#what are fishtail braids

[almaren]

I keep telling myself that posting WIPs will give me the motivation to finish them

It's Thranduil this time

[tabbyofwisdom]

I’m in my feelings today

[aboutl0ve]

[emptyfie1ds]

Have you considered

Milf prowl? ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

Because I have one

AH HA! dead mom hair! i do indeed have a prowl for you among my wares. hmm… hmm… *rummaging around in suspiciously oversized coat* it is an older drawing, not precisely tailored, but maybe close. she is eugenesis prowl who in my most indulgent fantasies is released from high command hell to be a microbiologist with her friend the corrodia

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[fear-is-truth]

dae-ho 강대호 / PLAYER 388 as your boyfriend

tags — fem!reader﹒ sfw headcanons﹒established relationship﹒fluff

dae-ho, who knows an embarrassing amount about “girly” stuff—despite the typical “guys don’t know shit about makeup” stereotype. he can identify your products by name—“you left your stippling brush on the sink again,” he had casually mentioned once, leaving you stunned.

dae-ho, who is good at taking care of you when you’re feeling unwell, especially during that time of the month (growing up with four sisters, he has learned everything there is to know about periods.) he’ll make sure you have heat pads, pain relief meds, chocolate, and your favorite snacks stocked up.

dae-ho, who doesn’t care if something is “emasculating” as long as it makes you happy. wearing a tiger face mask or letting you stick glittery clips in his hair? no problem. your joy is worth more to him than any outdated social expectations.

dae-ho, who lets you braid his hair and braids yours in return. he’s surprisingly good at it, thanks to his sisters. fishtail, french braid… he’s got you covered.

dae-ho, who gives you the softest, dopiest smiles when you’re braiding his hair, applying a face mask, or just rambling about your day, he’s looking at you like you hung the moon.

dae-ho, who sometimes forgot to take out your scrunchie from his own hair when he goes outside.

dae-ho, who acts like it’s just regular “good boyfriend duty” by letting you paint his nails. really, he’s just amused by how cute you look, biting your lip in concentration.

dae-ho, who picks up on your mood quickly. if you’re having a rough day, he’ll know it before you even have to say anything. he’s the kind of boyfriend who just gets it, always there to listen, or just holding you in his big arms.

dae-ho, who is incredibly patient. even when you’re snippy or plain unreasonable, he’d never take it personally. his calmness makes you feel safe, no matter what mood you’re in.

dae-ho, who has a protective streak especially when it comes to you. if anyone messes with you, he’ll step in without hesitation, but he’ll do so in a calm manner. never the type to make a scene, but you can always count on him to have your back when you need it.

dae-ho, who acts all wounded when you gang up with his sisters. if you’re laughing at an inside joke with them, he’ll gasp dramatically, hand over his heart. “betrayed by my own girlfriend,” he’ll say, pouting like a kicked puppy. but he secretly loves seeing you bond with them.

dae-ho, who is very respectful of your boundaries, whether they’re physical or emotional. he’s never pushy and always checks in with you to make sure you’re comfortable.

dae-ho, who loves hyping you up— if you ever feel self-conscious, he is always there to remind you how amazing you are. he wants to see you feel good about yourself, and he’ll always be there to support that.

dae-ho, who is adoring and affectionate—he loves physical affection and will never shy away from showing it. he’s also an excellent listener, always asking how your day went and showing genuine interest.

dae-ho, who texts you photos of random things because they remind him of you. a pretty sunset, a stray cat, or a newly opened bakery.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[senascoop]

Who do you think gives off major girl dad vibes and who gives off boy dad vibes in enhypen hyung line? 🫣

( GIRL DAD VIBES )

i) JAY — he practically screams “girl dad” with how gentlemanly he is and def seems like the type who would spoil his daughter while also being super protective. Jay would absolutely love twirling his daughter around the living room to teach her how to dance. He’d make sure she felt like a princess every day, whether it’s a random Tuesday or her birthday. While he’d be incredibly protective (probably the type to intimidate her first crush just a little), he’d also have a soft spot. One puppy-eyed look, and he’d cave into whatever she wants. He’d encourage her to be confident, smart, and kind. You can imagine him saying things like, “Always stay true to yourself, no matter what,” or “You’re capable of anything you set your mind to.” He’d be hands-on when it comes to crafting school projects or making her dream playhouse, all while secretly enjoying it more than her.

ii). SUNGHOON — No particular reason but his sweet, slightly shy demeanor gives off “girl dad.” He'd probably dote on his daughter. Sunghoon would be the kind of dad who’s quietly protective. He’d always keep an eye on her but wouldn’t be overbearing. If she had a problem, he’d step in subtly and guide her through it. While he might seem reserved, Sunghoon would secretly practice braiding her hair, doing her nails, or even learning makeup basics so he could bond with her. Imagine him proudly showing her a perfect fishtail braid or helping her pick nail polish colors! Sunghoon would treasure all her milestones. He’d secretly keep a box of her drawings, first letters, or little gifts she made him, reminiscing over them when she grew older. At school events, he might be the quiet dad in the back but would burst with pride when she’s on stage or playing sports. He’d clap the loudest and tell everyone, “That’s my daughter!”

( BOY DAD VIBES )

iii) HEESEUNG — Heeseung gives off really strong major “fun and chill” boy dad vibes. He'd bond over video games and sports, being an ideal responsible role model in the child's life. Heeseung would not only be a dad but be more like a buddy. He'd always be down to play video games, shoot hoops, or build Legos; he would make sure that his son knows that he is his biggest fan and the best friend. Whether it's basketball, soccer, or whatever, Heeseung would be the dad who always practiced with his son out in the yard. He'd be cheering him on at every game and even coaching the team if needed. Heeseung would be the right balance between being laid back and having boundaries. His son would know there's always room for fun but also the importance of respect and discipline. Music is such a big part of Heeseung's life, so you can bet there'd be karaoke nights where they'd sing their hearts out. His son would probably inherit Heeseung's love for music and maybe even some of his talent.

iV) JAKE — he seems like he would make a close friend with his son. They would spend weekends watching sports, playing video games, or going out into the wild for some hike or fishing. He would want his son to feel as though they are a team in everything. He would drop nuggets of wisdom like, “It is okay to fail, but never stop trying,” to make sure that his son feels encouraged about whatever happened. He would always say “I love you” and make sure that his son feels supported emotionally. Jake would be the dad who's always ready to listen, whether it is about his son's day at school or his dreams and worries. He would be that laid-back parent but not one to shy away from teaching his child how to live life and its various implications, like cooking, keeping money in order, and how to tackle problems with the right attitude.

[jessiexflem]

– photograph | jessie fleming x reader

content: fluff, fluff, and more fluff

word count: 2.9K

“Slow down!” you pout, your voice drowned out by the Christmas music playing over the speaker. 

Your older sister quickly took off on the ice, leaving you by yourself as you held onto the gate of the rink. The sting of the London winter hits your face, giving your cheeks a rosy blush. Your parents had dropped you off at the local outdoor rink, under the promise from your sister that she would keep an eye on you. Unlike most Canadians, skating did not come the most naturally to you, and you spent most of your time glued to the wall unless your mom was there to hold your hand.

“Excuse me?” a shorter girl, clad in an oversized hockey jersey, peers at you from under her beanie, “Do you need help?”

You nod warily, “I’m stuck.”

The girl holds out a gloved hand, giving you a smile, her two front teeth missing. “I can help you! I’m Jessie.”

“I’m Y/N,” you take her hand, wobbling slightly as you let go of the wall, “I’m scared of falling.”

“I won’t let you fall, I’ve gotten good at this,” the girl reassures, “How old are you, Y/N? I’m five.”

