#i over dye it when i first dye it so it fades into the color i want and i can keep it longer as a result

[bookhobbit]

okay this is roughly what we are working with. In real life it's slightly lighter and greener but so is everything else. Blends okay with the darkest color more or less, and this is the section with the largest variation in color. I am on the fence a bit, but I THINK it's what I want.

[bitchkay]

Tomorrow's Dekus birthday so I'm dying my hair green.

[tttabii]

FLIRTY HAIRDRESSER

cha woo-min x reader

note; just imagine if he had tattoos and he's your hairdresser.

YOU WEREN'T ACTUALLY planning to change your look today—just a spontaneous urge on a slow afternoon. Your reflection started to become boring: the same old faded dye, the same split ends. So you stepped into the newly opened salon that everyone has been raving about and imagined you would somehow spark spontaneity.

The bell chimed as you walked in, and you were greeted with a citrus shampoo and lavender scent. Some stylists pointed their attention to you and smiled appreciatively. However, your gaze really fell on the man standing before the styling chairs.

Cha Woo-min.

He was tall, sleeves rolled just enough to expose minimal tattoos on his forearms. Rings decorated his fingers—stylistic and silver, nether too glam, but again... definitely noticed. His hair looked effortlessly tousled, as though he had a stylish awakening. He looked like he could walk off the pages of a fashion magazine, not out from behind a salon chair.

"First time here?" he asked, voice silky as he casually motioned you to take a seat. His tone was lighthearted and friendly, but his eyes remained longer on you than necessary.

You nodded. "I just felt like trying something new."

"Come on, I'll take care of you," he said, pointing to one of the chairs. You settled into it as he tossed the cape on you and clipped it into place with his expert ease.

His name tag on his apron said Woo-min, and he pointed to it, grinning and dancing with his eyes. "I'm Woo-min, by the way. Your hair is in safe hands."

When he said it, you believed it. "What were you thinking?" he asked, fingers beginning to comb your hair gently, working his way through the texture, the length, and any damage you were trying to not be embarrassed about. "Trim? Change the shape? Color?"

"Something different," you said. "I'm bored of this color. I want something... completely new and compliments my skin tone."

He nodded, ponderous, already pulling out swatches and palettes. "I think you would look great with something that's a little softer. Maybe a warm ash brown or a muted honey beige. Let me show you some options," he said. You watched how his brows furrowed in concentration, like your hair was a canvas and he was already painting it in his mind. 

And god—his hands. Strong, ringed fingers that strolled past your neck every now and again as he sectioned your hair, always in a featherlight touch, but enough to give goosebumps down your arms. You did your best not to fidget under his gaze, under the warmth of his attention.

When he began cutting, it was all soft snips and chit chat—he asked where you were from, if you had dyed your hair a lot before, what made you want to walk in today. But then he showed you to the washing station, and that was when you were elevated.

The water was just the right temperature, his fingers masterfully kneading your scalp as though he had memorized where the pressure points of your head were.

You didn't realize when your eyes closed, but you felt your entire self become liquid in the chair. Your fingers dug where they gripped the sides as his thumbs moved behind your ears and up toward your temples.

The head massage he gave was life-changing.

You wanted to cry.

Or propose.

Or maybe both.

"You alright?" he murmured, and his voice floated over, right next to your ear. You could only nod your head, unsure if your voice would come out coherent.

As he towel-dried your hair, his fingers brushed your nape again—intentionally? Probably not. But something about his action paused, as if he noticed the hitch in your breath, as if he wanted to.

"I'll dry it, put it up and style it, so you can see what it'll look like," he offered after a brief pause. He began walking you back to your original chair and moved with that same casual self-assuredness, but there was something in his eye that hadn't been there when you first walked in.

You settled back into the chair in front of the mirror, watching his reflection—this stranger, this charming, tattooed stranger, this one with silver rings on his fingers, named Woo-min, who already had his hands just a bit too familiar with your hair, and maybe with your heart too.

As Woo-min blended the dye, you observed him in the mirror—engaged, careful, a few strands of his own hair escaping from beneath his beanie once again. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a fresh set of tattoos down his forearm.

Something floral, maybe?

You were unable to concentrate on the specifics when he looked like that. He returned to your chair with the bowl and brush in hand, balancing it awkwardly as he smiled at you with a crooked smile. "Ready?"

You nodded and he carefully wrapped a towel around your shoulders, tucking it in. "This will take a little while, so I hope you don't mind me chatting with you for a bit."

"I don't mind at all," you replied maybe with too much enthusiasm. He began at the back of your scalp, dividing your hair and lightly adding the cool dye.

"Oh by the way," he continued, nonchalantly, "I really like your earrings, and your necklace- so good because it fits with everything else, it's stylish without being too much," he finished.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Oh... thanks."

He smirked. "And by the way, love the outfit, you're pulling it off."

You could feel your cheeks heat up in response to his words  and particularly when he had to lean a little more closer to reach a different section of your hair. But his tone shifted, now teasing in nature and lowered a little more. "But this hair though..."

"You mean...?" you prompted, a little bit skeptically.

"It's kinda crying for help," he laughed, stroking the dye in gingerly. "Intense—not in a bad way, your hair is beautiful. But it is dry as fuck."

You gasped a little. "What!?"

"I'm just being honest!" he laughed. "Don't worry, I'm going to take care of it. I'll put some toner and some protein treatment in. And it won't damage it anymore than it already is. Promise."

"You better," you puffed, crossing your arms—which was useless because you were literally wrapped in a cape like a burrito. "I trust you with my life here."

He laughed. "Your life, huh? No pressure. I'll be try my best not to mess it up."

The other stylists were busy, attending to their own clients while Woo-min stayed with you the whole time, checking the color all while chatting in between. He told you about how he got into hair, how he didn't like school but enjoyed the feeling of making people feel better about themselves. How he worked at a few other shops before helping his friend open this place. 

You shared a little too much—enough to feel like this didn't have to be merely small talk. There was something else there, something that hung in the air for just a beat more than he needed to look at you.

Eventually, it was time for the dye to set. He did wash it out like he said with conditioning and treatments. He rinsed your hair treating it like spun silk. Then he dried and styled your hair, using a diffuser and his hands, fluffing your hair to create shapes and develop the soft waves as if sculpting them. When it was time for the reveal. He spun you around in the chair, turned you  to the mirror.

You were blinking. You, actually blinked. "Whoa..."

"Yeah?" he asked, now watching your reaction intently.

"I look...different", you said, "but in a good way."

"You look hot", he said nonchalantly while correcting you, and you almost choked. He brushed a few strands from your cheek, and your eyes met again in the mirror.

There it was—that look again. That pause. That little something that said, this could be more than a one-time hair appointment.

He stepped away to grab the mirror for the back view, and when he returned, he held a business card between two fingers. "Here. Just in case you wanna come back—for a treatment or touch-up."

You took it. It was sleek, black and white, with the salon's name on the front.

But when you turned it over...

Woo-min.

personal line: xxx-xxx-xxxx

(text me if you're bored. or if your hair gets dry again.)

Your lips twitched.

"Slipping your number to all your clients?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He winked. "Only the ones with cute earrings and terrible haircare routines."

You kept it cool. You tried.

But then you flipped over the card, saw the neat handwriting, noted the "text me if you're bored" comment, and realized it was his personal number—then the heat rushed to your cheeks, just like that.

Your fingers clenched around the card, doing your best to ignore the smug little look he left on his face as he leaned against the counter. You paid for the treatment, still slightly dazed from the combination of the best head massage of your life, a full hair transformation, and a flirtatious stylist who may or may not have been undressing you with his eyes at some point (in the most tasteful way possible, of course).

As you thanked the receptionist, one of the other stylists walked a client out—nodded politely, let them leave. That was it. No big send-off, no special attention.

But then you turned toward the door, card still tucked into your hand, and—

 

He was already there.

Woo-min stood, one hand on the glass, lazily shoving it open for you with a measured sort of confidence, the other hand tucked in the pocket of his black apron. The wind shaped his bangs on the ends, and the sun caught just the right amount of ink on his forearm so that it was a little distracting.

"You sure you like it?" he said, his chin slightly tilted.

You nodded quickly and pulled some hair behind your ear. "Yeah... I really do. Thank you."

He watched you for a second—the way you were sucking on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too much.

"Good," he said. "I usually don't open the door for people, by the way."

You blinked. "You don't?"

He shook his head and there was a playful smile on his lips. "I guess you're special."

You completely lost it with quick blush and muttered a flustered "Bye" and stepped into the cool air, the glass door softly thumping behind you as you walked out. As you walked away, you couldn't resist looking at the card again, your heart racing wildly at the thought.

Text him if you're  bored? 

You were already composing something in your head.

Should you wait an hour? A day? Was five minutes too desperate?

...yeah, okay, maybe ten minutes.

────୨ৎ────

Your limit was nine minutes and forty-three seconds.

That was as long as you could take. You found yourself perched on your bed, stylized hair freshly tucked over your shoulder, eyeing the card like it was about to disappear from the floor. You tapped on messages for two seconds, and then, typed the following message.

you : are you seriously diss on my hair that hard and then flirt with me? bold move.

Sent.

Then you tossed your phone to the side onto the bed like it was a bomb ready to explode. Except within the limit of a minute, it dinged back.

Unknown Number: already miss me?

Your stomach dropped. Then it did a backflip. And then, it combusted. You snatched your phone like it had a secret for you and read the message as your eyes widen. You weren't sure if it was the sheer audacity or the smirk you could hear through the screen, but you were already typing.

you: you wish. but i really do look hot now. so thanks, hair god.

An immediate response.

woo-min 🖤: hair god? now you're trying to turn me on. you're welcome tho. you really do look hot. I should have gotten a picture for my portfolio.

You blinked. How was he somehow both sweet and also so much? It didn't feel sleazy at all. Just cheeky. Like he was letting you in on a joke the rest of the world didn't understand.

You bit your lip.

you: you could've just asked to take one.. or is that your excuse to see me again?

There was a pause.

woo-min 🖤: maybe i don't need an excuse. but if you want to come back next week, i'll "check on the color." or whatever. bring that necklace again. it looked good on you. so did the way you blushed.

You threw your phone face down again. And then immediately picked it back up because this guy was dangerous. In the most infuriatingly charming way. And somehow? You already knew that you'd be back at that salon next week.

A week later. You had been nonstop texting.

Every day. Every night. Random memes. Pictures of his and your cat. A close up of his hand with his rings on display, holding a coffee cup (which he definitely sent on purpose).

A mirror selfie you took after you re-styled your hair with his reply.

woo-min 🖤: stop. I'm already down bad. this is bullying.

And here you were—walking down the street toward the salon expecting a quick hello or intermediary touch up. And instead—

You saw him.

Sitting outside the salon.

No apron, no scissors, just Woo-min, a fresh black coat over a graphic tee, rings still on, hair perfectly done, a coffee in his hand—and sunglasses pushed up on his head like he just walked out of a damn music video.

You slowed your walk. He looked up at you and smiled. Stood. "Took you long enough."

You blinked. "Wait. You're... not working today?"

He shrugged and walked over to you like it was so obvious. "I'm off."

You squinted at him. "Then... why am I here?"

He smirked. "You said you wanted to get your color checked, right?" His fingers brushed against your hair gently, mock inspecting. "Yep. Still hot. Let's go."

You blinked again. "Wait—wait, is this a—?"

"A date?" He grinned, casually linking his hand with yours as though it were the most thrilling thing in the world. "Yeah. You didn't think I would keep flirting with you just over text, did you?"

You stared at him, stunned and a little woozy. "...You're ridiculous."

"Yeah. But you like it." He pulled you toward the little café next door where a tiny table already had two drinks and a half-eaten pastry on it (you were late, sue him).

