilt clouding his honey-colored eyes. “I can’t risk hurting you.” Yet here you were, caught in a relentless cycle, tethered to him by something neither of you could control.

Lily’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “So,” she began, her tone light and teasing, “that Slytherin boy in Potions—what’s his name again? Avery? He’s been staring at you like you’re Amortentia. Are you going to say yes if he asks you out?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Not a chance. I’d rather kiss the Giant Squid.”

James let out a loud guffaw, and Sirius raised his glass in mock salute. “Good taste, love. That Slytherin’s a jerk.”

But your laughter caught in your throat when you saw Remus. His jaw clenched, his knuckles white against the arm of the couch. He quickly averted his gaze, staring into the flames as though they might temper the storm brewing inside him. You’d seen this look before. The quiet possessiveness he tried to hide. It sent your heart racing.

Eventually, the group began to drift apart. James slung an arm around Sirius as they stumbled toward the boys’ dormitory, still laughing. Lily bade you goodnight with a knowing smile, and Peter yawned his way upstairs. Left alone, you lingered for a moment, watching the embers glow. Then, with a sigh, you headed toward your dormitory. Or at least, that was the plan.

The castle was quiet as you wandered the corridors, the cool air brushing your skin like a whisper of the night. You’d detoured for a glass of water, your footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone walls. But as you turned a corner, a hand caught your wrist and yanked you into the shadows with a force that sent your heart racing. Your back hit the wall, the cool stone biting through your jumper, and before you could react, his lips were on yours.

“Remus,” you gasped against his mouth, the word barely audible, lost in the intensity of his kiss. His hands found your waist, strong and unyielding, fingers digging into your hips as though he needed to anchor himself to you. His kiss was searing, desperate—like he was pouring every unspoken word, every buried feeling, into this moment. His teeth grazed your lower lip, a low growl escaping his throat, and your knees nearly gave way beneath you. Possessive. Wild. Devastating.

When he finally pulled back, his  eyes locked onto yours, ablaze with a fire that made your breath hitch. His chest heaved with the effort of restraint, and yet his hands stayed firm on your waist, refusing to let you go. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke, the silence between you crackling with unspoken desire and frustration. The world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in this charged, stolen moment.

“What the hell, Remus?” you whispered, your voice trembling but your tone firm. “What’s this about?”

“Do you think I didn’t notice?” he growled, his voice low and rough. “That prat in Potions looking at you like you’re something he could just… have?” His fingers tightened on your waist, nails digging into your skin. “You’re mine.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, but you rolled your eyes, though your cheeks burned. “Oh, really?” you hissed. “You’re allowed to act like this, but then you tell me we can’t be together? Stop telling me we can’t do this and then pulling shit like this, Remus!”

He exhaled sharply, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots as if trying to wrangle his thoughts into submission. His eyes darted away for a moment, but they quickly returned to you, filled with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “I’m a big, stupid idiot,” he muttered, his voice breaking slightly. “I know I am. But I can’t stay away from you. And I… I can’t stop thinking about what might happen if I hurt you.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his fears.

Your resolve softened, the tension in your shoulders easing, but you refused to let him off the hook so easily. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you said, stepping closer, your voice steady despite the rapid thrum of your heart. Your hands brushed against his, daring to close the distance. “But you can’t keep breaking my heart like this, Remus. Either we’re together, or we’re not. No more in-between.”

His gaze locked onto yours, searching, pleading, his expression torn between hope and fear. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, his throat working against the words. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “I want to be with you,” he admitted, his voice so quiet it was nearly lost to the silence. “Even if it scares me. Even if it’s selfish and stupid. I want you. Only you.”

The confession sent a rush of warmth through you, your heart swelling until it felt too big for your chest. Slowly, deliberately, you reached up and cupped his face, marveling at how beautiful he looked in the dim light. His features were alight, the sharp planes of his cheekbones softened by the look in his eyes, those molten gold irises that held the weight of a thousand secrets and a million  promises. Your thumbs brushed against the rough stubble on his jaw, the texture grounding you in the reality of this moment. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes fluttering shut for a fleeting moment as if savoring every ounce of your presence. You pulled him into a kiss that was softer, deeper this time, a perfect blend of passion and quiet devotion that made your knees weak. His arms came around you, enveloping you completely, holding you as though the world might shatter and steal you away if he let go for even a second.

When you broke apart, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling haphazardly. “Good,” you finally murmured. “Because I’m not letting you go, Remus Lupin.”

A faint smile curved his lips, and for the first time that night, his eyes shone with certainty. “I think I could get used to that,” he said, his voice warm and steady. And in that moment, it felt like you’d finally broken the cycle.

[neiptune]

atsumu miya x will you be my new year's kiss?