Jessie holds up her fingers on her other hand, gliding the two of you around the rink.

“Me too, but I’m about to turn six,” you say matter-of-factly, “Do you want to come to my birthday party? My mom bought ZooPals for it.”

“I have to ask my mom,” she shrugs, “Can I have the duck one?”

You nod, catching a glimpse of her black skates, “Your skates look funny.”

“Nuh uh,” Jessie frowns, “Yours look funny!”

“They’re figure skates,” you huff, “I’m going to be a figure skater just like my big sister!”

“Mine are hockey skates, and I’m going to be a famous hockey player when I grow up. You can come to my games.”

“I’ll go to your games if you come to my birthday party,” you bargain, holding out your pinky, “Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise,” Jessie locks her pinky with yours.

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

“Jessie, stop!” you hide your mouth with your hand, “I told you not to look!”

“It can’t be that bad!” 

You frown, wincing at the pain shooting through your gums. After months of attempting to convince your parents that your teeth were fine, you were dragged to the orthodontist’s office that morning, leaving with a full set of braces. Every word, every facial expression, everything made your mouth hurt.

“Speak for yourself, you’re not the one who has to have them!” you roll your eyes, “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“You’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” Jessie sighs. 

“But you still choose to be friends with me,” you giggle, the blue bands on your braces visible.

“You actually got blue?” your best friend raises an eyebrow, “I assumed you were still going to end up picking pink.” 

Your memory flashes back to the bet you had made with Jessie in gym class last week. You were running a 1,500 meter race against your classmates, and you told Jessie that if she won she got to pick what color bands you got. If you won, she had to give you the cookie from her lunch. Naturally, Jessie smoked you, running faster than the entire grade seven class.

“Of course I did, Fleming, I keep my promises,” you attempted a grin.

“We’ll work on smiling later,�� she teases, “Maybe try and look less pained.”

“I should’ve picked pink.”

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

The smell of hairspray fills your nose as your sister completes the finishing touches on your hair. A fishtail braid cascades down your back, your side bangs pinned out of your face. Gold, shimmery eyeshadow was swept across your eyelids, and your lips tingled from your sister’s lip plumping gloss. You slipped into your dress, your mom and sister helping adjust the corset back.

“Y/N! Jessie’s here!” your dad calls from the living room. 

You and Jessie had decided to attend your high school’s winter formal together, neither of you having a date. You wobble to the top of the stairs, cursing yourself for picking out heels instead of flats. Jessie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, holding a small plastic container. Unbeknownst to you, too focused on not tripping down the stairs, your best friend watched you with a glimmer in her eye, confused at why butterflies began to stir in her stomach.

“We dress up nice, don’t we, Fleming?” you grin as you get to the bottom step. 

“You look, uh, really pretty,” a blush creeps to Jessie’s face as she holds her hand out, “This is for you, by the way. My mom got them for us.”

Inside the plastic container was a corsage adorned with white roses and gold ribbon, matching your dress. Jessie had a similar one on her wrist, her ribbon silver rather than gold. 

“It’s so pretty, thank you,” you smile, “Put it on me?”

Jessie’s hands shake as she struggles to open the clamshell packaging. You watch her patiently, smiling once she pulls the corsage out of the container. She slides it on your wrist, a flash going off in the corner of your eye.

“Mom!” you groan.

“Come on, Y/N,” your mom frowns, “You two never dress up, let me and Mrs. Fleming get some pictures out of this.” 

You and Jessie posed for a few hundred photos to appease your mother until it was time to leave. Taking a step toward the garage, you grab Jessie’s arm in an attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m definitely going to fall in these,” you laugh, adjusting your heels.

“I won’t let you, I promise.”

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

“Got a hot date, Fleming?” Hailie asks from the opposite end of the locker room.

“Don’t you know? Her girlfriend’s coming to visit!” Teagan shouts in a teasing sing-song, drawing ‘oohs’ from the rest of the team. 

Jessie looks up from where she had been shoving her cleats into her backpack to glare at her teammates, a blush creeping to her cheeks. “How many times do I have to tell you that Y/N is not my girlfriend?”

“You mean how many times you’re going to lie to both me and yourself?” the Australian raises an eyebrow. 

“She’s my best friend, Teags, that’s all.”

A hurt look flashes across Teagan’s face, but her tone drips with sarcasm, “Ouch, I thought I was your best friend.”

“Whatever, Y/N was asking if you wanted to come to dinner with us,” Jessie sighs, secretly hoping her roommate has plans.

It was October of Jessie’s sophomore year at UCLA, and due to distance and conflicting schedules, she hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the summer. Luckily, your university’s fall break fell over a weekend that the Bruins were scheduled to play at home. Your plane was due to land in thirty minutes, and Jessie insisted on picking you up despite having to rush to the airport right after practice.

“So, you’re inviting me to third wheel?” 

“Wait, Teagan, I thought you were coming over tonight,” Hailie interjects.

“Oh, right, I forgot to tell you, I’m sleeping over at Hailie’s tonight,” Teagan flashes Jessie a cheeky wink, “Figured you’d want the room to yourself tonight.”

“I take it back, you’re uninvited.”

“Just doing both of us a favor!”

After eating dinner at a restaurant near the airport, you and Jessie headed back to her dorm. Seven hours of travel and a full terminal sprint to catch your connecting flight had you ready for nothing but sweet slumber. While Jessie’s in the bathroom, you glance around her and Teagan’s room. Teagan’s unmade bed was covered in laundry, and papers were strewn across her desk. Jessie’s side of the room looked the complete opposite, not a pillow out of place. Her homework was tucked into her backpack which sat in her desk chair. An extra pillow and throw blanket sat on top of her desk. Throwing the pillow on the floor, you began to shake out the blanket as Jessie stepped out of the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Jessie frowns, “You aren’t sleeping on the floor.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“On my bed?” she gestures at the lofted twin bed, “I’ll take the floor.”

“Absolutely not, I am not kicking you out of your bed, Fleming,” you shake your head. Jessie had a game tomorrow afternoon, and you knew sleeping on the floor would end up in her barely being able to move in the morning. 

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t realize Teagan had the air mattress in the back of her car, take my bed,” Jessie tries to take the blanket out of your hands, but you refuse to let go.

“You are not sleeping on the floor,” you frown, “Your back’s going to kill you if you do.”

“It’s just for a night,” she shrugs, “We’ll get the air mattress from Teagan tomorrow.”

You mull over her words for a moment before pulling yourself onto Jessie’s bed, scooting as close to the wall as you can, before patting the mattress. “Plenty of room. Alright, Fleming, time for bed.”

It’s Jessie’s turn to raise an eyebrow, “You can’t be serious.” 

“Dead serious.”

“Y/N–”

“Come on, Jess, it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before,” you roll your eyes. 

“Yes, beds that were made for two people, not one that I can barely keep myself from falling off of.”

“We’ll just have to cuddle then,” you tease.

Jessie reaches for the pillow on the floor, trying to hide the growing redness in her face. She tosses both the pillow and the throw blanket onto her bed, before using the bedframe to pull herself up. Once she’s settled under her covers, you notice that she’s practically hugging the edge of the mattress. 

“I won’t bite,” you laugh, “Scoot in, I don’t want you to fall.”

Jessie flicks off her lamp before timidly inching toward you, worried you would hear her heartbeat in her chest if she got too close. You had turned to your side, laying facing the wall.

“Goodnight, Jess, try not to fall, okay?”

Too late.

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

“Bon appétit,” you tip an invisible cap, fake French accent at full force. The smell of fresh basil and vodka sauce fills the room. You sit across the dining table from Jessie, pulling your legs criss-crossed in the chair.

