ringlet curls

3

After trying numerous styles she was no longer interested in the upkeep and decided to stop dying and straightening all together.

The result floored him—with its effects never lessening on him, even though he glanced at her on a daily basis. It was this rich darker color, and it coiled and curled into ringlets. They stuck out in all directions and doubled the volume of her hair.

 last minute doodle for fic appreciation week. Chatoyant (Reddish pt.½) by @marshmallohno. It cleansed my soul

i was thinking about amazonian telepathy and i don’t think i can use this anywhere so

There were responsible ways to deal with being bored during League debriefs. Rather than do any of them, Diana adjusted her legs so that her knee touched Batman’s. A ragged tear in his suit meant that it was skin-to-skin contact.

She reached out tentatively.

Black Canary’s hair looks cute today, she ventured, an idle thought to share. She was careful not to go searching for any answers he did not give. She expected him to say nothing, and break contact.

Doesn’t matter, came his answer, so terse a dismissal it almost startled her. He didn’t move his leg. It seemed unlike him, but this form of communication did tend to be more honest.

How unfortunate, to imagine this was what he thought of their occasional conversations.

I’m sure she put a lot of work into it, Diana tried again. The bright blonde locks had been curled into ringlets before being drawn up into a ponytail.

Not for me.

She frowned. That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate it.

Don’t need to.

You’re being awfully rude.

It’s fine.

If I’d gone through such trouble, I’d want you to notice.

Not for me.

It will be, Diana decided. I’ll do my hair just like that, to spite you, and it will be the cutest.

Batman said nothing. Then he leaned back just a little, only enough to see where their knees touched. He glanced at Diana, then away. Was that you? he asked finally.

Of course, she said.

How long have we been having a conversation? he asked.

Since I pointed out the cuteness of Black Canary’s coiffure? she said. Batman did not respond. What did you think was happening?

Intrusive thoughts.

She tried to look at his face sidelong, though she didn’t know why. Looking at him directly would make it no easier to decipher his minimal expressions. Do your intrusive thoughts often sound like me making observations about other women?

Sometimes.

Can you two keep it down? asked J'onn. Some of us are trying to pay attention.

No you’re not, Diana accused. You just heard gossip and wanted in.

We’re not gossiping, Batman said. Don’t make me break truce.

I had also noticed Black Canary’s hair, J'onn said, ignoring Batman.

Isn’t it cute? Diana asked.

Batman sighed.

Do you think I could pull it off? J'onn asked.

Batman had a sudden coughing fit.

A Warm Welcome [h.s.]

A/N: here’s some hades!harry! Sorry if it’s shitty I’m trying to get back in the game! And sorry for any typos and mistakes! Enjoy :-)

___________________________

Being a god comes with a large bundle of heightened emotions and Harry honestly wishes that they had an off switch. Celestial beings are called “celestial” for a reason, after all. They’re abnormally better than any human, and thus they must keep an attitude and air that enforces nothing less, but damn feelings for being able to get in the way so easily.

Gods must be calm and collected under the most extraneous situations, they must rule with an iron fist, and most importantly, they must forbid emotions from deterring them in any way. He’s not saying that he hates feeling emotions more intensely; some are worth the toil. Pleasure, for example, is felt tenfold what any human could handle and he can almost say that this alone makes the troubles worth it. But it’s moments such as now that bring forward overpowering feelings that he wishes he could cast aside: a dangerous mixture of excitement and anxiousness.

More specifically, the excitement and anxiousness that comes with the return of his beloved wife, Persephone (or as he calls her, Y/N), from being away for her given six months of the year.

All is normally well due to the fact that Harry usually throws big, extravagant parties for her returns because he wants the whole world to know that the light of his life is coming back to him, as well as to take off some of the pressure that comes with not seeing her for a long time. He’s talking about an all out, full-fledged celebration with hundreds of different types of flowers adorned all around the dark obsidian palace. All of the gods are invited (even those minor ones that Harry thinks are irrelevant but Y/N carries a fond for) and he brings down the musicians that play up in Olympus because he only wants the best for his precious girl. Amazing food, a ten story cake, and the finest wine and ambrosia brewed all across the seven seas.