Atsumu walks through the door with a few presents balanced in his arms, thick scarf covering his face up to his nose. The apartment is unusually quiet, the only details confirming your presence the colorful lights on the tree you decorated together the first day of december and a few pots left on the stove.

“Babe?”, he calls, confused. Maybe you’re getting ready for the party, which gives him enough time to take his coat off and sort all the boxes. He finally picked up the gifts he couldn’t give on christmas, Bokuto’s legendary new year's eve dinner celebration the perfect chance to check the remaining names off his list: Kiyoomi, Shoyo, Shugo, Rin, Shion. You helped him pick every gift but Atsumu refused to have his sense of creativity fully obscured by your good taste. He hopes Kiyoomi will enjoy his brand new, expensive antibacterial hand sanitizer.

As he walks upstairs, he calls for you again but once more there is no response. He finds you in your shared bedroom, head buried underneath a million blankets, a weak cough the only sign of life he gets.

“Baby? Are you okay?”, he rushes to your side, lifts the covers just enough to get a glimpse of your exhausted face.

“’Tsumu, you’re home”, you try to clear your throat but it still comes out in a hoarse whisper, “sorry, I think you’re gonna have to go to the party alone. I’m sick”.

“You’re sick? How did this happen? It was that asshole colleague of yours, wasn’t it? The one who always comes to the office with a fever, that jacka-”

“I just think going grocery shopping with my hair still wet wasn’t smart”, you chuckle from underneath che covers, “I’ll be fine, just wanna rest tonight. Tell everyone I said hi, ‘kay?”.

Atsumu frowns.

“What? No way I’m leaving ya alone, I’m not going”, he’s alrady taking off his tie by the time your half-lidded gaze emerges once more.

“No, ‘Tsumu! Please go and have fun, it’s new year’s eve!”.

“Nuh uh, I’m making ya soup and putting my pajamas on”.

“But-”

“Rest yer voice, pretty. D’you need any medicine? I can run to the nearest pharmacy”.

You weakly shake your head no.

“I’m fine, it’s just a cold. Some paracetamol will do”.

Atsumu feels your forehead with the back of his hand and smiles, dipping his head to gently press his lips to it afterwards. He murmurs some sweet reassurances into your skin, strokes your hair and tenderly puts out the last embers of your objections. It’s not a bother, his friends will understand, you didn’t ruin anything, he’s happy he gets to take care of his girl.  

Atsumu likes to party but he always says all he needs are those he loves, what he’s doing is hardly important. People make his moments and you happen to be his favorite person.

His new year’s eve is hardly ruined as he hums in your kitchen, puts together your favorite chicken noodle soup as you sniffle upstairs. He cuts fresh bread, makes lemon tea and fills your biggest cup with water, quick and efficient as the situation requires.

When he’s back by your side, tray in hand, you sit up with a deep groan and Atsumu gets comfortable on the side of the bed, insists on feeding you the best soup ever made. After every spoon, the question of whether you can feel all the love put in there makes you break into an exasperated smile.

“Did you eat?”, you take the medicine he hands, grateful, then melt against the pillows once more.

“Yes”, he lies.

“Go eat something”. Atsumu huffs at how easily you read him.

“Later, ’m not hungry”, he feels your temperature with his hand again, then boops your nose to make you laugh.

“I’m sorry”, you sigh, “this is so not how I wanted this night to go”.

“Stop apologizing or I’m gonna have to do it too next time I get sick”, he walks to the other side of the bed and lifts the covers, “and ya know how I feel about apologizing”.

“Go sleep in the guest room! I’ll make you s-”

“Ya talk too much”, once in bed, with a content sigh Atsumu wraps his arm around your body and pulls you in, “besides, I have a question”.

“What?”, you grumble, adjusting yourself to rest your head on his shoulder. He gently rubs your arm, turns his head just enough for his lips to graze your forehead as he speaks again.

“Will you be my new year’s kiss?”.

“Why do I feel like you won’t take no as an answer?”, despite the frustration in your tone, you chuckle.

“Damn right I won’t”, Atsumu smiles. Kissing you is worth getting sick. Kissing you is worth anything, really.

dear @heavenlyakin, a sweet secret santa dropped by to leave this gift for you! happy holidays 🎄

[maomiscorner]

Holding on to You - short ff

Background: In this romantic fanfiction, Y/N, a girl battling depression and anxiety, finds comfort and hope in her relationship with Jake, a member of ENHYPEN. Through his love and unwavering support, Y/N learns to see the light in herself, even on her darkest days.

Pairing: idol!Jake x f!reader

There was a calming stillness in the small café tucked away in the alleys of Seoul. The soft, warm lights illuminated the pastel-colored walls, creating an intimate and cozy atmosphere. Y/N sat by the window, watching the light rain fall gently on the glass. It was her favorite spot, the one where she often retreated with Jake, far from the eyes of the world.