“This looks amazing,” she smiles appreciatively, “But since when did you learn how to cook?” Chelsea had a last-minute, late evening training today, the team wanting to tweak a few things prior to their UWCL quarterfinal, so you spent your time alone preparing dinner.

“Lots of time at home during lockdown,” you laugh, “That pact we made freshman year is getting closer and closer to reality, and I figured one of us needs to know how to cook.”

If you noticed Jessie freeze, fork stuck in her bowl of pasta, you didn’t let on. Her cheeks turn red, thinking about the pact you had made years ago. “If we’re both alone when we turn thirty, let’s get married,” you had proposed one night when the two of you were up late at a sleepover.

“You still remember that?” she chuckles nervously, “You wouldn’t want to go through with it, now, though?”

“Is this your way of telling me that you don’t want to marry me?” you tease. 

“No!” Jessie answers, a bit too forcefully for her liking, “I mean, I–uh.”

“I’m just kidding, Jess,” you laugh, “How was training?”

For the rest of dinner, Jessie’s mind races as she pushes her food back and forth around her plate. “You’re being ridiculous, Fleming, it’s just Y/N,” she thinks to herself.

“Everything okay?” you frown, standing to place your dish in the sink, “It wasn’t bad, was it?”

Caught. Fuck. 

“No, it was great,” Jessie shakes her head, “Uh, I’m just still a bit full from a protein shake I had earlier.” 

And now she’s lying. Her stomach twists with hunger pangs, but she can’t get herself to take more than a couple more bites of pasta. Your words from earlier sat in her mind as she dwelled on the idea of marriage. The idea of marrying you. However, marrying you meant that Jessie had to actually tell you how she feels about you, which definitely wasn’t going to happen. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin the friendship you’ve had for the last eighteen years.

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“What?” Jessie bites her lip, avoiding your gaze, “I’m not lying.”

As if on cue, Jessie’s stomach betrays her, audibly growling. You raise your eyebrow at her, silently waiting for an explanation.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“What’s wrong, Jess?” you step toward her, resting your hip on the dining table. 

Jessie weighs the options in front of her. Tell you the truth, and risk making the rest of your London trip incredibly awkward. Lie, and know that you can see right through her. It used to be easy for Jessie to push her feelings aside through the past few years due to much of your friendship being long distance. However, every time you came to visit, she found it increasingly more difficult to keep her feelings a secret.

“Did I say something wrong?” your voice draws her out of her thoughts, “When I mentioned the pact?”

Jessie sighs, unsure of how to answer. You knew her too well.

“I’m sorry, Jess, I didn’t mean to make things weird,” you force out an awkward chuckle, “It was a joke, and I di–”

“I love you,” your best friend cuts you off, her eyes growing wide at the realization that her mouth decided not to consult her brain before speaking.

“I love you, too?” you reply, confused as this wasn’t anything new said between you two.

Well, it’s now or never, Jessie thinks to herself. “Uh, no, I–fuck,” she shakes her head, staring everywhere but at you, “No, Y/N, I love you, actually I think I’m in love with you, and I need you to stop talking about us getting married or it’ll be all I can think about, and I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin anything because you’re my best friend, and you definitely don’t feel the sa–”

“Jess, slow down,” you bite your lip, placing a hand on her arm, “Who said I don’t feel the same way?”

“What?” her eyes meet yours, giving you an incredulous look.

“I don’t think you’re ruining anything,” you smile, “Unless you don’t want me to tell you how long I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I want to be with you, then we can pretend like this conversation never happened.”

“You? Want to be with me?” Jessie asks with an air of disbelief to her voice.

“Okay, now you’re just drawing this out,” you tease, “But, if it’s what you need to hear, then yes, Jessie Alexandra Fleming, I, too, am in love with you and have wanted to be with you since I made that pact with you when we were fourteen.”

A smile quirks at Jessie’s lips as her eyes light up. Butterflies soar through her stomach, except this time they aren’t met with a feeling of stress or confusion. 

“Well, are you going to kiss me, or are you just going to keep looking at me with your cute face?” you smirk.

Pulling you into her lap, Jessie places one hand on your hip, the other cupping your face. Her eyes travel down to your lips, leaning in. Your eyes flutter closed, your lips meeting hers. When you pull away, you open your eyes to see Jessie flashing you a cheeky grin.

“So, fourteen-year-old you had an ulterior motive this whole time, huh?” 

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

“What are you looking at?” Jessie asks, sitting next to you on the couch, “Are these for the reception?”

You nod, holding up a picture of you and Jessie at the ice rink from the day you first met. Jessie’s arm was around your shoulders, and your arms wrapped around her waist, both of you cheesing toothless at the camera. Her mom had snapped a photo of you two after forcing her to arrange a playdate with your parents once they came to pick you up. “We were pretty cute, weren’t we?”

“Real cute,” your fiancée chuckles, pulling a print out of the stack. The two of you at your middle school lunch table, Jessie making a face to get you to laugh.

You flick through the remaining photos, which were meant to be framed as centerpieces for the tables at your upcoming wedding reception, each memory bringing you back to a different moment in your relationship. 

“You know, Teagan was about to kill me that weekend,” Jessie gestures at a picture of the two of you after a UCLA game, “After I dropped you off at the airport, she yelled at me for not telling you how I felt.”

“Only took four more years, right?” you tease, holding up a print of your first photo as a couple, a selfie taken on Jessie’s London flat’s couch.

“I guess I could’ve mentioned something a bit sooner,” she blushes.

“I’m just teasing, sweetheart,” you smile, setting the prints on the coffee table, “I wouldn’t want anything different.”

Jessie shakes her head, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Agreed, I’m really, really lucky,” you place a kiss on your fiancée’s cheek, “I can’t wait to marry you, Jessie Fleming.”

“C’mere,” Jessie pulls you in, pressing her lips to yours, “I love you, Y/N, and I can’t wait to marry you.”

[mysumeow]

︵ ☆ three-strand braid

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Fluff. Reader is mentioned to have a hair tie around their wrist and knows how to braid hair.

ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: Sethos's brief mention of a change in hairtstyle motivates Wanderer to lightly touch on the topic with you. He didn't expect you to actually try to braid his hair.

ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: yes this drabble was inspired by his birthday illustrations

“Is styling hair a complicated skill?”

You pushed your torso up to sit; the blades of grass dug into the palm of your hand as you did. What could’ve prompted Wanderer to nose into such a specific matter? The time you’ve spent alongside him was enough for you to pick up on the subtleties: someone had made a comment about his hair.

“It depends on the type of hair. Why? Looking for a change of look?” You leaned closer to him, shoulders brushing.

“It was a mere question I made from curiosity. Don’t read into it too much,” he said, crossing his arms.

Regardless of whether the comment about his hair was positive or negative, you couldn’t help but toy with the idea of giving him a hand to style it. The length limited what you could do, but you thought it was long enough to try braiding.

“I don’t know what ideas are spinning in that noggin of yours, but drop them.”

“I think a braid could look good on you,” you got on your knees and scooted closer in front of him. From instinct, Wanderer leaned back, and an arm came up to put some space between you two. However, when your fingers brushed the strands on the sides of his face to assess whether it was possible to braid, his posture loosened. “Your hair is very straight. I’ll have to loop the tie more, so the braid doesn’t untwine.”

“Don’t bother with it, then.”

“Too bad. I already began braiding it.”

It was a simple three-strand braid. Something like a fishtail braid was out of the question.

“What’s your haircare routine?”

“Do I look like I have the time of the day for that? I don’t have one. I just use whichever shampoo and conditioner I find on discount.”