But this year, Y/N sent a message with Hermes (whom he knows as Louis) down to the Underworld. As he had unfolded her note, the familiar scent of clementine arose from the scratchy paper and made his eyes pinprick with tears of longing. In her beautiful curvy handwriting, she explains how she doesn’t want a big party this year. That she wishes for the contrary, actually. She wants the whole palace to only themselves so they can take a long walk through all of its expanse and talk about everything that’s happened in the time they’ve been apart. She writes that she loves the parties he throws her, but for this return she just wants some quality time with no one else but him.

And so that’s exactly what he does. When the day arrives, he sends all of his servants out of the castle walls, leaving the place feeling hollow. He sits on his throne waiting for her, fidgeting helplessly. It’s a tall, black steel and celestial bronze number with red garnet and imperial topaz strewn in with the metal. It’s meant to be intimidating and fearful and, well, godly, and he couldn’t love it more. Harry usually feels right at home in the cushioned seat, but at the moment, he feels puny in its shadow; all do to the concoction of giddiness and nerves that stem from Y/N’s return.

He focuses himself on smoothing out the wrinkles in his black silk toga and on messing with the gold emblem that rests on the fabric above his shoulder, right where the back and front of the toga connect. The cherished possession was forged by Poseidon’s Cyclopes at the bottom of the sea, hence why it tends to have flashes of blue in certain lighting. He picks at the ruby eyes incrusted into the ghastly imprint of a skull, tracing the laurel wreaths around its head. His concentration then moves to his hair, which he had cut a couple of weeks back. He hadn’t said a word to Y/N about it in their letters because he wanted it to be surprise. He was sure she would like it because he feels that it fits him pretty well, but now as he sits here with nothing but his thoughts as company, he begins to worry. What if she thought he looked odd? She did really love his long hair– could never stop complimenting the perfect curls that liked to form across his shoulders…

Harry rises abruptly, toes curling against the worn leather of his sandals. His anxiety is going through the roof because he hasn’t seen Persephone in so long and he doesn’t want their first encounter of her return to be awkward. He quickly paces towards the closest mirror in the throne room, footsteps echoing, loud and empty, across the large room. Squaring his broad shoulders, he cocks his head slightly and finger-combs the fluffy, messy curls into place. He curses under his breath as one ringlet keeps curling weirdly in front of his ear and works on taming it, wishing he had some of that new jelly stuff Apollo uses.

He’s so engrossed in his hair that he doesn’t hear the large doors creaking open across the throne room. A single door cracks just the slightest and in slips the figure of a woman, the lights from the giant candle chandelier reflecting off the golden wreath atop her head. The big onyx jewel in the middle of the crown signifies her as queen of the Underworld, the gilded plants at the sides confirming her identity as the goddess of spring. She stands absolutely still at the door, leaning against it’s ginormous frame and watching the young man across the room mumble curses and fiddle with his short curls.

She knows his figure well– too well. It doesn’t take much to give away it’s Harry. The way he stands with his shoulders broad, the silk material of his toga hugging the taunt muscles of his back. The way he’s propped more on one leg than the other do to a back injury from taming his hell hound, Cerberus. The way his tan skin glints like copper, pulled tight over fit arms. Contrary to popular belief, Harry’s skin isn’t pale (underground kingdoms don’t exactly get the best sunlight) but rather a healthy golden tint. She’s not sure why, but she doesn’t question it; it’s a great look on him.

Out of everything, however, the one characteristic that stands out most of all is the way he gives off a certain cold aura that draws her own warm one towards him, as well as the way that every shadow created across the room seems to naturally obey his will, bending over him to cast a dark stain across his silhouette.

Y/N can feel his hollowness crawl across the room, sweeping over her like the waves of a relentless sea. There have been stories that the sheer strength of Harry’s presence has driven mortals to take their own lives do to the desolation he gives off. Being the ruler of death and destruction isn’t exactly a happy job and it’s burden had definitely taken its toll on him, but he had managed to find a way to stifle the vacancy.

That’s where Persephone came in. Her role as the goddess of spring meant that she was, quite literally, the physical embodiment of life and warmth, and thus his polar opposite. It was she that brought the proper seasons around for the mortals to do their harvesting in order to survive, and so it was she that could counteract the darkness Hades resonated.