But today, she was alone. Jake was still busy with rehearsals for the new album, but he had promised he would come soon. Despite that, a slight sense of anxiety started creeping into her chest. Y/N wrapped herself in her oversized sweater, seeking comfort. Ever since she started dating Jake, her days had become brighter, but sometimes those dark moments came back. Depression and anxiety were like old ghosts that never fully left her in peace.Lost in those thoughts, the familiar sound of the door opening brought her back to reality. Looking up, she saw Jake walk in, his hair still a bit damp from the rain, and that smile that always made her heart beat a little faster. He quickly made his way to her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before sitting next to her.

"Did I make you wait too long?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.Y/N shook her head, trying to hide the lingering restlessness inside. "No, everything's fine. I'm just happy you're here." Jake watched her carefully, as if he could read her deepest emotions without her needing to say a word. He had always been so attentive, so caring. Even when she felt lost within herself, he was there, with that gentle smile that seemed to pull her back to the surface. "I brought something for you," he said suddenly, pulling a small package from his jacket pocket.

Y/N looked at him curiously, her eyes widening. "What is it?" "Open it and see." With slightly trembling hands, Y/N opened the package to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a small star-shaped pendant. It was simple, elegant, yet incredibly meaningful.

Words struggled to come out. "Jake... it's beautiful, but why?" Jake smiled, taking her hand tenderly. "Every time you feel lost or sad, I want you to look at this star. Because even in the darkest nights, there's always a light shining for you. And that light, Y/N, is you. Even if you don't always see it."

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion. There were times when the world felt too heavy to bear, but Jake always managed to remind her of her worth, even when she forgot it herself.Tears filled her eyes, but they weren't from sadness. It was as if Jake's love could melt away that invisible grip that often held her captive. "Thank you," she whispered softly, squeezing his hand. "I don't know how you do it, but you always make me feel better." Jake gently stroked her cheek, his gaze full of tenderness. "You don't have to thank me. That's what people who love each other do, right? They take care of one another."

Y/N nodded, feeling surrounded by a warmth that went beyond words. In that moment, with Jake by her side, the world seemed less frightening. He was her safe harbor, her light in the dark. "Just promise me one thing," Jake said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them."What?" "That you'll keep fighting, even on the days when everything feels harder. I'll always be here, but you're stronger than you think."

Y/N smiled through her tears, feeling the bond between them grow even stronger. It was true, her battles weren’t over, but with Jake by her side, she knew she could face anything.

Because love, true love, was the greatest strength of all. And in that moment, with the sound of rain in the background and Jake's warm hands in hers, Y/N understood that she wasn't alone. She never would be.

Jake kissed her gently, a simple gesture yet filled with promises. A promise of love, of support, and of a life to be lived together, despite everything.

[inkyarcturus]

Thinking about teenage Harry severitus shenanigans. Harry getting fed up with his hair one random night in the summer and taking some kitchen scissors to just hack away at it.

Severus shows up 20 minutes later, having woken up from the bright light of the bathroom, the sounds of cutting and soft grumbling of Harry trying to get his hair right.

Halfway through Harry cutting his hair, he also decided to dye it, so he just has a bowl of developer, bleach and dye on the bathroom counter.

They stare at one another blankly.

“do you need some assistance?” Severus asked far too amused for a man who was woken up this late at night.

Harry, whose given himself haircuts since that one time with Aunt Petunia, “With this no? Maybe the hair dye- I haven’t decided which color yet.”

Of course he’s a little worried that he’s stepped over some sort of line. He’s unsure if he’s cutting his hair too short, or maybe dying his hair unnatural colors isn’t allowed in this house (similar to the Dursleys), but once Severus starts helping him with the process, all the tension drains away.

By the time they finish it’s early morning. They stayed up together talking while they waited for his hair to set.

When Harry looks in the mirror he feels like himself, less of a copy of his father, he kinda hopes Severus sees that too. While they had definitely worked through a lot of their previous experiences, he always thought at the back of his mind that Sev still sees him as his father.

He’s never had the chance to be this carefree in his expression, always worried about the Dursleys, the public or his friends. It’s freeing.

[sadiecoocoo]

Hazel, Sweet and Dynamic Chp. 3 - Arcane Fanfiction

Summary - As Jayce spends more time trying to find a way home, Viktor grows bitter with neglect

Chp. Word Count - 2927

Total Word Count - 8,907

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Chapter 1

Notes: I definitely tried a bit of a different writing style with this one, but I'm really proud of it! originally this chp was going to be longer, but I decided where i left it off would be a better cut-off point anyways, enjoy :)

Every few nights, Jayce cried, and Viktor held him silently. He didn’t mind.

He never shushed him, or told him things were okay, because they truly weren’t. It didn’t help to be given false platitudes just so he could feel better in the moment.

Jayce would refind his optimism anyway. He didn’t need Viktor to tell him to chin up. He just needed Viktor to be there.