“No way. How’s it so soft, then?” you fussed.

Despite most of his hair being a deep indigo color, some strands were closer to lilac. The lighter-colored locks of hair gave the braid a charming look. You used one of the hair ties on your wrist to loop it around the end of your handiwork, making sure it was tight enough.

When you pulled away to appraise your work, not only did you notice such a subtle change in hairstyle made him look prettier beneath the sunset’s afterglow, but also the pinkish tint on his cheeks.

He sighed; a hand went to graze the braided hair, trying to map its appearance in his head.

“Don’t expect me to replicate this hairstyle every day. The moment it becomes loose, I’ll let it go.”

“At least hold on to my hair tie until we hang out again.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

[ameliathornromance]

Link to PT1

Your Ex-Orc’s life has been going great since you broke up. He had been skirting around ending things with you for a while, and the relief of you breaking up with him crashed over him like a tsunami.

He’d forgotten how amazing it was to have his home to himself, to be able to sit in his front room without having to keep up a drab conversation with you about whatever happened at work, or to come home with a ‘shut up’ gift, just to make sure you didn’t complain about his prolonged absence.

However, there were times where we would walk into his flat and catch a whiff of your signature scent, or of a dish being prepared. He would ignore the way the pit in his stomach would open up and would head straight to his bedroom to go and get ready for a night on the town.

This feeling began to wake him up in the mornings too. When he rolled over and instinctively reached out for your figure, to drag in the smell of your shampooed hair and see your sleepy smile.

Every time this happened, your Ex vowed to go out that night. Going out and bringing home random women he met at bars and clubs always made him feel better.

And so, like clockwork when that all too familiar feeling kicked in, the pit reopening like a cut that just won’t heal, he would get on his best clothes and head out.

Tonight, he wanted to check out this new bar that had just opened up in town centre, named ‘Poena.’

Apparently, the drinks were all named after Roman and Greek plays, generals, philosophers and the like. 

It just begged for him to go in there tonight.

As he stepped through the front door, your Ex was greeted by Roman arches and Greek pillars with vines that wound around, up and over the bar itself, fake grapes dangling from the ceiling while the bartender was dressed in a white toga, a golden leaf wreath adorning his brow.

Taking a seat at the bar, your Ex Orc straightened out his blazer and began to scour the place for tonight’s lucky lady.

It was still early in the evening and the only other woman at the bar had her back to him and was admiring a statue of Venus, so your Ex decided to wait a little while longer and ordered a drink named ‘The Bloody 23’

After his drink had been given to him, your Ex’s attention went back to the woman at the bar, where he recoiled in shock. The woman… It was you.

He was stunned that he didn’t recognise you at first, but you just looked so… different. 

Had you done something new with your hair? Was your Make-up different? Or was it the clothes? 

You never normally wore club attire, you even said yourself that that kind of environment wasn’t really your thing.

But here you are, wearing a skin tight, red wine coloured dress. It was like you were a different person.

In front of you on the bar's counter, was an empty glass.

Your Ex smirked, and called the bartender over with a snap of his fingers, “would you kindly refill that lady’s drink? I’ll pay of course,” he said, almost lazily. 

Your Ex lifted his drink to his lips as he imagined your pleasantly surprised face when you realised he was there with you. Who knows, maybe even the pair of you could talk about what happened, make up and even-

His train of thought broke when somebody collided with him. Your Ex’s drink drenched his front, ruining his last good ‘going out’ shirt, staining it dark red.

“Whoops!” The collider said. It was another Orc, younger than your ex. This Orc had his hair tied back into a fishtail braid that went down his back and reached his waist.

He wore a leather jacket, black skin tight shirt and black jeans to match, boots undone, laces loose and unkempt. 

Your Ex Orc gave him a disgusted expression. “Watch where you’re going.” He snarled as he patted his front dry with a tissue the bar had provided.

The younger Orc held his hands up in defence, “sorry, must’ve had too much to drink tonight.” Digging into his pockets, he pulled out some cash and held it out to your Ex, “here, for the drink and… the shirt.”

Snatching it from the Orc, your Ex grumbled, giving one last disgusted glare up and down the collider, “and wear something more appropriate next time, oaf.”

The younger Orc didn’t seem to hear him however, as he continued on and to-

Your Ex froze.

Your face lit up at the other Orcs, jumping to your feet and throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

Eyes twinkling, grinning widely, your eyes darted over to your Ex. The pair of you locked eyes for a moment.

Your smile faltered slightly, the spark in your eyes went out.

The other Orc beside you looked over his shoulder, at his elder and then back at you. His hand reached out to your face, held it in his hands.

Heart thumping in his ears, your Ex stared. You hadn’t replaced him, had you?

The pair of you broke up only a few weeks ago!

You locked eyes with the Orc who held you and just as quickly as your light had faded, it reignited. 

The Orc said something, and it made you burst into a fit of giggles. 

You no longer had eyes for your Ex as you leaned forward and kissed the Orc in front of you. 

And this younger bastard, he kissed you back.

Like the pair of you had completely forgotten about your Ex, sat at the other end of the bar. 

When the kiss broke, your new lover looked over his shoulder at your Ex again and smirked.

Piercing pain shot through your Ex’s hand and he let out a gasp of shock. Looking down at his hand, he found the glass had been crushed by his grip.

He wanted to get up, rush after you and your lover, but the bartender stopped him, already trying to stem the bleeding from his green palm. He looked back up just in time to see you and your new Orc get up and head for the door.

As you and your new lover left, anger, frustration and remorse hit your Ex like a ton of bricks, one after another. 

And suddenly, the pain in his hand was gone. The pit in his stomach consumed him whole as he dissolved into tears.

He didn’t need more time out in bars or clubs, or to meet new women. 

Your Ex needed you. 

And he’d lost you, over a stupid woman at a club.

Tag list:

@serendipitous-fernweh @seungfl0wer @sammywo @sunndust

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[ssahotchnerr]

GIRL 👏🏻 DAD 👏🏻 AARON 👏🏻 learning how to do his wife’s hair so he can do baby girls hair when she’s grown

uncharted territory

YOU'RE 👏🏻 SO 👏🏻 RIGHT 👏🏻 cw; girl dad!aaron, fem!reader, some small suggestiveness, fluff <3

"can i braid your hair?"

you looked at aaron as your book dropped onto your lap, both a bit bewildered and astonished, "can you what?"

"braid your hair." the expression adorned on his face was almost troubled as he approached you, and rather shyly at that, actually.

"that's what i thought you said." your eyebrow quirked, displaying a caring and soft confusion. "why?"

"jus' something penelope said today, it made me realize that i don't know how to do hair. never had the need to learn with jack." the grumpiness on his face didn't falter, a small huff escaping him. "i know she doesn't have much of it now, but i don't want to be one of those dads who attempt to do their daughter's hair, it's a phenomenal disaster, and it looked better off before i even touched it. i refuse to send her off somewhere someday looking like she went through a windstorm."

"aaron, honey, i don't think you're capable of anything too disastrous." you teased gently, but with full reassurance.

he almost smiled, the ends of his lips tugging upwards, but evidently he wasn't fully convinced. "so can i? i need the practice, desperately."

"of course," you nodded, scooting towards the center of the bed and sitting cross-legged, aaron seated behind you.

once situated, he took your hair gingerly into his hands, "how do i..."

"you're going to want to separate it into three sections," you started, pausing to let him do so. "kinda gather it like a ponytail to get started."

"okay, that i've done before."

"yeah, you're good at that." you rolled your eyes, a faint blush tinting your cheeks and you could easily picture the smirk that was definitely plastered on aaron's face. "you good?"