At some point between the croissants, the little laughs you shared, and him leaning over to wipe a crumb off your lip a little too casually — he pulled out his phone.

"Okay," he said, tapping on the camera app. "I never got a picture of your new hair."

You blinked. "Wait—you wanna take it now?"

"Mhm." He leaned in next to you, tossing his arm around the back of your chair, trying to angle the camera. "But I want one with both of us in it. So you remember who made you look this good."

You tried to roll your eyes—but the camera clicked mid-laugh, catching the exact moment you turned your head toward him in fake-annoyance while he was already grinning at you.

It wasn't just a hair pic.

It was you two.

And somehow it already looked like it belonged in a frame.

[clarkeyhill]

Change | George Clarke

Fluff

The thought had been lingering in my mind for weeks. Every time I looked in the mirror, I imagined a change—something fresh, something daring. My blonde hair had always been my signature, but a part of me craved something different. A version of myself that felt bolder, more alive. And today, with George out on a shoot with Chris and Arthur, the opportunity presented itself.

Cherry red. Not too light, not too dark. A shade that struck the perfect balance between vibrant and sultry.

I booked the appointment with precision, making sure everything aligned so I’d be home before George returned. I didn’t want him catching on too soon—I wanted the surprise to hit just right.

The moment I stepped into the salon, excitement mingled with nerves. The stylist ran her fingers through my hair, offering reassuring words as she mixed the dye. “You’re going to look stunning with this color,” she said, and I clung to the confidence in her voice.

As the transformation unfolded, I watched the blonde fade away, replaced by deep, rich hues of red. The shift was striking—dramatic yet elegant. By the time my hair was dried and styled, I could barely recognize myself. The red made my features pop, my eyes stand out in a way I had never noticed before.

I felt… different. A little more daring. A little more me.

The ride home was filled with nervous anticipation. Would George like it? Would he even recognize me at first? I shook off the self-doubt—I loved it, and that was what mattered.

Still, when I heard the front door open, my heart skipped.

“Babe, I’m home!”

I stood up from the couch, smoothing my fingers through my hair as if to prepare myself. Then, as he stepped into the room, I turned to face him.

The reaction was instant.

George froze mid-step, his eyes locking onto me with an intensity I wasn’t expecting. His expression shifted—first confusion, then awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“What…” His camera bag slipped from his shoulder, landing on the floor with a soft thud. “You—your hair—”

I tucked a strand behind my ear, my heart hammering. “Do you like it?”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stared, his gaze tracing over every inch of the transformation. Then, as if drawn by instinct, he stepped forward and reached out, his fingers grazing through my freshly dyed strands.

His touch was slow, reverent. He twisted a piece between his fingers, his brows furrowed in wonder. “It’s…” He trailed off, his voice almost breathless. “I knew you were hot, but I didn’t know you could get any hotter.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Oh, shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, his hands sliding to cup my jaw, tilting my face slightly as if to take me in from every angle. “How does it suit you this much?” His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, his eyes drinking in every detail. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

And he really couldn’t.

Throughout the evening, I caught him staring—when I was cooking, when I sat beside him on the couch, even when I was doing nothing at all. Every so often, his fingers would reach for my hair again, twirling it absentmindedly, as if making sure it was real.

At one point, I felt his gaze before I even looked up. He was leaning back against the couch, watching me with a soft, almost dazed smile. “You’re ridiculous,” I teased, shaking my head.

He smirked, completely unbothered. “I can’t help it.” Then, with a hum of approval, he ran a hand through my hair again, tugging me closer. “This might be my new favorite thing about you.”

I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “Oh yeah? And what was your favorite before?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “You,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “Just you.”

My heart melted right then and there.

If I had any doubts about the change before, they were completely gone now. Because George loved it. But more importantly?

So did I.

-

🫶🏻

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 67

part 1 | part 66 | ao3

cw: recreational drug use

Waiting around to die or get arrested or whatever fucking sucks. Partly because there’s no running water (Steve’s never wanted to take a stress shower so badly in his life) and partly because Eddie won’t let him stay sober. Has it in his head that altering Steve’s mental state will keep Vecna away, like hanging a mosquito net over the opening of a tent.

It’s not not working, he guesses.

He hasn’t fallen in to any more hallucinated open graves, at least.

He comes down the stairs a little before noon, towel-drying his hair after a bottled water sink bath, and finds Eddie in the kitchen: Reeboks on, hair a cotton candy mess, head-to-toe teddy bear tie-dye under his leather jacket — a matching shirt and sweats that he fished out of Rick’s dresser. He’s stirring Spaghettios in a small pot at the stove, and when he sees Steve come in he turns to offer some, the wooden spoon held out with a sort of desperate perkiness. “Morning! I found food that isn’t expired. You want some?”

Steve shakes his head.

Eddie shovels the whole spoonful into his mouth; wipes sauce off his chin, speaks before he’s finished chewing. “I also found blotters in the freezer and shrooms in the bedroom closet, so uh. Pick your poison.”

Steve picks the shrooms. They wait a few hours to take them because Eddie swears the sunset while you’re tripping is unparalleled, man, although Steve kind of suspects that he’s just giving him time to work up the nerve to eat them. He still gets nervous about chemicals — probably always will, after the shit the Russians did.

In the meantime, Eddie rummages through Rick’s cassette collection, and Steve talks to Robin on the walkie; gets all the new details in staticky half-sentences — something about mind flayers and mental hospitals, what else is new? He tells her to be safe; tells her that he loves her; keeps his eyes trained on the clock.

—

Shrooms smell and taste like ass. Steve can’t stomach them; spits into the grass while Eddie laughs sympathetically and hands him a little square of paper to put on his tongue instead, and they spread out side by side on a few old beach towels by the water and wait for it to kick in.

Nothing, at first, not that Steve expected different. Twenty minutes; forty-five.

“Still nothing?”

“Nothing.”

And then.

Eddie holds up a glossy aquamarine pebble, squinting at its glow in the late afternoon sun. “I should give this rock to Skye. Bet she’d love it.”

“That’s a shard of glass.”

Eddie blinks at it. “Oh, shit.”

Steve snorts, and when he looks at Eddie sideways there’s a glimmer of that same cerulean shade outlining his whole body, a low-frequency feather of energy rolling off of him in waves. Eddie moves his arm and the color chases it, a long-exposure photo of high beams on rain-slick roads.

“Oh,” Steve says, mouth slack. His voices echo in his head; all six of them. “I think I’m…”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, eyes alight, pupils blown.

“Yeah.”

All at once something slots into place, attunes itself inside of Steve, and it’s like… he can see Eddie’s mind; touch it, cradle it, reach out to it with its own. It feels crazy. Psychedelics are fucking crazy. He reaches out a hand, slicing through ribbons of shimmering light, tasting the colors as they fade, and Eddie’s emotions spread out in high-definition before him — like the image has always been there but now it’s crystal clear; someone’s shifted his focal point, filled a kiddie pool with Epsom salt and left him there to float.

“I see you,” he says nonsensically.

Eddie frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“…That I can see you?”

“I usually am.”

That’s not right. Eddie’s thoughts shouldn’t sour on his account, shouldn’t sag in the middle like a moldy tangerine. “I can close my eyes?”

“Fuck,” Eddie laughs, thin and strained. “Don’t say shit like that when I’m not allowed to kiss you.”

“You’re not?”

He hesitates. “Am I?” Antsy fingers drum the grass, overgrown with vibrant clover and dandelion stalks. “Just feel like we should talk first, if uh, if it’s safe.”

Steve probes his own mind, tests it for outside threats, but there’s nothing. The acid forms a fractal fortress. Penrose steps, paradoxical and strange. “It’s safe.”

He moves to lie on his side, invites Eddie to do the same. “Talk into the kiss,” he suggests when Eddie joins him — face to face, chest to chest, Steve can see the thrum of Eddie’s heartbeat in the hollow of his throat; wants to press his thumb to it, so he does, the sense memory of ripe cherries bursting on his tongue.

Eddie’s lips against his own; hovering. Static electricity like the scent of summer rain. “I think my pride makes me a coward.”

Steve rubs his dry lips across Eddie’s, chapped skin and shared heat.

“It’s like… I kept trying to tell myself that I was being… I don’t know, valiant, or some shit? Like, ‘oh, he’s so much better without me. I’m the town pariah; I’m keeping him safe by running away.’” He thumps his fist against his heart as if beating a shield to shining armor, and Steve can’t see his eyebrows with their foreheads pressed together, but he can feel Eddie scrunching them into a picture-perfect hero frown. Almost has to laugh — so fucking theatrical even when he’s serious.

“But if I’m honest,” Eddie murmurs, “it wasn’t like that at all. Nothing fucking brave about vanishing on you. Like, what?” His voice shifts again, lilting but critical, a comedian doing crowd work. “I get a liiiittle fucked up by townies two too many times, and I sabotage my whole life over it? Ruin the best thing I’ve ever had over it? As if this goddamn horseshit hasn’t been happening to me since— forever! Shit.” He blows his bangs out of his face; calms himself. Goes a little cross-eyed trying to look Steve in the eye. “I got scared, Steve. There it is. That’s the ugly truth of it.”

He swallows harshly in the dense silence that follows.

Robins chirp; cars pass.

The lake laps at the shore and casts prisms like fishing line, spiderwebs of rainbow light flashing behind Steve’s eyelids. He brings his hands up to Eddie’s face.

“Christ.” Eddie shudders; lets himself become dead weight, rubbing his cheek into the touch, warm stubble scratching over the pads of Steve’s fingers. “Am I making any sense? I feel like I’m not making any sense.”

Yes. No. “You’re making sense. I mean. As much as anything is right now.” The sandy brown freckles on the bridge of Eddie’s nose are swirling like snow flurries. Steve traces them with curious hands. His knuckles blur and swivel, too. “You left because… you wanted to protect me from… yourself?” He sums up, not sure if he’s getting the math right.

“I left because I’m a scared little shit who couldn’t handle getting bullied in a parking lot, but uh. Yeah. I guess I, like, didn’t want to…” His eyes go big and startled, cheeks flooding bright pink. “Oh, shit, I was about to say I didn’t want to curse you, Jesus Christ.”

Steve honks with laughter. Loud and deep and punched out without warning, because the irony of that — that there’s a literal big bad running around cursing people, and the person who was actually doing some real good in his life decided that he was the problem — it’s fucking— hilarious! Hysterical! Steve giggles himself sick, lungs burning as it tapers to a silent wheeze, and Eddie joins him, confusion giving way to compulsion; contagion in the manic giddiness spewing out of Steve.

“You thought—” Steve struggles through hiccups, tears beading in his lash line, “you thought you were the bad luck charm in this relationship?”

“Don’t mock me!” Eddie whines, still laughing. “I already said it was dumb.”

“It’s so dumb.” Eddie may be the cutest, dumbest thing he’s ever seen. He rubs his thumbs over his cheekbones, smile fading. “If anyone’s a curse, it’s me.” Four for four here on getting dragged into supernatural shit. Does Eddie really think homophobes are more dangerous than hell dimensions?

Eddie’s already shaking his head. “You’re a fucking blessing.”

Warmth radiates through Steve, drips from the crown of his head like a downpour of holy water. He feels anointed. Ascended. He feels— “Please tell me we’re allowed to kiss now.”

Their mouths crush together, impossible to tell who moves first, whose tongue is in whose mouth, whose desperate breath Steve swallows as Eddie rolls him onto his back. Hands roam and pull and clutch, molding the shape of him into the earth. Maybe someday, Steve thinks, if aliens invade, they’ll study these imprints like crop circles, trampled declarations of how much Steve loves this boy. “God,” he gasps into the kiss. “Missed you so much.”

“So much.”

“Don’t do that to me again. Don’t go.”