He held him silently, rubbing his back and resting his chin in Jayce’s hair.

That was usually how they fell asleep. Jayce would be as pressed against him as much as he possibly could be, and Viktor would welcome it gladly.

Every morning that he woke up with Jayce in his arms, and Jayce holding him tightly in turn, was the start of a good morning. 

He was honestly starting to think that he’d be okay with this. If they didn’t find their way home, they’d at least have each other. Their only worries would be finding scraps and cooking bad food.

He knew Jayce would never give up, he left too much behind to be content with what they had now. Caitlyn, Vi, Mel, and his mother were out there somewhere, and he could never leave his mother alone.

Viktor didn’t have anyone left, only Jayce. He would be content with him, so he would follow him wherever he went.

He would work on trying to find a way back home, write equation after equation. He would go as far as the bridges and gather as many supplies as he could, watching as more and more husks seemed to follow his movements. He would make sure Jayce understood how to treat his injured leg, how to not make anything worse.

It was dark outside now, there weren’t anymore neon chemlights to brighten the night. If he looked out the boarded up window, he wouldn’t see a thing.

He supposed it made it easier to sleep. At least it should have. He could almost forget that there were the husks just outside. He could almost forget about the one that reached towards him when he walked past it.

He hadn’t told Jayce. He didn’t plan to. The man had enough worries already, and this should be something Viktor can handle himself.

It had only happened once, but the feeling of cold, lifeless fingers grabbing onto his arm haunted him. It had been forceful, and he had to pry himself away. They left indents in his strange purple skin that looked just a shade darker for a day or two.

He had abandoned the box of supplies he had found, leaving it to clatter against the ground. He only had half the mind to not barge into the house and worry Jayce.

Viktor ended up spending about an hour sitting out in the alley they had been in before, the two husks clutching onto each other his only company. He stared again at the burst of muted colors traveling up the walls like a disease. His panic had bled way to disdain after glaring at it long enough.

He knew Jayce suspected something was wrong by the time he got back. He had asked, but Viktor only shrugged him off with a half-baked excuse. He didn’t push anyway, just waited for Viktor to open up, even though he never did.

Now the two of them were curled up next to each other. Jayce’s light snores were the only sound aside from the occasional rustling of the covers.

No matter how hard he tried, Viktor couldn’t sleep. It was getting colder every day, and they were well into the winter months. It had even snowed a couple of times.

Their blanket wasn’t cutting it anymore for keeping them warm. Jayce managed fine, he had always run hot, but Viktor felt the cold chilling him down to the bone.

It was still foreign and overwhelming. The involuntary shivers racketing his body felt forceful. The way goosebumps rose along his strangely colored flesh felt wrong.

And Jayce treated it like it was normal. To him, it was. Viktor, despite how guilty it made him, resented him for it.

Beside him, Jayce burrowed himself into the covers more. He pressed his face against Viktor’s neck. The other man swallowed the lump forming his throat.

He would never get used to how easily Jayce showed his affections. It felt unfair, like he didn’t deserve it. Because despite all of Jayce’s insistences that he did, Viktor really didn’t deserve it.

Everything just seemed wrong now. He didn’t deserve any of the little peace they had found here. He didn’t deserve getting to enjoy his mostly fixed body, with his only aches being when he slept wrong. He didn't deserve Jayce.

Even so, being from the undercity, Viktor learned to take what he didn’t deserve. He hadn’t deserved to go to the academy, he hadn’t worked harder than any of the other kids that had dreamed of it.

So he would take. He would crave what little he had. He would do anything to keep it.

Viktor pressed himself closer to Jayce, resting his chin in the other man’s hair.

There was a husk standing right outside the alleyway. Viktor stared at its blank face. Its head was tilted ever so slightly to the side.

This one seemed different than all the others. It was a marionette, not a husk. It had a crown-like halo behind its head.

Viktor thought of the first person he had healed, the shimmer addict that held a knife to him and cried about how he was sorry to be trying to mug Viktor.

That man was standing before him now. Changed into something that would be unrecognizable to anyone else.

It hadn’t moved anymore than it already had, but it blocked the entrance to the alley way, trapping Viktor inside for reasons unknown.

He wasn’t sure if the marionettes were a threat or not. He had been able to control them, he might still be able to if he really tried.

He didn’t want to try. He would be happy to abandon that power and forget it ever existed.

The marionette tilted its head to the other side, almost like it was working out a crick in its neck. He heard the jangling of metal as it moved.

Viktor took a step back, closer to the entrance to their shelter.

It took a step forward.

He froze. It did too. It was mimicking him, trying to intimidate him. He took in a shaky breath.

His throat was dry with apprehension. It could get inside, they didn’t have a real door, just a curtain. It could get inside and attack them. It could get to Jayce.

It could ruin everything if Viktor didn’t find a way to stop it. He couldn’t let any of those things touch Jayce ever again. 