"i think so."

"take the right side, and cross it over the middle section." you instructed, again giving him a small window of time to weave your hair gently. "then do the same on the left, the right section should have switched places with the middle."

"mhm." aaron hummed gently in confirmation, biting down softly onto his lip in concentration, crossing the left section over the now center.

"and just repeat down, alternating as you just did."

"that's it?"

"that's literally it."

aaron repeated the cycle, braiding with ease. "and i'm not hurting you? am i pulling-"

"no no no, you're completely fine." you reached a bit behind, your hand finding his knee and giving it a comforting squeeze. "keep going."

although it was a simple braid, his fingers nearly got tangled a few times, due to the size of said fingers and the limited, slightly tight space that came along with braiding. he also tugged your head back and forth a small amount, but you followed the direction of his gentle pulls. as he worked silently, your heart could only swell at his genuine concern and want to learn - just for your little girl.

once he reached the end of your braid, you tore off the hair tie that was conveniently around your wrist. "secure with this."

aaron was quick learner in nature; he watched you intently as you pulled your braid over your shoulder to inspect it quickly. it was a bit loose, a tad crooked, but the gist of it was there - almost perfect.

you peered behind at him, thoroughly impressed. "not bad."

"really?" aaron asked surprisingly, but with an utterly pleased expression.

"but don't get too cocky," you narrowed your eyebrows playfully, swiveling to face him. "this is the easy one to master. there's french braids, dutch, fishtail. one day she'll want one braid, maybe two the next. trust me, it's bound to get way more complicated than this."

the proud gleam in his eyes faded a bit as his face blanched, pulling into a pained expression, deadpanning. "you're kidding."

"but don't worry, we have plenty of time."

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mdni][girldad Roy][enemies to lovers][mlw][his tragedy of a life is not comically accurate][soft tragedy][fingering][unprotected p in v][creampie][rough sex, I think?][vibrator][Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty][squirting][slight dacryphilia][watersports mention][pronebone][mating press][spit]

"Who comes to a dick appointment without condoms?" Roy hisses, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, the fabric of his tank top stretched so tightly that you're half-expecting it to start ripping in front of your eyes.

You push past Roy, stepping into his apartment and you look around at the state.

It's not untidy.... It's... Lived in. Disarranged throw pillows, a few crumpled papers tossed around the small trashcan that's located just beside the large, flat screen TV. There's a few scattered toys, a Barbie doll without it's shoe and it's....

Oddly reminding you of yourself whenever you do this.

"What kind of man doesn't have his own condoms?" You spit back, picking up the doll and dropping down on the sofa, grabbing the nearest thing with bristles, and combing through the long, blonde hair.

"The kind of man who— you can braid hair?" Roy questions, his brows knitting into a contemplative expression and you nod your head, as your manicured fingers card through the plastic strands, twisting hair over hair. A fishtail braid.

"Can you braid my kid's hair?"

The question is.... A surprise, more than anything, and your hands falter, before you look up at Roy, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Sure." You shrug, dismissing it before you set the doll on the coffee table before lifting yourself from the seat, before staring at Roy with narrowed eyes.

"Take your pants off."

"Shit, at least romance me.." Roy grumbles, mock-offense lacing his rugged features before he scoops you up, a muscular forearm bracketing your ass and a scarred finger hooks around your chain, tugging you closer into a kiss.

Roy's lips are the furthest thing from moisturized, a prominent crack down the centre of his bottom lip that occasionally catches on your own lip and you smile into the kiss, the ticklish feeling making you laugh into the kiss.

"Bitch, don't you own Vaseline?"

Roy smiles into the kiss, dimples in his cheeks deepening and his hand pushes open his bedroom door. "No," he hums, before tossing you on his bed, the springs creek just a bit as you bounce on the mattress, and his hands reach for the edge of his shirt, tugging it up his torso.

Very unceremoniously, might I add.

"But I've got lube." Grabbing an unlabelled bottle from the top of his dresser, and tossing it in your direction, ignoring the thud of the hard plastic hitting your forehead, as well as your cursing.

"This doesn't even have a label!" You hiss, one hand holding the bottle of lube and the other, rubbing your forehead with the heel of your palm.

"Gas station said it was lube." Roy shrugs his broad shoulders, before he crawls over the messy nest of sheets and bedding, grabbing your hips and tugging your basketball shorts from your hips.

Leaving you in your—

"Do you have to wear granny panties every time you come see me?" Roy groans, his leafy pools locked on the pale blue panties you're wearing. A white lace trim, and daisies dotted over the fabric that leaves far too much to the imagination.

"Do you have to be named Roy every time I see you?" You say his name like some kind of slur, a tone that isn't missed on him as he hooks his fingers into your panties.

"Oh, fuck off." He rolls his eyes, and you huff, lifting your hips just enough for him to pull the cotton down your ass. "I was named after my uncle."

"What was his name? Roy Rogers McFreely?" You snort, and you barely get to laugh at your own joke before you're roughly tossed onto your stomach, with your legs spread obscenely and a painful swat lands on your ass, before Roy's rough palm smooths over the stinging burn.

"Very funny." Roy huffs. "Now give me the lube."

"You're not using gas station lube on me." You deadpan, looking over your shoulder with a scowl. Your brows knitted and perfect lips tugged into a frown that just made him wanna kiss them.

Of course not now.

Roy's calloused fingers are occupied with a more interesting pair of lips that didn't call him a soulless ginger on missions, and his middle finger circles your clit in a way that makes your back arch just a bit sluttier.

"It's got an expiration date." Roy groans in frustration.

As though an expiration date makes it better.

You flip the bottle over in your hand, looking for the date.

"This says June." You state. "And what month are we in?" Roy hums, his fingers still circling your clit as he leans over you, inspecting the bottle with you.

"January." You deadpan. "Of three years after this bottle's expiration year."

"You know, I don't appreciate being spoken to like I'm some kind of idiot." Roy scowls at you, gingery brows knitted into a scowl, his pinkish upper lip curled in distaste at your tone.

"Well maybe next time, don't be an id—" Your voice cracks and a shaky gasp leaves you when two fingers begin to fuck into your gooey cunt. And Roy hums, resting his chin on your shoulder and he tips his head to look at you.

A cocky grin on his face and it seems like all your energy goes into placing a hand on his face, and pushing him lightly.

"Nice try." Roy mocks. "I'm entirely sober. I'm basically Superman."

"If he—... lacked a soul."

"Say I have a soul."

Roy has your knees forced apart by his muscular thighs, fingers fucking into your cunt while his free hand holds a wand vibrator to your throbbing clit. Your legs shake, puffy pussy glistening with his spit and your wetness, combined into a slick mess that trilled down your messy folds.

"I—I'm... 'm not a liar..." You whine, your hands fisting at the sheets, the edge of your T-shirt between your teeth, your cheeks flushed and messy with tears that had threatened to spill from one too many ruined orgasms.

Roy tuts you, moving away the vibrator away from you and pulling his fingers out of you roughly. And he takes the time, the corners of his mouth twitching, before pulling into a devious grin at the sight of your hole spasming around nothing.

And those glistening fingers make their way to your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and those eyes alone.

Perfect, pretty emerald eyes.

Fanned by pretty, Disney ass lashes, thick brows and the lightest flickers of blue in his eyes. And you suck on his fingers.

Savouring the taste of his fingertips that seem to constantly taste like the feathery end of an arrow, mixed with his spit and your cum, and you whine around his knuckles. You slobber. You whine, you cry.

Your toes curl when that vibrator meets your needy clit, tracing up and down your slick slit, and you barely notice that you're biting down on Roy's fingers when your head tips back. And you squirt.