“Never,” Eddie swears. His grip tightens on Steve’s waist. “Never again, baby, I fucking promise. I think I—”

On the far side of the house, leaves crunch and branches snap as a car pulls up the drive. Boots on pavement, rowdy voices; unfamiliar; red alert.

“Spread out, boys!” the voice of Jason Carver bellows. “If that Freak’s in here, we’ll find him.”

—

part 68

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[cinnahoons]

𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌! ₊‧.°.⋆🫧•˚₊‧⋆.

𖦹ׂ 𓈒 🐇 જ⁀➴ riki helps you dye your hair on the floor of your bedroom, but did you really have to pick that color?

nishimura riki x fem!reader; wc 1.8k; genres pure fluff, established relationship; cw none; notes i edited a riki selca for this drabble who’s gonna congratulate me!!! + i listened to magnetic by illit 5000 times while writing

there’s a knock at your door, gentle, and then it’s swinging open, a chestnut colored blur with the tall, lanky figure of your blonde-haired boyfriend appearing behind it.

“‘kay, i got it,” he murmurs, slipping his shoes off and padding with socked feet over to where you’re sprawled on the floor of your bedroom. you push down against the carpet with your palms, groaning with the effort of having to sit up from the comfortable position you’d been in. riki sits down next to you, crossing his legs.

in his hand is a box of l’oreal hair dye, a light bubblegum pink. he fiddles with the packaging a little, his eyebrows furrowed as he tears the top part of the box off gently. you reach over in excitement, tongue poking out as you take the box from his hands and pull out the packet inside.

“it’s gonna look so cute,” you gush, reaching for the small extra bowl you and riki had brought into your room earlier when you’d bleached your hair. you’d long since opened the windows, the acrid smell of the bleach almost completely faded. it had been risky work, what with the running risk of dropping bleach onto the carpet, but you’d managed to pull through.

riki glances at you from the corner of his eye, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“i still can’t believe you want pink,” he murmurs, watching as you tear open the packet and pour the color into the bowl. he makes a face at the small mountain of rosy paste, the strings of his large, plush hoodie twirled around his finger. “it’s the worst color ever.”

you pout at him, handing the bowl to your boyfriend as per the usual routine.

“i think it’s pretty.” you maneuver your body around so that your back is facing riki, your freshly bleached hair freed from any elastics. “you don’t think it’s gonna look good?”

there’s a little sigh, and then you feel hands in your hair, pulling out a section at the bottom of your head and tying the rest up with an elastic. riki reaches into the bowl of color with a bare hand, ignoring the brush (he stopped using it after the first couple times he’d done this for you in the last years), and takes a small amount onto his fingers. a moment passes, and then he’s raking the color into your hair, tugging ever-so-gently at your scalp as he massages the dye into every last strand.

you hum contentedly, allowing the boy to help you as you fiddle absentmindedly with the fabric of his socked foot. he wiggles his toes—an action that he knows you find adorable despite its childish implications—causing a giggle to float out of your chest. sunlight from your open window beams against your face, yet it somehow isn’t as warm as your boyfriend’s presence behind you.

“since it’s you,” he starts, leaning closer to squint at a strand before thumbing on an extra bit of color, “it’ll look good. even if it’s pink.” he says the last part a bit downcast, eyes trained on the (no doubt sickening, in his opinion) pink bowl of dye sitting between his legs. the words come out like they’ve literally taken years off of his life, to which you’re only able to roll your eyes fondly.

a couple more minutes pass, and riki’s about halfway done with your hair. you’re rocking side to side, humming the tune to a random song as he works. eventually, you decide there’s no better pastime than to annoy your boyfriend.

“how much do i have to pay you to get you to say i chose the perfect color?”

there’s silence, and then riki is snorting, putting his hands up to your head again to massage slowly against your scalp.

“don’t push it.”

a smile creeps onto your face. your eyes flutter shut to the comforting feeling of his fingers in your hair, breathing in slowly through your nose.

“name a currency. dollars? gift cards? new jewelry?”

he starts to laugh, then. it’s a tinkly sound that sets a nerve alight in your brain, bubbling and fizzing like a little can of sweet, syrupy soda. your smile widens, and even though riki can only see your back, you’re sure he knows.

“i’m trying so hard not to call you an idiot right now.” his own smile is apparent through his voice, a lilt to it like he’s fighting to keep the corners of his lips down.

a warm feeling spreads in your chest. you have so much adoration for the boy carding pink fingers through your hair, from his way-oversized hoodie to his wriggly toes. it’s taking all the strength you can physically muster not to lean back and get hair dye all over the both of you, just to be wrapped in his embrace.

“what about kisses?” you supply cheekily. riki pauses, his hands stilling in your hair. after a moment, he says:

“...i can be persuaded.”

he pulls his fingers from your hair at the same moment that you start to turn around, resting with your knees to the floor as you come face to face with your boyfriend again. he’s giving you his best glower—although it’s definitely more of a goofy cartoon rendition, at best. you giggle at him.

“hurry up,” he mutters, a pink flush to his cheeks as he eyes the dye plastered all over your previously bleached-blond hair.

you wobble on your knees a little as you crawl closer, fitting between his legs and bracing your hands against his shoulders.

“i’m about to give you the best kiss of your life,” you tell him, your voice dripping in mock seriousness. he squints at you, a smile playing at his lips.

“pink is the greatest color of all time,” he blurts, like the words are acid, his eyes closing immediately in waiting. you gaze at his face for a second, mapping his moles like constellations, your eyes drifting over his pouty lips and landing square on the tip of his nose.

where you’ll do it is no contest, really, because you’re leaning in to press a sweet butterfly kiss against his nose without much more than a split-second decision. he waits for a beat longer, eyes still closed, before he pops one open to reveal a confused brown iris.

“you cheated,” he deadpans, his face cupped in your hands. you brush a thumb over his eyebrow before letting go, backing away from him with a teasing smile.

“no i didn’t. i kissed you, like i said i would.”

“that wasn’t a real one,” he grumbles, grabbing your shoulders and maneuvering you around gently so that you’re sitting with your back to him once again. you laugh, the sound sticky and sweet in your chest.

“i didn’t know there was such a thing as a fake kiss.”

“whatever,” he replies, swatting at your shoulder with no force. “i didn’t need one anyway.” then there are hands in your hair again, slipping against your scalp to finish the final section near your forehead.

“‘m sorry,” you giggle, even though you’re not.

he finishes shortly, and you stand up on wobbly, slightly numb legs. you pad across your room, turning on the light in your bathroom, with riki whisking away the empty bowls you’d left behind and bringing them to your sink. he works on washing them as you slip into the shower, rosy rivulets of water running down your body like unicorn tears. you can’t help but to shiver a little, the cold water rinsing your hair sending goosebumps all across your skin.

riki hands you a towel when you step out, one that’s already stained with a myriad of different dyes from your past hair adventures. you towel up your hair, dressing quickly in the pajamas you'd been wearing while riki finishes rinsing off his hands in the sink.

when he turns around he’s squinting at you, pulling the towel off your head even as you protest weakly. your fresh, pink hair tumbles down, and riki chuckles to himself as he grabs a hairbrush.

the motions are familiar, the comfortable silence permeating the routine tugging at your heartstrings like gentle rain. the brush runs through your locks with sweet fervor, smoothing any knots that might have formed in the shower. in the end, your hair air-dries, the color in its final form a lovely shade of shiny pink.

“oh,” riki says, staring at you with a completely blank look on his face. but his voice sounds like he’d just come to the realization of the century. “it’s pretty.”

something about it—the way he’s a steely revelation of nothing, and yet he’s brimming with something like fond curiosity, is so completely riki that you could die. happiness surges in your throat, and the soda can in your brain pops open again, the same sugary sweet bubbles from earlier zipping off like little candied neurons.

“yeah?” you mumble, fighting to keep a wide grin from invading your face.

he nods silently, blond bangs flopping against his face.

“i told you, didn’t i?

he purses his lips for a second before his mouth is twisting into a smile, a quiet laugh tumbling from his chest.

“you did.”

you walk closer to him, giggling. he reaches out, letting you clutch at his forearms for balance. and then you’re smiling at him, and neither of you are saying anything but it somehow feels like you’ve said it all.

he shifts, cupping warm, bubblegum hands over your cheeks. the staining reaches just past his palms—like raw, honest evidence of the way he loves you.

and then he’s leaning in, bumping his nose against yours intentionally before hes titling a little to the right, your lips meeting in a soft kiss.

his hands slip to the back of your head, blending in with your soft pink locks. as he kisses you, lips slotted against yours tenderly, his fingers twirl in your hair.

you break apart with shy smiles, heat in your face and a staticky buzz in your head. riki lips are pink, and he pulls his hands away from you to run them through his hair.

“transaction completed,” you giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“oh, shut up,” he replies, screwing his face up in gentle amusement, and then surging forward to tackle you with a hug.

.ೃ࿐

at the end of the day, when riki’s grabbing his stuff and getting ready to drive back to his house for the night, you decide to take a picture together.

he stands behind you, pink-stained hands wrapping around your torso to rest on your stomach. his head dips down to rest on your shoulder while you hold your phone up to snap a picture in the full-length mirror standing before you.

a lone, pink stripe of hair rests against riki’s face, a shock of color against the light blonde of the rest of his head.

he kisses you on the cheek.

click!

tags! @tyunni @vousty

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Snake dance for emperors

Emperor Geta/Caracalla x fem!reader

warning : dysfunctional family, tried comfort (as much as this is possible with these two), kissing, use of dagger, smutish, some touching, written before the movie comes out characters may be different at the end

summary : With the Colosseum, other types of entertainment come to the Empire of Rome. Not only acrobats and actors but also animal tamers and especially the agile snake dancer with cobras slithering along her body caught the attention of the two most powerful men in the world. So what happens when you're in a room with poisonous animals, pressure to perform and two emperors?

info : I just love them can't wait to see how they are in the movie. I'm not fully satisfied, it was supposed to be something else (more smut) but now it is what it is I hope you like it anyway:)

masterlist

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

Rome, the empire of history past versus present and future. A place of aspiration, arts and philosophers who passed on their knowledge to interested minds.

Violence and entertainment by gladiators in the Coloseum and the home of two young men who could have taken over the world with laurel wreaths on their heads.

The money practically clung to their bodies no matter where they went it was the finest fabrics and colors of dye that surrounded them both, the white face makeup and the dark, mineral-infused coat around their eyes darker protruding, light hair divine as the sun, making the two emperor brothers recognizable everywhere.

With the triumph and amusement in the Colosseum, the rich and influential men also met at parties organized by the elite. Politicians, philosophers, merchants and scalpers as well as military generals could all be found there... but besides the elite there was also the untrhlatung in the form of fire-breathers, exotic animals and songs.

Showmen with magnificent costumes or the snake woman surrounded by flowers while on her light clad body the dark snakes curled along, beautiful but dangerous animals taken from the straw woven baskets on her hand along her arms skillful fingers and soft sounds of her voice with inviting and engaging vibrations of her body.

The small beads and stones on her tiny outfit covered her most necessary parts as the silk clung to her body and the animals moved across it. ,,I wonder what will happen if they all bite her," the elder mumbled to his brother, who shook his head in amusement at the comment, a hum of laughter leaving his lips, and took another sip of wine.

Geta hardly liked the party at first, but the younger knew that it was much more important to be well received not only by the senate but also by the other pillars of the empire.

They might be at the top, but without merchants, influential philosophers or even the slave traders, Rome would lack important things. ,,It would be amusing for a moment...but hardly any different than in the Colosseum," he replied briefly, not giving his advisor a glance but seeing that Caracalla's smile did not fade.

Despite the fact that he was older by a year, he seemed to have little interest in all of this, only the prospect of perhaps a little mischief or amusement had brought him out next to his brother.

So they found themselves sitting here for a few minutes, a little apart from the large tables and round corners in the rooms with the exotic pretty things from displays of dead things and old weapons to her.