He took a step towards it, his fists clenched at his sides.

It took a step back. He willed it to.

When Viktor came back, it was empty handed.

Jayce had been working away at their theories again. He turned and the evident disappointment in his eyes hurt Viktor. He had been expecting new parts that they could use, and Viktor failed to deliver.

“Sorry,” He muttered, fighting to relax his clenched fists. He hadn’t relaxed since he had left.

“No, it’s alright,” Jayce assured, “I can’t expect a treasure hoard every day.” He smiled lightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked tired.

He heard walking outside. It was the sound of metal clanking against the ground in the rhythm of footsteps.

He stared at the boarded up window, not seeing a thing through the shadows of the night.

Then there was a small glimmer of light as it passed the window. It stayed there for too long to be coincidental.

“Leave us alone,” he whispered. Then the light moved, and the clanking footsteps got quieter and quieter.

It was there again. Viktor only stared at it for a second before moving to walk past it.

It turned its head to watch his movements as he passed. It moved no further into the alleyway.

 He would not let it.

He found nothing again. They had bled the sumps dry of useful supplies. He would have to start going further. Maybe he would have to go to Piltover soon.

The thought made him shudder. A sense of apprehension flowed through him. There was something telling him that he should not go there without Jayce, but at the same time he didn’t want Jayce there either.

He couldn’t risk putting him in danger. If he saw that the marionettes were moving, he could panic. He could get hurt. Viktor would not allow that to happen.

Said man was once again at the chalkboard, muttering to himself as he looked over the same notes he did every day. He was getting obsessive with it.

Viktor tried to tell himself that that was simply what they did. They worked and worked and worked until they collapsed or found a solution.

He thought Jayce couldn’t afford to collapse. Dark bruises became more prominent under his eyes every day, and he adjusted his weight off his bad leg more often than he used to.

“You should get a cane.” Viktor blurted, trying to use a tone that said it wasn’t a suggestion.

Jayce only glanced at him before shrugging. He crossed something off on the chalkboard with a loud scrape.

Viktor frowned. He walked up behind Jayce and peeked over his shoulder. The chalkboard seemed even more a mess than it did the day before.

“Let’s take a break, we need to eat.” Viktor said. He raised his hand to Jayce’s shoulder and squeezed it.

“No, I’m alright.” He answered, waving his hand dismissively. He tapped the walk against his chin, leaving a small white mark.

Viktor scrunched his nose in annoyance. If this was how Jayce felt all the times he couldn’t get Viktor away from the lab, he was starting to understand how frustrated he would get at times.

“Jayce,” Viktor said again, “go eat.” He ordered.

Jayce looked at him then, truly looked. It wasn’t dismissive, his mind wasn’t elsewhere. He finally looked.

And Viktor saw that he looked tired. Weary. His chest ached as Jayce looked at him. Those beautiful hazel eyes looked dull. It brought a scowl to his face. They weren’t supposed to be that way. They were supposed to be vibrant, to contrast all the muted colors that snaked around buildings and objects and corrupted everything else in this world.

“Alright,” Jayce said quietly. He glanced at the board again, his lips pursed as he didn’t want to leave it. It would be there an hour from now, Jayce was worried over nothing.

They ate silently. Viktor stole tentative glances at his partner, he watched the way he chewed slowly, like he was physically forcing himself to. He watched as Jayce stared into his stew sadly, like it had kicked a puppy in front of him.

It made Viktor angry. He didn’t know why. He felt like Jayce didn’t have the right to look so miserable. They had a good life now, no longer under the thumb of the council and no longer standing under the guillotine that was Viktor’s sickness.

Jayce didn’t have the right to be so upset anymore. It had been his choice to stay with Viktor in the first place, even though he had asked him to leave. It wasn’t fair that Jayce was leaving him now.

The thought left a bad taste in his mouth, worse than the food that still tasted like sump water. He almost apologized to Jayce, even though he had no idea what Viktor had been thinking.

That night Viktor held onto Jayce just a little tighter, like if he didn’t, he wouldn’t wake up by his side.

The lightbulb died yesterday. Sputtering once with a final flicker of fight, then flushed them into darkness like an omen.

“Why do you care so much about going back?” Viktor hadn’t meant to say it. He hasn’t meant for it to sound so bitter, so cruel. At the same time, he was glad it was up in the air, instead of simmering in his mind.

“What?” Jayce asked, turning fully to look at him. It wasn’t a side eye, or a quick glance. He looked, finally looked.

And he looked hurt.

“Why do you care,” Viktor asked again, unable to stop now that he had started. Jayce had just given him an out, a way to avoid a grievous mistake, and he ignored it. “There’s nothing left for us there!” He gestured with his hands.

Jayce blinked.