And right now, she was about to take on the second role again and she couldn’t be happier.

Y/N allows the door to shut behind her, the loud sound of the two pieces of stone sliding into one another booming across the huge, quiet throne room.

Harry’s body freezes up, a sheen of ice materializing across his already cold blood. He can feel his black heart lodging into his throat, his nerves going haywire at her presence. He locks his gaze on her through the mirror, her body somewhat smaller across the large expanse of the walls. His emerald eyes twinkle unearthly, putting the shine of any actual emeralds to shame. One of his titles isn’t “the god of wealth and jewels” for nothing.

Hades turns slowly on his heels, facing Y/N fully. As he takes in her appearance, he can’t help the small, childish laugh that releases from his throat. She looks absolutely breathtaking, a pure white dress flaring out around her body, the shimmering fabric hugging her upper arms as delicate golden chains lay across the tops of her shoulders. A certain glow seems to swell around her, so warm and buttery it makes the candles seem dim. And all Harry can think is, there she is, all beautiful and stunning and all mine.

His feet are moving before he’s even stopped admiring her, walking briskly in her direction. Each step seems to shake the ground, the indescribable mixture of emotions that churns within him finding an outlet in every bound he takes. Y/N takes off too, walking with a certain grace to her that makes his heart melt. They meet in the middle of the room, both slightly out of breath and smiling like fools. He reaches a ring-clad hand out to her, cupping her jaw and swiping his thumb across her supple cheek. Electricity sizzles through their point of contact, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up to the tips. Every cell in his body is screaming to feel her’s, the slight touch setting forward a chain reaction of sensations coursing through his veins.

To his sudden surprise, she lunges first, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing the living daylights out of him. His arms unfreeze from their shock, instinctively wrapping around her waist, face burrowing into the slope of her neck and he takes a deep breath, eyes watering with happiness as the scent of sun and flowers and just life fills his drowning lungs. They tumble back a few feet, giggling like children as Harry spins her around, dress whooshing happily through the air. She cups his face, kissing his forehead softly and he can feel her gentle smile spread across his skin.

He sets her on the ground carefully, pulling her into his strong chest and kissing the top of her head lovingly. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. So, so much.”

“Me too.” Her voice is, for the kick of the joke, like the first breath of spring – it refreshes him, filling every crevice of his body with light.

Harry pulls back, leaning down to prop their foreheads together, staring into her caring eyes and grinning like an idiot. His dimples pop into place and she laughs, reaching up to poke at them playfully.

“You cut your hair!” She exclaims in awe, running her hands through the short locks and twisting them around her fingers. “It looks amazing, Har. Handsome as ever.”

“Y'think so? Was scared you wouldn’t like it…” He mumbles shyly, looking away in embarrassment.

“You look as incredible as any celestial being ever could.” Y/N nudges his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

He blushes (because that’s the perfect thing for the god of the deceased to do) and grabs her hands, intertwining their fingers together. “So you wanted to have a heartfelt chat with me, is that it? That’s why you turned down ambrosia squares?”


Y/N returns his jesting smirk, nodding her head. “Yes, that’s why. But also, it’s because I wanted some alone time with you and I want to be able to–” she leans into his ear, her words causing a shiver down his spine–“scream and have no one hear me.”

Harry immediately stiffens up, staring at her with wide eyes because she’s rarely the most needy in the relationship, and having her practically jump into his pants as soon as she sees him is a new experience for him. She gazes up at him with hooded eyes, slipping the left sleeve of her dress further down her arm. She presses forward, lips latching to Harry’s like he’s a lifeline.

“Already?” He murmurs against her mouth, feeling her hands grasping wildly at his groin and he hisses quietly at her eagerness. “You’ve barely been here five minutes, love. A bit shameful, don’t y'think? And also, I thought–”

He gets cut off by Y/N sliding her tongue down his throat, her teeny whines causing his knees to disintegrate. “Bet you’ve only gotten bigger than before. Longer, thicker– fuck, just thinking about it makes me wanna come.”

Harry pulls away, gently detaching her from him and looking down at her with slight confusion because it’s all so sudden and unexpected.