A young woman arrived in Rome with one of the many circus wagons that presented themselves in different cities and entertained the people with talent for special normal amusement and no murder and killing.

She had known that the normal shows were as beautiful as they were and she always smiled when children were fascinated watching the animals and she could teach them something, so she knew how serious it was when it came to such parties, ,,The Imperial Brothers, the elite will be there...one mistake and we are next" were the words of her boss who knew that they could use any coins and let her go.

So here she was, dancing around at first, talking about the artifacts, but as soon as the torches announced the night and cast old shadows, she resumed her role as a sanke dancer and took her place.

At first, some stopped to look at her body and clothes until they were fascinated by the snake, paying attention to the connection between her and the animals, sometimes throwing flowers and coins to her for the extra money it was worth to buy new fabric.

Some even talked to her about her interest in the animals, though most of the questions were about ulterior motives for other services she no longer offered, and perhaps she kept the snakes a little too far away from her to keep the men at a distance.

She would only be here for a few more hours until she was picked up, until she saw the gold, until she saw the two wreaths, until she saw the golden hair, until she heard the curtains being drawn and she was alone with the two emperors.

She heard them talking, and in between the full words she saw their gazes, pairs of eyes looking at her as if she were long dead or undressed, or perhaps both. ,,As sorry as I am, my time here is almost at an end my Emperors" she dared to raise her voice interrupting the quiet conversation and words to the animals and relaxed slightly hoping they had drank enough to just leave, she felt her own exhaustion her feet aching from standing so much.

The moon was high in the sky, providing light in the great city alongside the fires of torches and lanterns of oil but her hopes were dashed when she saw the playfully indignant look on Caracalla's face as he tilted his head, ,,But we are still here and not satisfied," he protested, his fingers closing tightly around the goblet in which the wine floated.

Even Geta, who didn't like the party, apparently wanted relief and a reward for having to do this to, only made an almost inviting gesture, ,,I want to see her," he said and she didn't know if he meant her first or her snakes.

Stifling a sigh, she got off her little stage and approached them slowly and carefully. She had always had her snakes under control but now one mistake and they would all hang.

Geta's eyes looked into hers for a moment, not dismissively but rather challengingly, he let his gaze wander over her body for a moment, lingering on her chest, which was recognizable despite the light fabric, before he held out his hand and she offered him a middle part of the snake to stroke.

The three of them knew very well that she could not do anything except follow orders. Geta could take her here and now he could just as well have left her to his brother who could probably still put on an amusing show. But this narrow game between emperors, a powerless victim and deadly nature was much more amusing.

Almost imperceptibly, his lips curled into a smile, ,,Pretty animals, dangerous and deadly like their owner, aren't they brother?" he asked, turning his gaze to Caracalla, who was watching the whole thing with a broad smile, but his fingers were playing with his dagger, the blade moving slowly towards her.

He seemed to be only heartbeats away from carving her skin with the tip, his desire to see the blood as in the arena never seemed satisfied, ,,If the emperors allow it, will you hold her?" she asked quickly when Caracalla could finally cut her and she knelt down in front of the two of them, seeing the brief imperceptible twitching of the fingers that would not only have liked to lie on the snakes, if the knife had gone a little further up her skin, the fabric of her scanty top would have been torn apart.

Fingers that had already caressed his middle, his gasping giggles and the slight moans that came from her dancing movements, the fantasy of the gods and her being.

Sometimes more, sometimes less obvious, but he saw that she saw it. It amused him. Both brothers seemed to be turned on by the power of being able to take whatever they wanted…but they were merciful for the moment.

Before even Geta smiled at the gesture, crediting her for her courage in the face of two men who could mean her end at any time, she gave the first snake to Geta and took his hands in hers, ,,Calmly and slowly it will not bite you as long as you respect its power, my Emperor," she said, feeling his gaze on her as she slid one of the animals onto his arm and he looked at it for a moment.

,,You'll always kneel before us at your next performance," he murmured casually as if it were a thought that had just come to him, kneeling and crawling naked like a whore instead of leaving her the last dignity was the appropriate thing to do in his eyes.

,,And amuse us," Caracalla added and she found the cool point of the dagger sharp under her chin again, the older one forcing her to give him attention like a child who didn't get sweet honey from his mother, disgustingly foolish but dangerous, but Geta made no move to help her. Why, in the end, she was just a dancer, a woman a nobody compared to two emperors.

Slowly guiding the snake that had wrapped itself around her chest onto her hand, she carefully took his free hand in hers, ,,They would smell blood and devotion it would be unwise" she said not warning but rather reminding them that the black cobras were not toys, they were nature, animals that could not and would never be tamed.

The moment like a tension on the battlefield the cobra seemed to wrap itself quickly around Caracalla's neck not tight but the more it tightened despite not being a constrictor it could be dangerous.

The protection of the bond to her only went so far as the snake would obey orders on its own and Caracalla was in danger of becoming another victim. ,,Attention is wrapped around pretty things," she heard Geta say, his own fingers stroking her cheek, leaving her still paused, the cool blade of the dagger still against her neck, the younger emperor moving closer to her.

Once again a difference in power, he could have accepted the death of his brother for her, for her body, for his lust that her lips would probably wrap around his middle.

While it would probably still excite him as his suffocating brother took her cunt, this was just another thought in a moment that had an uncertain end.

Her snake seemingly not bothering him as he caressed her cheek, she smelled the makeup, the wine and the metallic gold and yet she returned the heartfelt kiss as he grabbed her harshly by the neck and pulled her close, she still vaguely heard Caracalla's gasp, which must have reached its amused ecstasy as death robbed her of its air.

She felt the dagger slip only slightly from her neck but that was all she needed to pull away from Geta with a jerk, hearing his annoyed snarl, she let her lips trail over the dagger, seeing the fascination of the two men at what she had done before she put her fingers to the blade.

,,Relax," she murmured before engaging the blond elder in a kiss, hearing the smirk that was stifled, the shake of his head and the laying down of the dagger as the clasp came off his neck after a few moments and she took the cobra back.

The moment between them was the fact of possible death, the lie obviously driven by the challenge, her uncertain determination and the deadly metal.

Taking the snakes back, she felt the burning gaze on her back just as the two emperors seemed to be waiting for a moment, the slight dull closing of the crobe the last bit of composure the two men could muster before they rose from their chairs and she felt their hands on her.

Another night in Rome for the emperors whose night was hardly different from any other, a night she had hoped she would never have to do again....but under the touch of human gods and her fast beating heart, it seemed she would never be able to tame the human snakes and their stifled sounds of pleasure and pain would be heard long into the night through their poison.

She was the first to hear Caracalla's giggle, but when she felt the cool fingers of Getas on her arm, the metal of the rings moving harshly over her skin, he turned her into his arms to engage her in another kiss while his other hand finally came to rest on her breast. He simply tore the fabric off for something else better.

His older brother, however, claimed her other half, his lips, once painted with make-up, had long lost their red and she now felt him press against her, almost obsessively taking her breath before she gasped out, her painful moan drowned in the kiss as Caracallae cut her with the dagger to get the blood.

Caracalla's fangs dug into her skin, his bites hard and sharp as he feasted on every drop of blood, a grotesque contrast to his white make-up. With every thrust, with every lustful sound, with every attempt to resist, Geta seemed to take on her strength, wrapping himself around her, depriving her of all sight, his serpentine body never letting go of her that night. Both had found the perfect prey and would leave nothing of her, for once ensnared, snakes never let go of their prey.

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

[wing-ed-thing]

Honey Cakes (Shino x Reader) Chapter VI

Synopsis: You were stupid. You made a stupid choice; it left you with the first real heartache of your life, and you could safely admit that you deserved it. But then the war came. And as quickly as it came, it was over. So what about you and Shino? Sequel to Honey Stand.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: No Reader Pronouns, Post War, Slow Burn, Slight Canon Divergence, Aged Up Characters, Angst, Language

Notes: uh... meow?

When you got home, the first thing you did was take a long, hot shower. Only when you changed into a fresh set of loungewear—reinvigorated by the clean clothes and the steam wafting out of your bathroom—did you turn your sights to unpacking your mission pack. 

It sat on a tattered mat by your door. The dye on the thick, hardy fabric had faded early in your career, and the dense threads were caked with dirt and other stains that would never come out. Sweat had probably penetrated every stitch. You hauled it by the top strap into your workshop, and from there, you began unpacking. 

The dirty clothes were tossed into your laundry basket. Your unused kunai and shuriken were placed in a pile on your workbench to be repacked into your smaller bag for patrols. You’d inspect them later. 

With you and Shino home again, you knew it would take no time for the both of you to be incorporated back into the schedule for patrols, guard duty, and other routine responsibilities for experienced shinobi. The leftover equipment and tools used for your installation went back into their proper places in your organization system (or at least what you called “organized”). 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You perked up at the sound, instinctively turning in the direction of the window between your lounge area and your kitchen. You padded out of your workshop, and before you sat a messenger hawk on its outside perch. It pecked again, although gently, at the glass. The surface was still scratched and weathered. A neat little card sat in its beak.

You unlatched the window, sliding it open to take your message from the bird. You took the card from the messenger hawk, which let out a delighted shriek, flaring its wings. It motioned with its head, and upon further inspection, it appeared that the hawk carried several messages. All of them were crammed into the message canister so tightly that you thought you would have to take the whole harness off, but with a bit of effort, you managed to retrieve your cylinder of communications. You sent the bird off with a small treat before closing the window again. 

You read the first of the bird’s communications. You started with a lilac-colored note as you rinsed your hand off in the sink. The square-shaped envelope carried a letter written on quality, heavy-duty paper. You studied your name written at the top in neat penmanship. 

“We would like to formally extend an invitation to our wedding rehearsal…” the first line read. You skimmed the rest, quickly absorbing the time and location details before flipping the card over in acute confusion. 

You didn’t think people usually sent out invitations to wedding rehearsals, but you had, after all, been unreachable as of late. You had also never planned a wedding before, so you decided that perhaps you weren’t one to judge a couple’s abundance of communication with their wedding guests. 

You flipped past a few bills and other documents you deemed ignorable for the time being. You were late on a few annual trainings and had to renew some certification or another. Deadlines for various menial tasks were approaching somewhere off in the near-distant future, although it wasn’t something you were remotely worried about. 

The documents were so crammed together that they were hard to separate. But amongst the curled notices, you instantly recognized a formal insignia. Your fingers fumbled, quickly separating it from the rest, only to find that there were two official messages. Your name was printed sternly at the top of both, and together they read,

“I am pleased to offer you the position of Senior Commanding Jōnin at…”

— “Fort Azuma, the eastern base affiliated with Konohagakure…”

— “Fort Nantou, the southeastern base affiliated with Konohagakure…”

That was… horribly fast. However, you weren’t too surprised that the satellite bases were hurting to acquire some experienced leadership. So much had changed after the war, including the mass of shinobi who decided to retire and those lost on the field. 

It was a good thing. It was what you wanted. And yet, you couldn’t help the beat of hesitancy that wracked your body. 

You stood, holding both offers in your hands. You traced the letters with your eyes; their shape served as an oddly harsh and surreal reminder of reality. You had taken the steps to transfer out of the central village. You dreamed about the opportunity to escape your routine, to become someone new somewhere else. And yet… perhaps you didn’t consider you’d get this far.

A single, curled note floated to the floor from somewhere behind your offer notices. It was printed on intricately official paper directly from the Hokage’s office. Only one word was printed on it.

“Drinks?” It read. 

You let out a heavy sigh.

“Fuck yes,” you breathed.