“Are you joking?” He asked. It sounded so condescending that Viktor had to fight the urge to kick the cane from Jayce’s hands. The cane that he had only just gotten Jayce to finally use.

“Does it look like I am?” He asked rhetorically. He finally stood, putting the two at equal height. Jayce had to be slightly hunched to actually put his weight on the cane.

“Don’t do this,” Jayce warned. And oh, if only Viktor heeded his warning. If only Viktor had learned to listen to Jayce when he was giving a warning. He thought he should have learned after he almost destroyed the world. He thought.

“If we go back, there’ll be nothing for us but glares. We’ll get no rewards, hell we might be sent to Stillwater!” He continued. He knew that wasn’t true. Jayce would get awards. Jayce could get a holiday after him if he really wanted it. It was difficult to talk about them without using “we,” though.

“You don’t know that!” Jayce insisted. He slammed the chalk onto the rim of the board, louder than he meant to. Or maybe he did mean to, and it just didn’t work at intimidating Viktor. “Mel would-“

That was what did it. That was what cut the line and made him snap.

“Of course, you’re doing this to see Mel!” He spat her name like a curse, tired of the woman that he felt took everything from him, “you just want to go back to her and leave your genocidal partner to rot!?” He screamed.

“No!” Jayce spluttered, he waved his hands wildly as he spoke, “no- I could care less-“

“I know what you did with her!” He interrupted, “I know that when I collapsed in the lab and was on my deathbed you had been sleeping with her! I know that when I was being transformed into the monster that I am now you went to her! I know-“

“I just want to see my mom!” Jayce screamed. Viktor stared, breathing hard. Jayce was crying. “I want to get away from this dead place that only serves to remind me of the months I spent rotting at the bottom of a fissure!”

He was crying, and he didn’t go to Viktor for comfort, not like last time, not like the countless other nights that he had. He shied away when Viktor reached a hand towards him. He scowled and looked to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m not gonna let anyone do anything to you if we find a way home.” Jayce continued, much quieter than before, but much more determined to make Viktor listen. He almost preferred the yelling. The yelling didn’t make him feel like a bad person. The yelled made him feel like they were both bad.

“I don’t care what you think I’m not gonna let you go to Stillwater, or get exiled, or- I don’t know!” He threw his hands up in the air.

“I know I messed up before, and I know I’m not being the best right now,” his voice was shaking, “but you don’t have anyone you left behind, and I miss my family.” He finished with a broken sob.

“You never should have stayed.” Viktor muttered. He was eternally grateful to Jayce for staying, but now it was causing them more pain than if he had let Viktor die alone. It was causing Jayce pain.

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Jayce didn’t say it. He didn’t go that far. Viktor could see it on the tip of his tongue, see it in the way he looked to the ground and started scratching at his wrist.

Viktor was out the door hardly a second later. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t watch Jayce break down because of him. He couldn’t be the one to keep hurting him. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't.

 Viktor didn’t turn back when Jayce called after him, because he didn’t sound mad anymore. He sounded broken. He sounded as broken as Viktor had felt all those years he worked beside someone who seemed implausibly perfect, and Viktor could never handle himself at his worst like Jayce had.

So Viktor walked away. He walked away like he always found some way to do. He walked away like he had when he found out what the Doctor did to Rio. He walked away like he did from the undercity. He walked away like he did with Heimerdinger. He walked away like the day he muttered something useless about affection as an excuse.

He walked. He didn’t hear the tell tale signs of footsteps behind him. He didn’t know if that made him hurt more or not.

End Notes: yippee cliff hanger also I have decided that this fic will have whump, but it's going to be minor

I also would like to say that the mention of Mel was not at all me being personally mad at her about that, I honestly love Meljay and Meljayvik, I just thought that since Viktor and Jayce are both tense and worried about a lot of things it’d be an easy way to set Viktor off (because bffr who wouldn’t be jealous of Mel) anyway, I always appreciate comments <3 (please someone talk to me about the symbolism and foreshadowing I added please I'm begging you)

if anyone would like to be tagged for updates please lmk, I'd be happy to do it!

[the-bifrost-blogger]

Of Chaos and Quiet Moments

Title: A Lesson in Trickery

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Timeline: Four years before Present Day Asgard.

The faint shimmer of golden sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the cozy living room. Loki stood near a small, cleared area, his long fingers deftly arranging a few simple objects on the rug: a feather, a crystal orb, and a tiny candle. This was no ordinary setup—it was a makeshift classroom for his eldest son, Liam.

"Are you ready, my little sorcerer?" Loki asked, his voice a mix of playfulness and gravitas.

Liam, with his dark hair tousled and his bright green eyes practically glowing with excitement, nodded vigorously. “Yes, Papa! Show me the magic!”

Loki chuckled, his chest swelling with pride. “Patience, my boy. The first lesson of magic is control. Chaos is easy; precision is an art.”