“Are you sure you want to do this now? I thought we could wait a bit, y'know? Do something romantic, like a big feast for two and then walk through your gardens for a bit! Bathe afterwards and just let natural instincts take their course.” He hates himself for being such a sap with her but he can’t help it. And her letter had suggested she wanted this type of welcome so he had been looking forward to it.

“Harry, I love you and I absolutely want to do all of those things,” Y/N stares directly into his face with the biggest doe-eyes he’s ever seen, chewing at the corner of her mouth as her eyes flicker to his reddened lips and he can sense how desperate she is. “But I’ve been horny from the second I set foot on the first stair of the palace. I just can’t hold off. I just…I want you to fuck me, Har. Right here, right now. Please?”

He blinks at her for a couple of seconds, weighing in what she’s saying. He decides to go with it, fingers sliding the golden chains from her shoulders as she continues clutch his neck. “Alright, kitten. I understand.”

He stops when the dress is about to expose her chest. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Harry grins coyly, poking fun at her. “Like I said, s'really only been, like, five minutes. No shame, hm?”

“Not at all, considering you haven’t been in me in barely six months.” She quips back sarcastically, shoving one hand up his toga all of the sudden and squeezing him hard, revering in his breathy whimper, which she stifles with her mouth.

“Now take me.” She whispers into the heavy kiss, reaching up to pop the emblem open so that she could pull down his toga to where it pools at his banded waist.

And that’s exactly what Harry does. He takes her right then and there, in front of his throne, with both of her wrists pinned down to the cold marble floor, her dress hiked up her creamy thighs and her breasts swelling out of her garment, crowns discarded besides an alter. He throws her legs around his hips, bucking into her roughly as she gives small gasps of pleasure, his cock pulsing against her softness. He’s bent over her, whispering dirty promises into her ear as he pinches her clit, grinning triumphantly into her neck.

“Tha’s my girl, yeah? Baby’s been gone and hasn’t had a good fucking in months, hm? Wants Daddy to take her right here? Want me to fuck a new sense into you, darling?” Harry’s voice is low and strained as he works on keeping himself from coming, all of those weeks of using his hand being nothing compared to her warmth and tightness. “Fuck, it’s been ages. You’re…you’re so good for me.”

Harry means that in every sense of the thought. Y/N’s good for him because she brings out the best qualities in his death-ridden heart, and she’s good for him in a sensual fashion, breaking him down molecule by molecule and stripping him of his sanity. She’s his complete opposite and he wouldn’t have the same spark with any other person.

Y/N wriggles her wrists in his hold, whining as she arches her back to be closer to him, wanting to be enveloped by his whole body. Harry releases her hands, which immediately go to his shoulders as his arms wrap under her lower back. She snakes her arms across them and down his back, digging her nails into the tight muscles under his toga, throwing her head back and letting out a loud, cracked moan. “Harry, I’m– fuck, you’re amazing.”

Harry licks a stripe up her throat, kissing at her chin as her legs spasm against his hips. “Such a good girl for me, Y/N. Such a tight, sweet little thing…Missed you s'much– missed this so much.”

“F…Fuck me,” she whispers, her voice feathery and desperate.

Harry reaches above her, hands wrapping around the thick legs of his throne, the solid celestial bronze nailed down into the floor so that the chair works as a reinforcement. He pulls upward, arms flexing alluringly as he thrusts hard into Y/N, causing her to scream out.

“Want– to– make–you–feel–so good.” Harry grits out with every slam, head dropping down to allow him to peck chaste kisses onto her swollen lips. The sweat is making his eyes bleary and causing curls to stick to his forehead, but he doesn’t care. She’s here, pliant and slick and begging him for it and nothing else is important other than her.

A meek whine comes from Y/N, her head turning to give Harry access to her neck. He sucks the skin into his mouth, teething until he sees mauve and purple bruises blossom across her delicate throat. He’s panting against her jaw, small choking sounds scratching his throat raw as his thighs clench with every thrust.

“Did you…?” Hades swallows thickly, his sentence cut off by his mouth falling open as she gives a hard squeeze around his length. “Gods, jus’ like that, pet. Squeeze me nice and snug– tha’s it, kitten. So good for me, hm?”