Soaking Roy from his chest, to his boxers, and the sheets below you. Roy doesn't register your teeth digging into his fingers, only focusing on the messy cum that trickles down the creases of your ass and he hums, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

And inspecting the teeth indentations.

"Good thing we've never sixty-nined." He mumbles, almost to himself, before his hand, soaked with your spit, slaps your pussy.

Your body rocks, your tummy dipping inward with each flinch of pleasure-pain, whimpers slipping past your kiss-swollen lips. All red from Roy sucking on them while ruining your orgasms and he leans forward, pressing a kiss against your temple.

A soft, gentle action that anchors you in this moment, but before you can say anything, anything at all, your thighs are in a long distance relationship and you're tasked with holding that vibrator to your throbbing clit while Roy pushes into you.

It's a sensation that's painfully familiar.

That almost burn that makes your toes curl and your back arch into the mattress to get away from him, and then, that slow, painful pulling out that has your hips lifting to take more of him.

And you glance down at where Roy slowly feeds your pussy. Inch by inch, as he carefully takes the vibrator from your hand, resting it where he thinks it needs to be.

And God, is he right.

Not directly on your clit, but shy of it, to the right and your lashes flutter, the back of your head resting against the headboard and Roy groans, his hips bumping against yours in the slowest, deepest rhythm.

For someone who makes you squirt with how rough he is, honestly, he doesn't even fuck.

Roy makes love.

90's, R&B, silk shirt and crying in the rain type of love. His hips don't stutter, don't falter, all that he's focused on is taking you to pound town on a safe journey and getting you home in time to feed your turtle.

"Don't close your legs, don't close your legs." He breathes out, switching off the vibrator and setting it aside, before angling his hips.

The blunt, rosy tip of his cock nudges against a spot that makes your kiss-swollen lips form the cutest 'o' shape, eyes nearly crossing and that's the spot.

And Roy begins to fuck.

Hard, messy thrusts that leave a creamy ring around the base of him, his palm coming to rest just above your mound and pressure begins to build like a fucking wildfire. And you babble, eyes welling up with tears as each stroke brings you closer to that precipice of pleasure that makes you believe that Roy might be God's favourite.

Because no fucking way ANYONE would have dick this good.

Unless maybe, Batman.

And Roy leans forward, a hand roughly grasping your chin, and he forces his thumb between your lips, watching the way your eyes glaze over when he presses down on your tongue. That mind-numbing sensation of his cock stilling and twitching against your gummy walls makes your brain fuzzy and all you do is stick your tongue out, catching the spit that leaves his stupidly perfect mouth.

And Roy smears his messy, wet hand across your face, before grabbing your chin again, fingers digging into your cheeks and he leans forward.

Pressing a sloppy, hard kiss to your lips, tasting your spit and cum on your lips and he groans, his hips pistoning in and out of you with no fucking warning.

The headboard hits against the wall, the sheets rustle and the loudest sound is the messy squelch of your sopping pussy as he fucks you into oblivion.

"You're so fucking perfect." Roy pants, kissing you like there's no fucking tomorrow and god, your blood is rushing in your ears and the sound is deafening.

Especially when you feel those skilled fingertips sinking to your hair, your walls fluttering and spasming as you gush, pushing his cock out of you and he places the most gentle kiss against your forehead.

You don't drink enough water to be able to push out liquids like this. But that's not your problem or even the mildest concern.

Not when your face is pushed into the pillow that smells like his musk and cologne, not to mention that tiniest hint of sweat. And definitely not when he's reaching over you, muscular and scarred hands gripping the headboard tightly, as he slowly slips into you.

Gushy walls swallowing him whole, and Roy's chest presses against your back, his face buried in the curve of your neck and he presses the sweetest kiss against your pulse.

Sucking marks into your skin, his hand coming to wrap around your throat just a bit, fingertips digging into the slight plush and his hips fucking roll.

Cock pummeling into you at that slow, passionate pace and Roy hums quietly. "You like it? I've been taking a— hah— a Spanish dance class with Jason."

And you let out a laugh, a breathy giggle and you whine as he nudges at your cervix.

"N—not enough words to say how gay that is." You mock, your hands clawing and gripping at the sheets, your brain fuzzy and your tongue lolling just a bit.

And Roy laughs. A low, raspy chuckle.

"Oh, you're really gonna get it now." And he lifts, just a bit, his fingers curling into your scalp and tugging your hair back, enough to expose your throat.

"Now... 'm gonna fuck you 'til you piss yourself."

[merlucide]

POOKIE I CUT MY HAIR AND THIS SOUNS STUPID BUT CAN I PLEASE HAVE A RIN, CHIGIRI, OTOYA , REO, HIORI AND KURONA REACTING TO READER CUTTING HER HAIR AROUND SHOULDER LENGH AND DOING CUTE LIL HAIR SLYES WITH PINK BOWS AND STUFF AHHHH WHEN SHE USED TO HAVE LONG HAIR?!!?

(If it’s too much characters just do a few 😭💀)

BLLK BOYS REACTION TO YOU CUTTING YOUR HAIR

Notes: OFC POOKIE🤩🤩 and hair slays so hard omg 🤭 slay the house downs boots Houston I’m deceased😍😍

characters: Rin, Chigiri, Otoya, Reo, Hiori, Kurona

warnings: cursing

Edit: oh my god I freaking misread this. ARE U KIDDING ME?!?! IM SO SORRY OMG. UH??? IM SO PISSED RN

ITOSHI RIN

He was stopping by your house to give back your hair tie (yes that is his excuse to see you)

He did not expect you have cut your hair and NOT tell him

Bc girl who do you think you are for not telling him?? 🙄 

He likes to feel involved😔

“You cut your hair.” No shit Sherlock 😐

lmao he kinda glares at you for not telling him. 

When yall cuddle (only way he’ll be in a better mood) he twirls you hair around and mumbles ‘it’s looks pretty on you’ 

And you’ll be like “what did you say?” 😯

“I didn’t say anything moron.” 😡

damn bro chill🙄🙄

Anywho he totally tries to do your hair, he’s not bad but like he’s not good

He can do basic braids, he tried French braiding and he got so pissed he couldn’t do it.

He went home and YouTubed how to French braid so next time he can’t do it 😘

CHIGIRI HYOMA

He thinks you look so pretty!! He really loves this look on you

He of course loved your hair before, but this one in his opinion, suits you better

He totally does your hair bc come on.

You want French braids? On it. Dutch? Ofc. Fishtail? Rope? Infinity? Carousel? Mermaid? Check, check and check mf 🤩

Beware, he yanks you head back if it’s tilted. He’s like a mom getting you ready for picture day 😭

He makes you do his hair after lol

OTOYA EITA

He looks at you hair and then back at you

“Your hair looks fire bro”

Bitch I’ll strangle you

Please, please don’t let him touch your hair.

He make make it look horrendous.

It will be full of knots when he’s finished. 

Seriously, don’t let him near your hair.

He’ll try to do piggy tails and they will be so uneven and wonky looking 😭

He blames his mistakes on you cus it’s “not the right kind of hair” 

🙄🙄

MIKAGE REO

He gets so excited to see your new look

Makes you do a spin and all :3

He’s literally fangirling you lmao

“Y/N-san you look amazing! This haircut suits you wonderfully!!”

He insists on buying you new hair accessories.

I’m sorry I know I use the ‘he’d buy u stuff’ sm 💀 

He’s actually pretty decent at doing your hair.

Puts a big ass bow in you hair lmao

HIORI YO

He loves you new look!