Liam tilted his head, his small fingers twitching in anticipation. “But chaos sounds fun.”

“Spoken like a true Laufeyson,” Loki said, smirking as he knelt down to Liam’s level. He tapped the feather gently, causing it to hover briefly in the air before landing softly. Liam gasped, clapping his hands together.

“How did you do that?”

“Ah,” Loki said, wagging a finger. “Magic, my dear boy, is not just in the spell but in the will. Close your eyes and imagine the feather lifting, as light as air.”

Liam scrunched his eyes shut, his tiny hands balling into fists as he concentrated with all his might. Loki watched him with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

“You don’t need to strangle it with your mind,” Loki teased. “Think of it like... tickling it with your thoughts.”

Liam’s face softened as he tried again. The feather wobbled, then rose a few inches before plopping back down.

“I did it!” Liam exclaimed, bouncing on his knees.

Loki ruffled his hair. “Indeed, you did. A fine first attempt.”

Unbeknownst to the pair, (Y/N) had just finished tidying up in the kitchen, the sound of their laughter floating down the hall. She smiled to herself, blissfully unaware of the magical chaos that was about to unfold.

Loki sat cross-legged on the floor, a picture of poised elegance despite the scattered objects around him. Liam mimicked his father, though his smaller legs wobbled under the strain of sitting still.

"Now, we move on to something a bit more exciting," Loki announced with a sly grin, conjuring a small illusion of a golden butterfly. The shimmering creature flitted gracefully in the air, its wings catching the light in a way that made it seem almost real.

Liam’s jaw dropped. “Can I do that? Please, Papa?”

“Patience,” Loki said, his tone indulgent. “First, you must focus. Magic requires your mind to be sharp, your intent unwavering. Repeat after me: A magician does not merely cast spells; he shapes the world with his will.”

Liam furrowed his brow in concentration. “A magician shapes the world… with his will!”

Loki chuckled softly. “Close enough. Now, imagine the butterfly—its color, its movement. Feel it exist before it’s even here.”

Liam raised a small hand, his expression serious. The air around him shimmered faintly, and then... a butterfly appeared.

Or rather, something that vaguely resembled a butterfly.

It had wings, though they were uneven and translucent, and its body was too large, causing it to bob awkwardly in the air. The creature sputtered, letting out an unexpected croak before disappearing in a puff of harmless smoke.

Loki blinked, suppressing a laugh. “Well, that was… unique.”

Liam looked up, his face falling. “It wasn’t like yours.”

“Ah, but it was yours,” Loki corrected gently. “The first rule of magic is to embrace imperfection. Even I started with frogs instead of butterflies.”

“You did?” Liam’s eyes widened.

“Well, not quite frogs,” Loki admitted with a conspiratorial wink, “but something equally amusing.”

Feeling bolstered by his father’s encouragement, Liam tried again. This time, the illusion managed to hold its form longer, though it still retained an amusing wobble. Loki clapped, his pride evident.

“Bravo! With practice, you’ll surpass me in no time.”

At that moment, a faint thud echoed from across the room, followed by a series of giggles. A trail of harmless sparks shot into the air as one of Liam’s attempts went slightly askew, sending a ripple of magic through the area.

(Y/N) walked in just as another puff of smoke dissipated, revealing Loki holding a visibly startled Liam at arm’s length.

“What is going on here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Loki turned to her with a perfectly innocent smile. “Ah, my love, you’ve arrived just in time to witness a burgeoning sorcerer in action.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms, trying not to smile. “It looks more like you’ve turned the living room into a magical battleground.”

“Controlled chaos,” Loki corrected, standing and gesturing dramatically to the space. “It’s all part of the process.”

Liam ran up to his mother, beaming. “Mama, I made a butterfly! Kind of!”

(Y/N) knelt down, ruffling his hair. “You did? I’m so proud of you!”

“He’s a natural,” Loki interjected, his voice full of pride. “Though he may have accidentally summoned... whatever that was.” He pointed to a lingering puff of smoke in the corner, which resembled a lopsided bunny with glowing eyes.

(Y/N) stifled a laugh. “I see. And how long have you two been turning our home into an illusionist’s workshop?”

“Not long enough,” Loki replied smoothly, reaching out to pull her gently into his arms. “Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

(Y/N) shook her head, her laughter bubbling over. “Oh no, I think one magician in training is more than enough for today.”

(Y/N) couldn’t resist sitting down with Liam, despite her protests about avoiding the chaos. Loki, ever the charmer, had coaxed her with a knowing smile and the promise of “minimal destruction.”

“Alright, little one,” (Y/N) said, settling next to Liam on the floor. “Show me how you make a butterfly.”

Liam puffed out his chest, eager to impress. He raised his small hand, squinting in concentration. The air shimmered faintly, and a shape began to form. This time, it resembled a butterfly far more closely—until its head sprouted tiny horns and it let out a tiny growl.