***

 Shikamaru had a usual place that he liked to escape to both after and during hours when it came to lulls on busy afternoons. It allowed for smoking and wasn’t too far from the Hokage building. You arrived shortly after receiving his note, knowing that it was more likely than not that he was still there. If Shikamaru wasn’t at work, he was at home with Temari; if he wasn’t at home with Temari, he was here. 

The sun still shone light in the sky, but its orientation was slowly sinking as if trying to slink off behind the horizon without anyone noticing. It wasn’t too dissimilar to the way Shikamaru had slinked off to his corner bar seat. 

The bar sat half inside and half outside, with the outside part coiling around an unfortunately placed pillar near one of the outer walls of the building. But the awkward orientation made for a quiet, out-of-sight nook for Shikamaru, his drink, and his ashtray.

“You’re hiding,” you frowned, sliding onto the seat next to him. You plucked a little rectangular menu out from under Shikamaru’s ashtray.  

His back pressed against the wall behind him as he sat sideways on his chair, lounging laxly with a cigarette between his fingers. He took a drag on it with a shrug.

“You found me anyway,” he hummed. You didn’t humor his sarcastic reply; you already engaged with the bartender who took your drink order. Shikamaru couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to what you asked for. He slumped a little farther down against the wall, letting his knees spread on his seat. His free hand rested on the back of his chair. 

You turned to Shikamaru, “Food and drinks are on you, right?”

Shikamaru exhaled a puff of smoke, brow cocked. 

“Who said anything about food?” he huffed, but you were already handing your little menu off, and the bartender went on his way. After eating nothing but boring base food and field snacks, you were itching for something with a little flavor. A little something that would surely clog your arteries didn’t sound too bad, either. 

Shikamaru sighed, extinguishing the butt of his cigarette in his ashtray. He was planning on charging the tab to Old Man Kakashi anyway…

“How was the install?” he asked. You didn’t notice the delayed drag of his words as Shikamaru tried a little too hard to remain casual. His eyes flickered toward you, then down as he brought his drink to his lips. 

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you pulled the offer letters out of your pocket and gently threw them on the table. They fell perfectly, the pages sailing to a spot on the counter between you, where they sat overlayed with each other. 

Shikamaru nearly choked, taking little more than a second to recover as he stared at you with wide eyes.

“Oh shit,” he coughed, “You really went through with it.”

In his state of shock, neither you nor Shikamaru knew if his words were a question or a flabbergasted statement. The bottom of his glass was quickly placed back on the countertop. It hit the surface with a tiny splatter, his cup sweating far too much condensation from the time he’d been sitting there and nursing it. 

Shikamaru tugged the top letter down just enough to see the contents of the paper underneath, even though he already knew what it said. 

“I mean…” he trailed. Fuck, he needed another cigarette for this. Shikamaru dug around in his pockets. “Congrats.” 

He took his pack from his pocket, summoning a cigarette upward with a sharp flick of his wrist. Immediately, he took it into his mouth, lighting the end with an acute sigh of relief. 

Shikamaru had an inkling this would happen. You mentioned a transfer in passing a few times, and no matter how often he made grunts to the contrary, you seemed to always have it in your mind that condemning yourself to a satellite base would make you feel accomplished. 

Kiba also did a stint at the southern base when he was having a quarter-life crisis. He called it a tour of the boonies before he came back to the village with his tail between his legs to finally buck up and settle down with Tamaki. 

You frowned, quickly shuffling the offer letters away. 

“I wasn’t expecting a big reaction out of you, but jeez,” you huffed. You waved your hand in the air to try to dissipate the smoke that seemed to pour from Shikamaru. 

“What?” he said with crinkled brows. “I said congrats.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed. Try to be less excited. Please, Shikamaru, this is embarrassing.” Your drink was delivered sometime between mockeries, and you wasted no time bringing it to your lips. The appetizer you ordered followed closely behind. 

Shikamaru rolled his eyes.

“No one’s gonna jizz their pants because you got a position you’re overqualified for.”

“Thanks for that.”

While the satellite bases were nothing to look down upon, they hardly got much action after the war. Armed with skilled shinobi as they already were, having you there would be like fortifying an anthill with a bazooka. 

The generation most responsible for the Leaf’s successes during the war was the most accomplished class in a long while, with each and every one of you being a powerhouse in your own right.

Shikamaru shook his head, putting the butt of his cigarette out with a bit more force than necessary. It wasn’t an angry action but one of laziness as he let his wrist almost drop down amongst the ashes.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

“You don’t gotta prove shit,” he muttered, but not lowly enough for you to be able to ignore him. You frowned, crossing your legs as you continued to nurse your drink. He reached for a bite of your food with a shadow he didn’t think you’d notice, slowly inching the basket closer. 

“You don’t get restless?” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. Shikamaru shrugged.

“Only the ambitious get restless,” he sighed, pressing his cheek into the palm of his hand. “I’m gonna live here, die here, and that’s plenty for me.” 

“You’re in a mood today.”

“You’re starting to sound like my wife,” Shikamaru mused with a grumble before letting silence wash over the two of you. Idle chatter from around you melded together into white noise along with the low music that played from somewhere. He took a shallow breath in.

”Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Breathing like that.” You swiveled slightly on your seat to face him. Your eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even ask.” 

Shikamaru’s eyebrows bounced as he dug a bit deeper into the food. The basket appeared to have grown just slightly closer to him. You didn’t like the self-assured dip of his lip. 

“So it’s about him after all,” Shikamaru sighed, reaching for another bite. You pulled the basket away before he could, much to Shikamaru’s visible dismay.

“Don’t even go there,” you warned, glaring. “It’s not.”

“But it’s at least a part of it.” He appeared otherwise unbothered. “Can’t you two just kiss and make up already? This has been going on long enough—”

—“I’m not the one who brought it up—”

“Talk about emotionally constipated…” 

“I’m not talking about this because there’s nothing to talk about. It’s not about him, okay? It would be stupid if it was.” You slapped his hand away from the last bite of your food, meeting his gaze as you shoved the last of it into your mouth. Shikamaru’s posture visibly deflated. 

“Now that’s just uncalled for.”

“Get your own.” You swiveled back around to face the counter, still guarding the now-empty snack basket. You slumped back against the back of your seat, arms crossed. “Besides… We talked about it plenty. Probably too much. It’s just…” Shikamaru’s intent stare made it easy for him to catch your eye. It made it even easier to see through the slight smile you tried to offer him. “… time to move on, isn’t it?”

Shikamaru tore his gaze away from yours, already digging for another cigarette. 

“It seems like you’ve already got your mind made up…”

***

“Is everything… okay?” Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. He clasped his hands together, leaning the tip of his chin on his folded fingers. 

A vein in Shino’s forehead twitched in confusion.

“Yes…?” He spoke slowly, thrown off by the intense stare that bore into him. Kakashi sat unmoving despite Shino’s answer. He gazed straight ahead, almost as if he were expecting more. “Why?”

“I thought I’d have better luck getting an answer out of you than—” Kakashi motioned to the empty space next to Shino where you had just been standing. You dashed out of his office after delivering your report quickly. It would be a few more hours until you met Shikamaru for drinks. —“That one. Nearly ripped my doors off the hinges coming in and out of here.”

“I can’t say I have anything else to report,” Shino said, the corner of his lips pulling slightly downward. He buried his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t need any other information about the installation, I’ll be going—”

Kakashi waved his hand in the air with a sigh.

“I’ve heard all I need to about that,” he said with another huff. “I wanted to know what was going on with that weird chakra between you two.” Kakashi raised a lazy finger, gesturing between Shino and the empty space again. 

Shino’s frown only deepened. 

“You can’t possibly be this bored.”

“It’s not like you to be getting into fistfights.” Kakashi shrugged, sitting back in his chair with his arms coiled over his chest. His words weren't scolding as much as they almost sounded mocking. He was getting at something; if Shino was good at anything, it was picking up on subtleties. 

“Fair enough, you’ve made your point,” Shino was quick to speak, his words spitting out with more force than he intended. 

It caused Kakashi a slight pause, not so much taken aback as silently self-satisfied in an unspoken hunch. Perhaps he was bored after all. He sat up just a bit taller. Kakashi’s arms remained crossed over his chest, his elbows now resting on his desk as he leaned forward. 

He didn’t say anything else, simply staring at Shino with an unsettlingly unreadable expression under his mask. And then, without warning, he rose, slapping his fingers on the surface of his desk.

“A personal matter then… None of my business.”

“Am I dismissed then?” 

Kakashi hummed affirmatively, and Shino paid little mind as Kakashi slowly meandered around to the front of his desk. Rather, Shino turned quickly, eager to get home and shed his gear. 

“But if I could give you one piece of advice before you go…” Shino had just reached the door, his hand hovering over the handle as Kakashi spoke. He cringed, eyes pinching closed just slightly as his head ticked to the side. 

He ironed his expression back out before he turned around, eyeing Kakashi with a little less restraint for his annoyance. Although, his demeanor wasn’t too far from his regular appearance. 

Kakashi leaned his hip against the front of his desk, a few papers in his hand. He didn’t look at Shino when he spoke, shuffling through the same three pages.

“If you’re going to make a decision, I would do it sooner rather than later,” he said. Shino didn’t have time to respond. Kakashi lowered the pages, finally making lazy eye contact. “I’ve been getting quite a few base transfer requests lately. I suppose a change of scenery is in high demand right now.” 

Shino eyed him warily from behind his darkened shades. 

“I suppose it is.”

***

Kiba was apparently looking for him. He had been banging at Shino’s door a few times a day, much to the dismay of Shino’s neighbors and the rest of the Aburames at the family compound. But if Kiba was anything more than a nuisance, he was thorough. Several different people reported Kiba’s ruckus to Shino but also carried a message: Kiba wanted to meet and soon.

Even so, Shino took his sweet time meeting his fellow squad member. The whole change of scenery thing stuck with Shino more than he would’ve liked, but he thought that with all the bustle about the wedding, there would be plenty to distract himself with. Konohamaru had apparently been working on some grand video in Shino’s absence, and everyone in their class was brainstorming creative ideas and gifts to bring to the celebration. At least, that’s what his beetles were reporting back to him.

“Ew! A bug!”

“Catch it! Catch it!”

Shino’s head snapped to the side just in time to catch a small group of children rapidly closing in on one of his beetles. Shino lunged forward with a yell, with a bit more urgency than was necessary if he were actually thinking, startling the group as the beetle swiftly escaped to its host. But with his bug safe and his 194cm form now hovering menacingly over a group of small children, Shino considered damage control.

“That bug’s my… friend.” He cringed as the words spilled off his lips. The sheepish crinkle of his brows was well hidden behind his hood and dark shades. To Shino, the statement made sense. Still, he was aware enough to understand how his words could potentially come off as absolutely insane. 

“You’re a bug summoner!” one of the kids exclaimed in recognition. Shino let out a subtle breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. Great, he couldn’t even talk to Genin in a coherent way without help.

“Yeah,” Shino affirmed, and what little control he had over the interaction vanished as the group of kids swarmed him. And being the sucker he was (Mirai’s made him soft in recent years), Shino was commanding his beetles to do tricks before he knew it. He contorted them into different shapes, answering questions and entertaining chatter about the children’s various shinobi ambitions. 

“I’ve never seen a bug-user in person before!” Well, now you have.

“Do you have to summon them one at a time?” No.

“Are you popular at parties?” No.

“Do you want to become an insect summoner?” Shino asked a boy whose hands were just about saturated with beetles. The boy glinted up at him with wild eyes, hands poised up in the air like a surgeon ready for a procedure. 

“No way!” he exclaimed with certainty. A thick layer of bugs crawled over his palms and fingers. “I’m gonna become Hokage one day and surpass Naruto Uzumaki as a ninja.” 

“The Hokage, huh?” Shino hummed with seriousness. (He could ignore the implication that an insect summoner can’t be Hokage.) “Well, if you want to surpass Naruto, you’ll have to become Hokage, right?”