He tells you that it was time for something new and he loves it (not in a negative way)

he ruffles you hair lmao

like it was so pretty 🥲 why

he fixes it dw

Puts you hair in piggy tails and then y’all take those cute aesthetic couple pictures

KURONA RANZE

AH HE THINKS YOU LOOK JUST SO PRETTY!!! 

he’s so blushy and gushy cus he thinks it looks really good on you.

He flicks the bottoms out and spins you around so he can see everything.

Obviously he braids your hair🤭

he does like small braids into a jumbo braid

It looks weird but he just likes braiding lmao

you braid his hair after :3 

seriously idk why this took so long for the low quality that this is 💀💀

Made April 7th 2024

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any notes on hair and hairstyles by any chance?

Writing Notes: Hairstyles

Some writing tips to describe your character's hair:

Frame your character’s face with a hairstyle that reflects their story. A crewcut might signify a military soldier or someone who likes to be in control. A ponytail or pigtails might indicate a young character. Describe a character’s hair color—black hair, dark hair, brunette, redhead, blonde, gray, or white—in interesting ways instead of just stating the shade. It makes a difference whether your character dyes their hair or keeps it its natural shade. Describe the length of their hair. A confident businesswoman might have short or shoulder-length hair. A musician might have longer hair. Match your character’s hairstyle with their personality.

Make facial hair an element of a character’s style. How a male character keeps his facial hair is telling. If he’s constantly clean-shaven, he might go to a regular corporate job. A bit of stubble can signify a more casual career. From a beard to sideburns to a goatee, facial hair helps paint a picture of a male character and can help represent their life and what they do.

Write detailed character descriptions. Visualize a character in your own mind. Make them three dimensional by fleshing out both the character’s personality and physical appearance. Write down their physical details like hairstyle and hair color—do they have brown hair, blond hair, or dark hair? Describe how they move through the world and hint at what their body language and mannerisms reveal.

Here are some words to help you select more precise language and improve the clarity in your writing:

Descriptive Words to Describe Hair

Hair Texture. Relates to the circumference of individual hairs as well as the curl pattern and general state of the hair, with regards to how it looks and feels.

body, bouncy, bristly, brittle, bushy, coarse, crinkly, delicate, downy, fine, flat, fluffy, frizzy, fuzzy, glossy, lank, limp, listless, luxuriant, luxurious, medium, nappy, no body, puffy, rough, satiny, silky, sleek, smooth, soft, sticky, stiff, straight, straw-like, supple, touchable, velvety, wavy, wiry

Hair Thickness. This means the same thing as hair density. There are a number of terms for how thick a person’s hair is.

lush, scraggly, sparse, stringy, thick, thin, voluminous, wispy, wooly

Hair Styles or Cuts. Properly describing how hair is cut or styled is critical in describing the appearance of a character in a story or the subject of a work of nonfiction.

afro, a-line, angled, asymmetrical, bangs, beehive, blunt, bob, bouffant, bowl cut, braided, braids, brushed back, bun, buzzed, center part, chignon, chopped, choppy, clipped, coils, comb over, corkscrew curls, cornrows, crew cut, curled, dreadlocks, ducktail, emo, extensions, face-framing, feathered, fishtail braid, flat top, flyaway, french braids, french twist, fringe, Jheri curl, kinked, layered, long layers, loose, military cut, mohawk, mullet, natural, pageboy, parted, pigtails, pin curls, pixie, plaited, pompadour, ponytail, Rasta, rat tail, ratted, ringlets, shag, shaved, side part, slicked down, spiked, spiky, spirals, springy, stacked, straightened, swept back, swept to the side, swept up, teased, topknot, trimmed, twisted, undercut, up, updo, waterfall braids, weave, wedge, wings, wrapped

Hair Length. Hair can vary greatly in length. Choosing the right descriptive word for hair length helps readers get a better picture of the character or person about whom you are writing.

cascading, chin length, close cropped, cropped, ear length, flowing, long, medium length, mid-back length, neck length, short, shoulder length, tailbone length, trailing, waist length

Hair Color or Tints. Since there are many hair colors in different tones, some natural and some not, it’s really important to choose the right descriptive word for hair color.

ash brown, auburn, black, bleached blond, blonde, blue, bluish, bottle blonde, brown, brunette, burgundy, burnished, chestnut, coppery, dark, flaxen, ginger, golden blonde, gray, green, honey, jet black, light, mousy, multi-colored, natural blonde, oil slick, ombre, peroxide blonde, pink, platinum, purple, rainbow, raven, red, salt and pepper, silver, strawberry blonde, streaked, sun-kissed, sun-streaked, wheat blonde, white, yellow, yellowing

Treated Hair. There are a number of treatments people can use to alter the appearance of their hair.

bleached, body wave, brassy, colored, conditioned, deep conditioned, dyed,frosted, highlighted, highlights, lowlights, permed, relaxed, smoothing, tinted

Messy Hair. There are a number of ways to convey to readers that a person has messy hair. Whether the individual’s hair is messy due to a lack of care, general unruliness, or having been engaged in activity that caused it to become messy, choose the right word so readers will understand.

bad hair day, bedhead, clumpy, disarray, disheveled, drooping, knotted, matted, overgrown, shaggy, snarled, tangled, tousled, towheaded, uncombed, uncontrollable, unkempt, unmanageable, unruly, unstyled, untamed, untidy, windblown, windswept

Neatly Styled Hair. Some people take great pains to ensure their hair is the exact opposite of messy. Use these terms when you want to describe someone with neatly styled hair.

blown out, coiffed, coiffured, done, neat, runway-ready, tamed, tidy, well-groomed

More Ways to Describe the Appearance of Hair. The categories listed above aren’t all inclusive when it comes to describing hair.

beautiful, brushed, classy, clean, combed, damp, dirty, dripping, dull, elegant, enviable, fashionable, filthy, gorgeous, greasy, healthy, luscious, lustrous, nourished, shiny, singed, slick, soaked, squeaky clean, stylish, sweaty, trendy, vibrant, voluminous, wet

Words to Describe Hair Problems. There are a number of different hair problems. If the person or character you are writing about has a visible issue with his or her hair, be sure to choose the best word to describe it.

alopecia, bald, balding, bald patch, broken, damaged, dandruff, dry, flaky, fried, hair loss, lice, needs a touch-up, nits, oily, overly processed, pattern baldness, receding, roots are showing, shedding, split ends, thinning, thin on top, widow’s peak

Hair Accessories. Thoroughly describing a person or character’s appearance may require giving some information about hair accessories the person is wearing. Choose the best term to describe any items placed in or on the individual’s hair.

ball cap, barrette, beret, bobby pin, bow, butterfly clip, chopsticks, elastic, feather, flower, hair clip, hairpin, hat, headband, headscarf, kerchief, ribbon, scarf, scrunchie, side comb, snap clip, sweatband, tiara, tieback

Names of Hair Tools. When you need to describe what someone uses to style their hair, be sure to accurately describe the type of tool the individual uses.

blow dryer, clippers, comb, curling iron, diffuser, dryer, duckbill clips, fine-tooth comb, flat iron, hairbrush, hot rollers, rollers, round brush, scissors, thinning shears

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Facial Hair

Hope this helps with your writing!

[lvnchh]

GUESS

Abby anderson x female reader inspired by Billie Eilish feat in Guess

I’m a minor, and I write smut. Please, if you want to complain or insult me about it, just don’t interact. 🙏🏻 It’s my life, and I’m free to write whatever I want as long as I’m not bothering anyone. Also, please don’t judge any grammar mistakes, as English is not my native language. I’m sorry if the smut or the whole story isn’t that good.

Smut below the cut.