(Y/N) blinked, her mouth twitching into a smile. “Well, that’s… creative.”

Loki burst into laughter, the rich sound filling the room. “A butterfly fit for a trickster,” he declared, scooping Liam into his arms. “You’ve inherited my flair for dramatic flair, my boy.”

“Butterflies don’t growl!” Liam protested, giggling as Loki tickled his sides.

“They do if you wish it,” Loki said with mock seriousness, setting him back down.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re going to turn him into a mini-you, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t that the dream?” Loki quipped, shooting her a mischievous grin.

Liam, emboldened by his parents’ attention, tugged on (Y/N)’s sleeve. “Mama, can you try?”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Oh, I don’t think I—”

“Come now,” Loki interrupted, leaning closer. “You’ve been around me long enough to pick up a trick or two. I’ll guide you.”

He moved behind her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

(Y/N) obeyed, feeling the warmth of his hands as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Picture it. See it in your mind’s eye. A butterfly, delicate and golden, its wings catching the light.”

She took a deep breath, letting the image take shape in her mind. Loki’s voice wrapped around her like a spell, steady and patient.

“Now, feel it. The magic is in you, just waiting to be called upon. Let it flow.”

(Y/N) lifted her hand tentatively, and...nothing.

(Y/N) flushed, swatting lightly at him as Liam looked dejected. “Again, Mama! Do it again!”

“Alright, alright,” she said, laughing. “But only if Papa promises no more growling butterflies.”

“I make no such promises,” Loki replied with a wicked grin.

The family continued their impromptu magic lesson, the room filled with laughter and illusions both successful and hilariously off the mark.

Liam managed to summon a swarm of tiny fireflies, though they blinked in and out of existence sporadically. And Loki, ever the showman, ended the session with an elaborate illusion of a dragon soaring through the air—earning cheers and applause from both his wife and son.

As the dragon disappeared, Loki gathered Liam in his arms, kissing the top of his head. “You’ve done well, my little magician.”

Liam yawned, his energy finally waning. “Papa, will you teach me more tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Loki said, his voice tender. “But for now, it’s time for bed.”

(Y/N) stood, brushing off glitter and stray sparks from her clothes. “You two might be the best troublemakers I’ve ever met.”

“We aim to please,” Loki replied with a wink, taking her hand as they guided Liam toward his room.

As they tucked their son into bed, (Y/N) leaned against Loki’s shoulder. “You’re a good father, you know.”

Loki kissed her temple, his voice soft. “And you, my love, are the most remarkable mother.”

The evening ended quietly, the earlier chaos giving way to a peaceful stillness. But as (Y/N) drifted off to sleep that night, she couldn’t help but smile, knowing that moments like these were the true magic in their lives.

...

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[captainjamesjoneshook]

@apirateslifefor--smee

Hook barely registered what the woman had said, too preoccupied with the knowledge that his son was only so far away from him now. Only minutes ago he had been trying to prepare for the thought that he would never have gotten to see him, let alone hold him. Maybe in a few hours, when he was more tired and annoyed and taking all of this out on the staff, he would complain. Right now, just getting to look at the boy would be more than enough.

(And, not that Hook would admit this, but he was scared to hold the baby. Such a fragile thing they were, and with his already precarious state Hook did not want to tempt fate with only one hand to support him.)

He looked to Smee, uncertain, both because he hadn't really heard and because he needed that confirmation from his friend right then. Once he gave his nod, Hook echoed the movement in agreement.

The woman gestured and Hook stepped forward into the room. It was dim, the lights turned down so that only one above the door remained on, and quiet. Usually, quiet in a place like this meant only bad things. Here it felt...tentative. Hushed rather than a lack of sound altogether.

There was a clear bassinet situated among various machines, monitors keeping track of their respective vitals. There were tubes and wires laying over the high walls of the bassinet, all running toward a bundle of colorful cloth piled in the middle. Hook took a step, finding it incredible that his legs could feel like they were back aboard the Jolly Roger in the middle of a heavy storm while on land.

How, he wondered to himself as he continued forward, he felt more terrified now than he ever had when facing monsters that had quite literally torn him apart was baffling. But if he had survived them, he could survive this, too.

When he was close enough to see into the crib, his height affording him some distance, he could make out the tiny face of a baby. His head was covered in a beanie with white and blue stripes, but dark hair stuck out from under it. Instantly, he closed the distance until he was standing over the baby, intent on looking over every detail of him that he could see. The dark brows to match the hair, the skin complexion that reflected Avani's though it had a distinctly more pink tone to it.

It made punched a breath of disbelief out of him and he looked around until he found Smee, urging him over, once again in need of the man's corroboration to know that this was real. That he hadn't fallen asleep in the waiting room, his brain giving him false hope only to wake up and find reality to be a far worse place to be.

The Beginning Of The End || Jolly Roger