“You get it!” One of the other children chirped. 

Shino nodded, memories of Kiba and his bragging prevalent in his mind. It almost made Shino crack a smile. A group of two boys and one girl… They even looked a little like Team 8. 

“Yeah, I know someone else who wants to be Hokage. And if you ask me, you’ve got him beat already.”

The boy’s eyes glittered. 

“Really?”

Shino didn’t have it in him to stifle the way the corners of his mouth turned upward. 

“Really,” he said, “I can’t say I know anyone who says they want to become Hokage as an afterthought. You’ve got a serious dream, alright.”

“Was your dream to become an insect user?” The little girl asked. 

Shino faltered. His logical side wanted to say no, that the Aburame clan established their hives at very young ages as part of a long-held tradition. However, he was reluctant to say that what amounted to upholding his birthright wasn’t his dream. But no one had asked him outright what he wanted out of life before…

Once again, Shino didn’t get the opportunity to speak. 

“Oh,” one of the little boys asked, seeming to sense Shino’s hesitation, “Are you one of those shinobi that just want a wife and kids?”

The other little boy smacked the back of the boy’s head. 

“Not everyone wants a wife, stupid.” He turned to Shino. “He can have a husband,” he said with assertive certainty. He nodded profusely. “Or like, I dunno, something like my parents!”

“I really have to be going,” Shino cleared his throat. Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, he was already late for his meeting with Kiba, and his conversation with this genin group was beginning to sound like an Aburame family gathering.

So, when Shino and Kiba gathered to discuss wedding presents, Shino thought that the lightness of the topic could keep him well-distracted. 

He thought wrong.

“It’s our final mission as Team 8,” Kiba said, glancing over his shoulder at Shino with a wide grin. “Once Hinata gets married, we won’t get to work together the way we used to, right?” He was too lost in his grand proclamations to see the visible tension in Shino’s figure.

“Yeah…” Shino muttered. “That’s true.” 

Shino knew— yes, the thought had crossed his mind— that Hinata getting married would mean the end of Team 8. Hinata was hardly enthusiastic about mission work anyway. Despite all she did to do her part in stepping up during reconstruction, the donations of her time and efforts were more out of the goodness of her heart rather than a passion for late-night patrols. 

Her wedding would mark a perfect opportunity for her to retire. Shino knew Hinata had always wanted to be a mother, so retiring and having a baby or two would be a well-deserved dream realized. Shino was more than happy for her, but it was another thing he had never heard spoken out loud before. 

Kiba had even said it lightly. We won’t get to work together the way we used to, as opposed to Team 8 will never fight together again. (Unless Hinata grew restless for a bit of field action, Shino couldn’t recount the last time he witnessed Hinata restless.)

And so, despite Kiba’s abundance of excitement to set out on a quest, Shino quickly took the lead. They both set off quickly, searching for the perfect gift for Naruto and Hinata.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Hi hi hi I'm sorry for the... 2 year delay 🥲 I finally figured out what I want to do with this story and I guess it took this long. No timeline at the moment, sorry!

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI

[elvenbeard]

Old and Happy

😭 my feels have been all over the place since I finally finished this! Don't even remember when I started, as I kept working on and off on it over a couple of months. But I think it was after writing something particularly angsty and going "you know what, they will get their happy ending though, so it's all good".

Some details and thoughts below the read more cause it got long hhhh ;A;

This is in about 2087 maybe, roughly "ten years later". Vince changed his hair, ditched the rattail for good (or again xD) for something still colorful but a bit more easy to style. But he might change it up again, he's done so repeatedly and still likes to experiment with his hair.

Not visible, he probably would've added some elements to his back tattoo after surviving all of 2077. Johnny's tattoo he covered up as well, he would've done that first probably before the back piece. Adding some things here and there over time, with colors and patterns and wings, some cherry blossoms ('cause a thing of beauty will never truly fade away - hence just not getting laser removal but covering it with something that suits him more, but keeping some elements like the J and V visible). It started with three roses below the "V" as a little homage to Jackie, and 2077 as the year that finally put him on the right track in his life, even if it almost killed him in the process.

Overall he is a healthier weight than he was for most of his life, and finally got some therapy he desperately needed to deal with all the crap he went through pre-2077 already. He's not dyeing his first grey hairs because hell, that he's even still around to get some is amazing with his line of work and life story. And he realized that there's no need to be super well put togeher 24/7, clean shaven and whatnot, when you know you're just gonna be hanging out with your man and cat all weekend (and actually allowing yourself to something like that - leisure time and pizza in bed, unheard of to 2077!Vince). He's doing good and feels good and comfortable, physically and mentally.

Kerry also changed, also embracing the dad bod over abs, probably still experimenting with his looks a lot now and then whenever the label feels like they need to draw attention to him for whatever reason. But to the brown eyes he returned in 2078 already in my headcanon for the Sun ending timeline, and he stuck with them.

Overall I think he might finally care a little less about other people's opinions too, the buzz and the drama, cause he knows that at the end of the day there's always gonna be someone waiting for him at home who loves him unconditionally. He's a bit calmer and at ease, but of course still up to no good whenever he gets the chance to stir shit up xD Vince and him remain to be a dangerous duo you don't wanna mess with. At that point Vince is a well-respected, even if somewhat elusive, fixer, so he's probably even more dangerous now than he used to be as a mere merc with an arsenal of connections and resources at his disposal that can almost rival Kerry's.

I also gave Kerry a lil new cyberware piece on his hand - he is an old man and I think, using his hands as a musician on the daily, at some point there's just gonna be some wear and tear to your bones and joints only tech can fix anymore... Especially if you're stubborn and refuse to retire cause no, you're not done yet, you still have so much to yell into the world and music to make, stuff to add to your legacy and all.

Last but not least: Nibbles is an old lady already as well here, but living her best life with her dads spoiling her rotten, of course!

And then öalkshjdfagsdföasgdfaösfh ;___;

Y'know, "to bad decisions" and all, and two very different pieces still fitting together perfectly somehow, and light and shadows, and the sun and moon and yeah. ;___; Brb crying, the feels are back xD

Thanks so much for reading if you made it this far!! They mean so much to me and aösdjhfajsfhasfk could go on forever about every little detail xD On to the next drawing!

[jimsbeetroot]

hi there i love your writing you are so so talented at what you do!! anyways, i have a request for a joey jordison x fem reader story where joeys red streaks are grown out and faded so the reader touches them up for him.

streaks ♱ joey jordison

thank you for the request!!

warnings: fluff!

words; 1.073

.

The apartment smelled like hair dye and faint traces of cigarette smoke. You stood at the tiny kitchen counter, shaking the developer bottle before twisting off the cap, the familiar scent of chemicals wafting up. Behind you, Joey sat cross-legged on a stool, drumming his fingers against his knee, completely unbothered by the process about to unfold.

"You sure you trust me with this?" you teased, holding up the box of red dye with a smirk.

Joey shot you a lazy grin. "Babe, you could shave me bald, and I’d still let you do whatever you wanted."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the warmth that spread in your chest. His words had that effect on you—always nonchalant, always effortlessly sweet. You ran a hand through his black hair, fingers brushing against the faded red streaks barely clinging to the strands. The color had dulled over the months, nearly swallowed by his natural black.

"It’s about time we fix this," you said, twisting your fingers around one of the strands. "It looks like someone just dipped you in cherry Kool-Aid and forgot to finish the job."

Joey chuckled, tilting his head to the side so you had better access. "Yeah, yeah. Make me look pretty again."

You squeezed some dye into the plastic mixing bowl, stirring it with the little brush before stepping closer. Joey, ever the tease, puckered his lips at you. "Payment first?"

You laughed but leaned in anyway, pressing a kiss against his lips. He hummed in approval, his hand coming up to rest on your waist for just a moment before you pulled away.

"Alright, rockstar. Sit still."

He obeyed—for about two minutes.

As you carefully painted the dye onto the faded streaks, Joey’s hands found your hips again, fingers absentmindedly drumming against your skin through your shirt. His legs bracketed yours as you stood between them, close enough to feel his warmth against you. Every so often, he’d let out some exaggerated sigh or groan just to mess with you.

"Babe, you’re being dramatic," you muttered, flicking your wrist to splatter a tiny drop of dye onto his arm.

Joey gasped, clutching his chest. "Wounded! Betrayed! I trusted you, and this is how you repay me?"

You giggled, wiping it off with a damp paper towel. "You’ll live, drummer boy."

Joey leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Drummer man."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Sure. Whatever makes you feel better."

His lips twitched with amusement, but he finally let you focus, allowing you to finish painting the dye into his hair. Once you were done, you covered it with a plastic cap, ruffling the top for good measure. Joey groaned dramatically again but let you do as you pleased.

"Alright, now we wait twenty minutes," you announced, wiping your hands off on a towel. "Try not to get into too much trouble."

Joey arched an eyebrow. "What kind of trouble can I possibly get into just sitting here?"

You gave him a knowing look. "You? Plenty."

He smirked but didn’t argue.

When the time was up, you guided him over to the sink, rinsing out the dye with practiced ease. His head tilted back under the warm water as you massaged his scalp, fingers working gently through his hair. He let out a small sigh, almost content, as you ran your fingers through the now-vibrant streaks.

"Damn," you said, admiring your work. "Looking like 1999 Joey Jordison again."

Joey opened one eye and grinned. "So, hot as hell?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. "Yeah, yeah. You look good, rockstar."

He sat up, shaking his wet hair out like some sort of overgrown dog, making you squeal and shield yourself. He grinned mischievously, reaching for you, but you danced out of reach.

"Nope! Not happening!"

Joey pouted. "But babe—"

"But nothing! Go dry your hair before you get water everywhere."

He huffed but obeyed, pressing a quick, wet kiss to your cheek on his way past. You groaned in protest, wiping it off, but secretly, you didn’t mind one bit.

Just another night in with Joey Jordison—messy, playful, and entirely perfect.

[downbadperture]

Cores (Wheatley and the corrupted cores) with a reader that’s constantly changing hair colour? Kinda like Ramona flowers:3 tysm!!

OKAY I HAVENT DONE THESE IN A WHILE BUT I WANNA SO-

Cores x Reader who constantly changes their hair

Wheatley!

Okay first off, I don't think any of the cores know what hair dye is. Wheatley didn't know humans could come in the hair color you had when you first met him, so he'd ask something like "So um.. Not to be rude, your hair looks nice and all, really nice very bright, but uh- Is your hair naturally like that or were you born with it?" meanwhile your hair color is like a pastel green

The first time you dye your hair, Wheatley would be straight up baffled. He doesn't wanna come off as stupid so he'll just assume he just saw your hair wrong for a good while because what SMART person would forget what a person's hair color looks like. But he'd probably think he's going crazy until he actually asks what's happening.

He genuinely really likes your hair colors! But it takes some time to get used to each time you change it. Sometimes he'll bring up how he missed one or if he doesn't like a certain color he'll unintentionally be blunt about it

If you dyed your hair the color of his optic, he'd get so flustered like "Oh erm thank you, i'm honored to be your, erm, hair (I think that's how you would word it). Your hair copying my eye heh... That's sweet, really it is, very nice. Didn't know my eye looked that pretty,"

He brings up how he would probably do something similar with his hair too if he had hair

Rick!

He thinks you look so damn badass depending on what color you have

If your hair is like orange or red or a mix of both, he'd say something about your hair looking like an explosion on your head. He means this very positively

He loves when your hair is very bright and loud, especially if it's a mix of colors. Whether it be a fade, half and half, rainbow. He digs it.

I feel like he would make petnames revolving around your hair color sometimes like "Pinky," if its pink, "Sunflower" if it's yellow, "Blueberry" if its blue etc etc

If you dyed his hair the same as his optic (Thinking like mostly green but black near where the hair falls in front of the ears) I like to think he'd be super flattered to an embarrassing degree. Like clearing his throat that he doesn't have and going "This one might be my favorite so far, darlin! Looks hot considering it looks like me heh". Meanwhile he's kicking himself internally for being super damn flustered over it.