The soft hum of Tokyo nightlife buzzed around you both as you slid into a quiet booth in a tucked-away izakaya. It was late, the streets a blur of neon and rain-slicked reflections, but you didn't notice much of it anymore. Your focus was on Abby. Always on Abby.

Her presence was magnetic-broad shoulders and toned arms stretched beneath her simple black tank top. Her fishtail braid, slightly undone from the humidity, rested on her shoulder. And those eyes. Piercing, like they could see right through you, even the things you tried to keep hidden.

But tonight? Tonight you didn't want to hide a thing.

She sat beside you instead of across, the smell of her lingering-something earthy and familiar. You felt her thigh brush against yours as she shifted closer, her arm resting casually behind you on the worn leather of the booth. Abby wasn't subtle. She rarely was.

"You gonna drink that, or just stare at me all night?" she teased, her low voice a delicious rasp that made your cheeks warm. You glanced at the glass of sake in front of you, but your thoughts weren't on the drink. They hadn't been since the moment she saw you get dressed earlier. The way her eyes darkened as she caught a glimpse of black lace peeking out from the waistband of your jeans-it had been deliberate on your part. You didn't think she'd notice so quickly.

But Abby always noticed.

The first time she picked those out for you, it had been a joke. A playful nudge at the store, her teasing grin as she held up the delicate black pair with the tiny bows, knowing damn well they were a far cry from the usual comfort you preferred. "Bet you'd look good in these," she'd said, low and confident, daring you to blush.

And you did.

You hadn't expected to actually love them, let alone wear them for her. But tonight? Tonight felt different.

"I already know what you're wearing under there,"

Abby murmured, her lips close to your ear now, her voice barely audible over the faint jazz playing in the background. Her free hand traced the seam of your jeans under the table, featherlight but enough to make your breath hitch.

"You think so?" you asked, attempting a coy smile, but the way your voice wavered betrayed you.

"I know so." she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips "Saw 'em when you sat down. They're all I've been thinkin' about."

Her fingers pressed just slightly against your thigh, and you cursed yourself for the way your body responded instantly to her touch.

"Abby-"

"Hmm?" she asked, feigning innocence as her hand slid higher, her calloused fingers brushing against the edge of your waistband. "You wanna keep pretending, or should we cut the act?"

You bit your lip, your pulse racing. Abby had a way of unraveling you without even trying.

"I'm not pretending," you whispered, turning to meet her gaze. Her smirk softened, replaced by something darker, hungrier.

"Good," she said. "I can't stop thinking about them," her voice low as her fingers ghosted along the edge of your waistband. "The lace. The bows. How perfect they look on you."

Your breath caught, and you managed to mumble, "Abby-"

her lips brushing your ear. Her tone was soft, but the heat behind it made your stomach tighten. "Don't act like you didn't know what this would do to me."

You swallowed hard, fighting the heat creeping up your neck, but the corner of her mouth lifted, satisfied with your reaction.

She leaned closer, her hand slipping under the hem of your shirt to graze your skin. Her touch was firm, grounding, and made every nerve in your body light up.

"C'mon," she said, voice dropping even lower.

"Let's get out of here."

Abby had you pressed against the futon mattress before you even had a chance to slip your shoes off. Her lips were on yours, rough and needy, her hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. When she finally pulled away, her gaze raked over you, her eyes trailing lower until they landed on the lacy black pair that had been driving her crazy all night.

"Just as good as I imagined," she muttered, her voice thick with desire.

You barely had time to respond before her mouth was on your neck, her hands gripping your waist like she couldn't bear the thought of letting go. Her fingers traced the edge of the lace, her touch deliberate, slow.

"They're gonna end up ruined," you murmured, your breath catching as her lips ghosted down your neck, her hands firm on your waist. her fingers hooking into the fabric as her mouth hovered at your navel.

"Don't care," she said simply, her voice rough and low. Her hand tugged the lace aside, her blue eyes locking on yours. "This? This is all I care about."

She grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer, her fingers digging into your skin as she lowered herself between your legs. Her eyes locked with yours, a dark smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she reached for the lace, tugging it to the side without a second thought. You couldn't hold back the gasp as her mouth met you, her lips pressing against you with slow, deliberate pressure. The sensation was electric, and the moment she dragged her tongue over you, your whole body tensed.

"Abby..." you breathed, your voice already shaky.

She didn't reply, just kept moving, her hands holding you steady while her tongue worked with precision. Every flick, every stroke was calculated, and she didn't need to ask how you were feeling— she knew. Abby's confidence was as overwhelming as it was intoxicating, and it made it impossible to focus on anything else but her.

"Fuck, you taste good," she muttered under her breath, her voice low and rough as her lips stayed on you, never wavering. Her eyes never left yours as she worked, a steady rhythm that had you trembling beneath her. You reached down, your fingers running through her hair, desperate to hold onto something. Her grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer, making it impossible to escape the overwhelming pleasure she was delivering. She could feel the way your body reacted, the way you bucked against her, and it only spurred her on. When she pulled away briefly, just to look at you, her lips glistened, and you could see the satisfaction in her eyes.

[megumiluvv]

He doesn’t know how he got sucked into this. Choso had a day off and invited you over, finally not needing an excuse to have you over. What he didn’t expect was what was currently happening in his living room. Yuji sits beside you on the couch, holding small hair ties, and Choso is sitting on the floor between your legs, having his hair styled by you.

“You’re pulling too hard,” he complains, reaching his hand up only for you to playfully smack it away.

“Leave it alone.” You frown. Yuji merely giggles and copies you. “Yeah, Cho, leave it aloooone!”

Choso huffs and complains while you put his hair into bubble braids. For a guy whose hair is in buns all the time, he sure is tender-headed. When you’re done, the bubble braids are lopsided from his pulling away from you, but overall doesn't look too bad.

“Tadaaaa…” your hands make a gesture in the mirror as he looks at his reflection. “Thoughts?”

“It's lopsided.”

“And who's fault is that?” You frown, cheeks puffing out playfully as your finger pokes his own.

“Yeah, yeah, it just hurts my head when you’re tugging on my hair.”

“Choso! I want my hair done like that too!” Yuji points up at his head.

“Your hair isn’t long enough yet, Yuji.”

“That’s because you made me get a haircut!”

“That’s because you were growing a mullet.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yeah huh.”

“Nuh-uh! I just said so!” The boy pouts and crosses his arms as if that changes how long his hair was.

“Whatever you say, kid.” Choso smiles and ruffles Yuji’s hair, making the boy scoff and try fixing it.

“Speaking of haircuts,” you segue, “do you ever plan on cutting your hair, Choso?”

“Hmm, I've never thought about it, no.” he muses.

“I think it wouldn't look bad at all if you decided to, but I like how long it is.” you smile and trace the bumps of the hairstyle. “Wanna do a different one now? I can do a fishtail braid.”

“Sounds like I should have bought more ibuprofen,” Choso mutters.

Yuji turns on The Lion King to watch while you undo the bubble braids and run your fingers through his smooth hair. Your hands carefully work while you and Yuji duet most of the songs in the Disney movie, Choso is sort of forced to sit through it. Not that he minds, he finds it adorable.

Three hairstyles later, Yuji’s asleep on your lap as the credits to the movie roll. Choso rises from the floor and kisses your forehead.

“How's your head?” you smile.

“Not hurting as bad as I make it out to be.”

You laugh softly at his words and pat the seat beside you. “C’mere.”

He sits down and you carefully play with his hair like your other hand is doing with Yuji. You press a kiss to his cheek and smile. He looks at you and smiles a soft one of his own. He could never cut his hair when this is what the outcome is.

Masterlist

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