Fact!

Now usually Fact, admittedly, would probably not find dyed hair tasteful at first. Deeming it unprofessional or that the hair dye is gonna seep into your brain and give you cancer or something I don't know. But the more you grow on him, the more he starts to admire the look on you and actually really liking it since he associates dyed hair with you rather then being whatever definition he has of unprofessional.

I feel like he wouldn't have a preference on colors? Like at first he'll make some sort of negative comment like "A human's hair being red will make them a target towards sharks,", "A test subject's hair being purple means they are going to die in less then twenty four hours,". But gradually he starts making positive facts about your hair like "You having green hair means you have a greater chance of escaping,", "You having multi-colored hair means you are twenty percent more intellectual then other humans for the multitude of colors is transmitting different information to the brain through the stands. Magenta for example transmitting mathematical information specifically,"

Though if you dye your hair the same color as his optic, he will say that is the absolute best hair color for a person to have and that you should keep it always. He gets pissy when you change it.

Space!

DUDE HE WOULD LOVE YOUR HAIR SO MUCH

he will link whatever color you have to a certain planet and get all excited that your head is a planet

If you dye your hair to look like stars? Holy crap he will flip. Giggling hysterically and will show absolutely everyone about how absolutely amazing your hair is (AKA Turrets that you find in chambers)

"MY FRIEND IS THE STARS, MY FRIEND IS THE STAAARS" (This is funnier if you guys are dating)

If you dye your hair the color of his optic, he won't connect the dots that its supposed to look like his eye. He thinks its the sun and honestly he gets more excited over that assumption rather then you trying to mimic him

[vxiphoid]

ARTIST’S CANVAS

❨ summary ❩ twst › when you look at a pretty blank canvas, its only natural you’d want to turn it into something more breathtaking.

tags ✧ fluff; lower case writing.

amanuensis’ message ⊹ 10 months, not a single written fic. i am so sorry yall

⌜ 0.4+ ⌟

♫ spin you round — rocco.

twst masterlist

“s’cold.”

the dark—almost black—paste coating leona’s hand in intricate designs setting on his skin mixed with the warmth of your hands around his felt funny. the paste was a drastic contrast upon his tawny skin. on occasion, he’d let your creative mind take over and draw on him with any writing utensil that was nearby. in class, it’d give him an excuse not to pay attention and in his dorm, your lap to sleep while you worked. half of the time when you were finished, he considered getting another tattoo, snapping a picture when you looked away just in case it faded. not once had he thought of a temporary tattoo.

the first thing that came to mind when he thought of temporary were the ones on paper that you’d transfer with water. ones that he’d slap on his body to look cool as a kid. the same ones that’ll start peeling the moment you brush it wrong. this was a completely different method than what he was thinking. a creamy consistency of dye in a piping bag. henna. it rolled off the tongue as smooth as its application.

a light laugh leaves your lips at his comment, pausing to give him a quick glance. he looked like a cat watching a ping pong match. you don’t think you’ve ever seen his pupils this large and his slowly swaying tail certainly wasn’t helping the comparison.

leona watched in silent interest as you worked. It had to be something about your hands. How your pinky stayed out for stabilization, how carefully you held his hand as if you’d break it if you moved him a certain way. then again, he could also blame that on the amount of focus you had. they moved with practiced grace, your emerald-green painted nails glinting under the golden lamp light.

his sheets were littered with various templets and stencils complicated, simple, and some in the middle. he didn’t look at everything before he chose his. he didn’t exactly care what you put on him as long as that pretty little head of yours was having some semblance of fun, those talented hands of yours.

his ear flicks. “what color is this again?”

you take a moment to pull his hand closer to the light when it came down to the finer details. “regular old brown. it might look a little reddish in the sun though.”

“neon?”

you scoff out a laugh. “gods, no. way more subtle.”

even after you had laughed, your smile stayed—as heartwarming and raw as ever. like a sweetener in a cup of coffee he could never get tired to drinking or the smell of gas he found a guilt pleasure. gods, he wanted to hear it again.

maybe being a living, plain canvas wasn’t so bad. as long as it was you painting the blank spots needing filled.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

tapis rouge groovies + new rhythmic/twistune ✨

***Spoilers below the cut!!***

Ooooh!! As usual, Vil is striking a model-esque pose and showing off not only his own looks, but the best aspects of the ensemble he’s wearing. (If his outfit looks different than how you remembered, it's because Vil gets new sleeves and a cape added on in part 4:)

I like how the lights behind him and on his face are so bright, yet the shot is framed darkly since we’re looking from his shadowed side. It makes Vil look so mysterious!!

He’s holding up a black piece of cloth that seems to glitter; I believe this is “Black of Night”, the signature color of the high fashion house, Luxe, that prepared his and the other NRC boys’ customized outfits. (The name of the color is a reference to an ingredient in the potion the Evil Queen makes to turn into an old lady.) It’s iconic, and only Luxe knows the secrets behind achieving the color of this dye. Many celebrities wear certain brands on the red carpet as free advertisement for the brands they wear, so this makes sense for Vil to be doing as well.

JAMIL 😳 I feel like both he and Azul are helped out a lot by moving in their outfits; the in-game models are a little too stiff-looking to fully convey the elegance of these particular looks. Jamil’s braids are so pretty here, they flow in the wind with such grace!! His expression is also nice, he’s giving the camera a cheeky little smirk from the side…

The shot’s composition is pretty interesting too! Jamil sort of has his arms spread out and his back revealed, and Vil, in front of him, is blocked out by an onlooker/reporter’s elbow. It gives off the impression of Jamil both showing off his coat while also playing bodyguard to Vil. Jamil is a trained bodyguard and can be protective, so… very fitting! Even moreso since Jamil was the card paired with Vil on the limited banner.

Another outfit helped by movement!! You can see how the tailcoats trail behind him and how his jacket’s wide sleeves actually pull/bunch back to allow the green sleeves of his undershirt come out. The light being so prominent on him also highlights his golden frames very well; it’s usually hard to spot small details like this from the model itself so I’m glad we can better appreciate it here!

I love how Azul is soaking up the attention and making the most of it (as opposed to Jamil, who seems to be playing it cool and serious). Smiling and winking for the crowd… Azul stans eating good www He’s even in his usual “poor unfortunate soul, please allow me to assist you” pose 😂 Reeeeeally trying to paint himself in rbe most flattering way possible, eh??

We can see Vil’s head and Jamil’s pants + shoes here. Vil’s the SSR and the star of the show so of course he won’t be left out! Jamil is the other card on the banner that goes with Vil. You can tell it’s Jamil because of the long coat and baggy pants; his shoes are white but appear darker in this illustration probably because of the shadow over them. Ace is not high enough in rarity to cameo in other Groovies/j

Note: Ace is the R card, so his illustration does not change significantly. A shame, really. I like his look the best in this batch 😔 It would have been fun to see what an interpretation on an Ace Groovy would have been!

There is a second rhythmic/twistune that features Vil and co. strutting down the red carpet! There are many cute details in it, such as Vil interacting with his fans by taking selfies with them, giving his signature, and speaking with a reporter.

Jamil and Azul play their parts as "huntsmen" to the Fairest Queen by bringing Vil boxes akin to the one that was meant to contain Snow White's heart.

When Jamil presents Vil with the first box, Vil pulls out his poison apple luxury bag. Then a fog of green covers the screen and when it fades away, Vil is in his new sleeves and cape combo.

Here he is, posing glamorously for the camera! The others do their best to show him off too. (fhbalifiyabifeab Azul is really doing his best to present Vil...)

At the very end, Azul and Ace step up to help Vil with final makeup touch-ups. Jamil seems to spritz him with some perfume too! Then Vil finally ascends to his rightful place up high!! Such a triumphant ending for a super fun rhythmic 🥺

[gunilslaugh]

a small soft drabble of the reader reacting to ot6 changing their hair color!! I thought of it since Gaon changed his hair color again 😭

All members •_ ^ - ^_• Summary: You reacting to Xdinary Heroes' new hair color. (idol au) WC:825 Warning:none

I wasn’t quite sure how to write this, so I'm sorry if it sucks.

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunil

The door cracks open catching your attention. You turn your head to look at the door from where you’re currently sitting on the couch. In walked Gunil and you immediately notice the different color of his hair. 

“You didn’t tell me you were changing your hair,” you said, standing up from the couch and walking over to Gunil. 

“I wanted to surprise you. How does it look?” He gently looped his arms behind your back. You reach your hands up to inspect the freshly colored strands. “It looks good. I like it,” you say with a smile. 

“And I like you,” he says. 

“What?” you laugh. “I would hope since we’re dating,” you added, still laughing a bit. Gunil smiles. 

“I just wanted to tell you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

Jungsu

“Are you trying out every shade of blonde or what?” you asked, coming up to Jungsu and ruffling his newly dyed hair with your hand. Jungsu laughs, catching your hand in his.

“I’ve had brown and black hair before,” he defended. He pulls your hand away from his head.

“You’re right, but you like blonde the best don’t you?” you checked. 

“I think it looks good on me,” he states. 

“It does, but with your handsome face I think any color would look good on you.” You cup his face in your hands. 

“Don’t exaggerate.” He tried to hide his blush.  

“Yeah, thinking about it, neon orange would be a very hard color to pull off,” you note. 

“Yeah I’m not that bold,” he states. 

“I’d still like you with it though.” You kiss his cheek.

Gaon/Jiseok

“Oh it’s actually dark blue,” you say as Jiseok sat down next to you. “I thought it was black at first,” you tell. 

“Is the blue a disappointment,” he joked. 

“No,” you chuckled. “I think it’s better actually. Like a fun surprise,” you smiled. 

“I thought so too,” he told you. 

“Did you lose a bet or something though?” you questioned. 

“Does it look bad?” He looked at you slightly worried. 

“No. It looks great. I just feel like in Xdinary Heroes you’re the one who dyes their hair unnatural colors the most,” you explained. 

“I’m just the fun one,” he bragged. 

“Well keep being fun then I like it.” You brought your fingers up to play with his blue hair. 

“Whatever you wish.” He leaned into your touch.

O.de/Seungmin

“Why didn’t you tell me we were getting a blonde hair Seungmin,” you say, taking in his lighter colored locks. 

“Cause I’ve been blonde before,” he chuckled. 

“But that was when your peach hair was fading. This is on purpose. It’s different,” you state going over to him to get a better look at his new hair. Seungmin chuckles at your reaction. 

“Well do you like it?” he asked playfully. 

“Yeah I do.” You playfully tickled him with his own hair.

“Stop.” He caught your hand in his, making you pout. “You like playing with my hair that much?” he teased. 

“Mhm, it’s fun,” you say. Seungmin shakes his head, but lets go of your hand, letting you resume playing with his new hair.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

“You have officially gone full emo,” you state aftering seeing Hyeongjun with his long black hair. Hyeongjun softly chuckles at your reaction. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“Nothing, I’ve been waiting for this moment. It suits you so well,” you tell him. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

“Come here. Let me get a closer look,” you waved him over. Hyeongjun can’t help but smile at your excitement about his new hair. 

“Do you like it?” you questioned, looking at his darkened strands. 

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to do it for a while,” he tells you. 

“It looks good. Rockstar vibes,” you say. 

“You mean an emo rockstar?” he joked, making you laugh. 

“Yes, an emo rockstar in the best way possible,” you state. 

“So you think villain’s will like it?” 

“Oh they’re gonna love it.” You nod your head affirmatively. 

Jooyeon

Jooyeon comes and takes a seat beside you at the table and you have to do a double take.

“I did not recognize you for a second,” you laughed. Taking a moment to look at his new hair.

“Wow, you can’t even recognize your own boyfriend?” he says quasi-offended. 

“It’s not my fault I got used to your long hair.” You brush your hand through his now shorter locks. “You dyed it too,” you say. 

“Do I really look that different?” he asked. 

“At first glance yeah, but you still have the same pretty face, so not really,” you squished his cheeks. 

“You have a pretty face too.” He squished your cheeks back. You two sit there like idiots smiling while squishing each other's cheeks.

“Does this mean I get comeback spoilers?” You raised your brow. 

“I don’t know what’s in it for me?” he challenged. 

“Kisses,” you say. 

“Deal.” He smiled brightly.

taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143

comment or message me to be added!

[amalgamate-exe]

Dye Dye My Darling

IRL's plz dont read ^^

Eli -Hawk- moskowitz x M!reader

This is like my first full fic so enjoy!

~~~~~~

Warnings: Unedited, Earlier series hawk, Flirting some and a whole lot of hair dye.

___________________________

Hawk and you have been dating for about 6 months which would make you the luckiest girl in the entire tri-state area if this was some cheesy rom-com, but alas that's not how life worked out for you two. Unfortunately hard-core Karate kids and of course… kyler wouldn't be so chill with you two together, but that was beside the point. You were sitting with your friends at lunch admiring Hawk from afar Admiring him, the way his liberty spikes stood larger than life, the way his nose crinkled when he was laughing, probably about the Miyagi- do kids, or some new internet video that hasn't become post ironic yet, His cleft lip his-

“Earth to Y/N?” One of your friends ask 

“Hm sorry? Yeah what's up?” you ask still wanting to keep an eye on your boyfriend, you had no reason to stare but he was just… so pretty, like a Greek sculpture with his liberty spikes seeming to tower on forever

“Did you get the answers for number 6 for Math? You’re a nerd and like- Hey are you even listening to me?” Your friend follows your gaze to see “Oh for the love of gods Y/N I understand you want to live out your little romance but how many times do I have to tell you? He’s taken and… no offense, You're not his… his type!” this was almost a weekly conversation at this point, your friends and anyone else just assumed you had a crush on Hawk, but it didn't matter you two had each other and he invited you over to his house to hang out and play Tekken, and maybe… just MAYBE he’d let you dye his hair, his roots were overgrown and his hair was more of a blue-green bleached color rather than the aggressive red or any other color he has had in the past 6 months. 

“Sure thing F/N, anyways here are the answers for the homework,” You say keeping an eye on Hawk. And sliding F/N the answers

The rest of your classes after lunch went by fairly quickly, nothing interesting or notable except that on Friday there would be a huge party at the creek. The final bell rang as you started walking to His house, when you heard the clop-clop of heavy boots on the pavement behind you you turned around and see Hawk 

“Hey! Were you just gonna walk off and leave me back at that hell hole?” He asks giving you a playful nudge in the side

“Oh sorry I figured you wouldn't want to be seen with me, social hierarchy and stuff,” you say with a smirk, understanding the cliques in high school are very important, just like 80’s movies. 

“Not that I don't want to see you! I get like during lunch where you’re playing all stealth, but I love seeing you, I crave you” he says with a smirk as you walk back to his house.

Once you get into his house you both drop your bags and sit on the couch next to each other, you start playing Tekken 7 on his play station, He selects Devil Jin and you select King, as you two start playing and getting into the groove of the game, you decide to pop the question,

“Hey Pigeon~,” You ask in an almost sing-song voice

“yeah, babe?” He asks Lasered focused on the game, some things never change

“I was thinkin’ like your hair��is just bleached now all the colors faded out, and I was wondering if I could dye it for you?”

“No way in hell” Responds quick and toneless

“Aww, why not?” You ask attempting to counter His attack and failing miserably 

“Because you're going to mess it up then you made a fool out of both of us! I'll trust you a lot, however my hair dye, my spikes? No one touches those”

“Well, you weren't complaining when I was touching them the other night!” You quickly retort back

“That's– that’s beside the point,” he says slightly flustered “No one touches my hair for upkeep except me!”

“So you're saying that you trust me to give you a PERMANENT tattoo over more or less Temporary hair dye?” You ask with a smirk

“What-? No, that's not what I'm saying at all!” He seems annoyed but that could be because you're beating him at video games rather than you attempting to get permission to dye his hair

“I've been dying my hair since I was like 13 if anyone knows anything I do. Also, would you rather have a little purple on your forehead or the weird half-blond green with roots you have going on now?”

He thinks for a moment as he hits a combo on you, the TV plays a little sound and goes “Player 2 WINS!” 

“Wanna know what, Fine, you can dye my hair ONCE” and if you fuck it up you will have to be the one who goes out to buy black box dye to fix it, AND deal?”

You smile and steal a kiss “Deal” 

You guys go to his bathroom and he changes into his hair-dye shirt, 

“Can't you just be topless?”

“No! You're going to be messing with MY hair. I don't need your eyes somewhere they shouldn't be!” 

“Oh sure! I'm the one ogling you when your shirt is off, I swear if you think i'm bad you should SEE your teammates when you take off your Gi top”

“Well last time I checked, I wasn't taking my teammates to bed with me” he responds with a smirk as he takes the bright Red hair dye bottle from under the sink and hands it over to you, then he kisses you on your cheek, “Ok now don't make me regret letting you do this… ok”|

“Fine” 

After you start mixing the dye and put on gloves you start applying the dye to his head,

“Are you sure you didn't forget a step?” he asks with a smirk as you apply the dye to his hair

“Well if I did it's too late now… here my phone is in my pocket. play some music” You shift your weight so he can take your phone out of your pocket and he plays something, the noise of chiptune and 8-bit music fills the room, it is lively in its way 

“Hey this is kinda good what is it?” you ask about halfway done slopping (painting) on the red pigment to his hair

“You're not gonna believe me,” he says with a smirk

“Oh come on, you've seen my taste in music at times, this is good, what is it?” 

“It may or may not be the undertale soundtrack by Toby Fox?” he says almost embarrassed, which causes you to burst out laughing

“God pigeon, no matter how much of a karate badass you are, you're still a nerd at heart… I could kiss you right now” 

“Now now, focus on my hair, need your blood in your brain…’ he looks you up and down “Other places,” he says smirking and giving you that damned look of flirtation 

“You know you’re making dying your hair seem like way more of an in-depth process than it is… also for your hair being bleached so many times it's still soft” You liked the conversation also the silence no matter how long you've been together still felt off-putting, he smiles 

“Thanks the hair dye I use has some conditioner property or something, also I use a shit load of conditioner you know it couldn't damage your hair too much if you wanted to dye your hair too” he was just straight flirting with you now but he seemed genuine with his offer causing you to blush, a lot 

“That doesn't sound like a ‘no’ to me, c’mon we can match,” he says with a smirk that you could never say no to. The way his cheeks moved, the way his-

“Hey space cadet, can I dye your hair while mine is setting?” He asks while he's turning his head making sure every bit of the hair is saturated with the crimson dye’

“Yeah, that would be nice… though you better not fuck it up,” you say playfully.

Once you are done dying your hair and rinsing it out, the bathtub looks like a murder scene, with red dye along the bathtub and partially up the wall

“Holy shit your mom is going to kill me!” You say looking back at the mess you've made, hair dripping in front of your eyes, which causes Eli to scoff

“She's fine with it, who do you think took me to buy the dye in the first place? It just needs some TLC and it’ll all be good, baby” He says in a playful tone of voice while wrapping his arms around your waist. “The red streak looks cute on you too,” he says kissing your cheek, it feels nice his hands around your waist, and you lean more into him 

“Hey since you don't have to get going for a few more hours, wanna watch a movie? Something cheesy like clueless or… 10 things I hate about you?” He shrugs holding you close

“Both sound perfect”

[scekrex]

Hey could you by chance do an Adam x reader who dies their hair all the time? Like one month they have blue hair, the next it's pink, then black, then red, and there's no real way to tell what color is next besides maybe a "I think people with *insert hair color here* look super cool", thanks and have an amazing day/night!

I fucking got you, as someone who used to dye his hair every 4-6 weeks, I feel reader's vibe

Pretty Boy Swag

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Adam,” you called out for your boyfriend from the bathroom. It only took him a few seconds to open the door and lean against the door frame, his arms were crossed over his chest and the look in his eyes was critical. Even though he was very much enjoying the view of you sitting there only dressed in boxer shorts in order not to mess up any clothes.

In annoyance he sighed, “What color this time?” Like don't get him wrong, he didn't mind that you dyed your hair regularly, he thought it was fucking badass, but he didn't like helping you because no matter how careful he was, he would always get that fucking hair dye on his skin and it would take days to fade. Your lips curled into a playful smirk as you put on your gloves and squirted some dye onto your plastic covered palm. “First bleaching, then purple,” you replied. Adam's eyes flickered up to look at the faded neon green that your hair currently was and decided that purple sounded like a fucking great upgrade. “Alright, gimme the gloves,” he continued to act all annoyed as he stepped closer. The brunette stopped behind you and took the gloves you held up to him. Once his hands were safe, he took the bottle with bleach inside from you. Bleach was fine, it burned a little in his eyes and it smelled absolutely horrible, but bleach didn't stain his hands for days so he could live with that. As long as none of it got onto his or your wings, that was.

The bit of bleach that you had squeezed onto your hand you roughly applied, only for Adam to bat your hand away, “You want me to help so you're gonna sit fucking still and let me do my fucking thing.” He would never admit that he secretly enjoyed your little hair dying sessions. It was relaxing, really. “So why purple?” the first man hummed as he made sure the bleach covered every inch of your hair. “Y’know, because extermination is in a couple days and your battle robe is mainly purple so,” you shrugged as you watched Adam through the mirror in front of you, “So you thought it would be a nice fucking match, huh?” he finished for you. “Damn right. Whatcha think?”

Adam thought about it for a moment, “Do you have golden dye?” You raised an eyebrow at that, curious on what his plans were. “Yeah, in the back of the cabinet is a bit of leftover gold, why?” Adam however, completely ignored your question and continued to cover your hair in bleach silently.

Once he was done the two of you decided to order food and something while the bleach was working its magic. A thing Adam didn't calculate was that the food would take some time to arrive so when it did, it was already time to wash out the chemicals. So instead of immediately eating, you two went back into the bathroom to finish your job.

“So you gonna tell me what you need that for? I asked for purple, not gold,” you were about to complain but Adam pushed you down on your shoulders until you were sitting on the chair you had placed there before you had started to mix the bleach. “Split dye babes, if you wanna match colors, we're gonna do it fucking right.” You liked the way he thought. So he used the golden hair dye on the left and the purple on the right side. Once the color was applied, the two of you finally got to eat.

“Remind me to let you pick my hair color every now ‘n’ then, big guy, because fuck you have taste,” you mumbled with a mouth full of sushi and a shit eating grin on your lips. “Did you ever doubt that?” his voice was playful as he raised an eyebrow at you, a silent challenge. “Maybe, I mean gold and purple? C’mon, that's clearly a you-thing.” If he could, he would've tackled you and wrestled you down onto the floor, pinning you down. But he couldn't because that would cause a fucking mess, not only on the floor but also on your head. So he didn't.

-

Well at least until you had washed it out, because the second you had turned off the sink, he wrapped his hands around your waist, lifted you up just to carry you on his shoulders like a large bag of potatoes. “The fuck?” you squeaked in surprise as Adam carried you out of the bathroom and right into your bedroom. “Adam my hair's still fucking wet!” Not that he cared. He dropped you onto the soft mattress and leaned over you within a blink and for a tiny moment you felt dizzy by how quick he had moved. “Shush bitchboy, you look absolutely fucking glorious and I take that as my sign to fuck you stupid.”