Y/N nods vigorously, hands diving into the hair along his neck and she yanks him closer, noses nudging and breathing mingling. “So big, H. You’re so fucking big and it’s been so long and–”

Harry quiets her with one of his hands, his thumb sliding into the dip of her rough tongue. His gaze is trained on her face, watching as her eyes lull shut as she moans wetly around the digit.

“Suck for me. Can you do that?” Hades mumbles, biting onto his lower lip with fervor as she wraps her plump lips around the circumference of his finger.

“Mmm…” Y/N hums groggily and he can feel the tug of his skin in her mouth as she sucks excitedly, eyes fluttering open all wide and innocent.

“Shit, Y/N, just– just fuck me.” He whimpers brokenly, licking up her jaw to nibble at her left earlobe.

“Feels incredible…” She glubs over his thumb, tiny hiccups of pleasure bouncing against the far walls of the room with every hard slam Harry gives his hips. One of her hands fumbles with the one in her mouth, tugging at it weakly.

He lets her take it, watching as she presses it to her right breast, taking the same wet thumb and passing it over her nipple a couple of times. The shutter that racks her spine leaves her feeling lightheaded and airy, and she gives an encouraging hum. Harry adapts to her request, releasing his hard hold on the leg of the throne and using both hands to cup her chest, bringing them together and giving a long lap to each pebbled nipple. He uses his forefinger along with his thumb, tweaking the tiny nubs and staring at her, mesmerized by the face of sheer rapture her features mold into.

Hades leans down, pressing his warm, wet lips to her ear, his exhales causing her skin to grow red with need. “Did you touch yourself?”

Persephone hesitates for a second, and then nods bashfully.

He grins, humming with amusement. “How often?”

“Almost every night…” Her answer is soft and wistful, as if recalling a fond memory.

He teethes the curve of the shell of her ear, blowing on the wet patch it leaves. “Me too.”

She gasps gently as he gives a hard push and doesn’t relent back, keeping her on edge. The worn marble ground bites at his knees as he remains stationary, buried to the hilt inside her. His fingers pinch the buds of her breasts harder, his body in love with the way she thrashes against him.

“Sometimes I couldn’t sleep,” he continues, voice sultry and low, like blood-red velvet. “I would toss and turn all night, finally just laying on my stomach and staring at the tall headboard, all hot and hard. There would be nights where my hand just wasn’t good enough, so I’d grind my hips into the mattress, holding your pillow close so I could smell you as I did my best to come.”

Y/N’s breathing has gotten faster, her hips wiggling from side to side to try and pry her own pleasure from his unrelenting cock. He won’t move and she can feel him twitching inside her and she needs him to keep fucking her. But he won’t– he’s getting off way more from torturing her with his words.

“Harry, please. Wanna come…” Her eyes are swelling with tears from how destressed she’s grown, her hands grabbing his sharp jaw in her palms so she can force him to see how wrecked she is.

He simply smirks, ignoring her pleading. “Sometimes it would hit me while I was bathing. Those didn’t take as long though– the warm water helped a lot. I’d just rub one out nice and quick, leaning against the cold wall and gasping out your name, imagining your pretty little mouth taking me all the way in.”

Y/N is a shaking disaster, her hands hugging him to her so hard he was sure she was unknowingly tapping into her godly strength. Her gaze is set on the extravagant chandelier above them, all of the multicolored jewels embedded around different curved rails reflecting a kaleidoscope of shades onto their connected bodies. The flames of the candles on the source of light seem to grow dimmer, her eyesight getting more and more blurry by the second as she feels her release bubbling and churning at the pit of her stomach, clawing at anything it can get, which includes her ability to see straight. The cold floor against her backside suddenly becomes prominent, the contrasting temperatures making her head swim with ecstasy.

“Tell me about it.” Harry wraps one of his arms fully under her lower back, the other reaching up to stroke his knuckles against her cheekbone. He cups his fingers under chin and jaw, thumbing over her cheek and lips, infatuated with the ruby redness of her skin.

“I…I don’t–” Persephone begins weakly, shaking her head faster because she knows if she talks about it, she’ll implode entirely.

“Tell me, Y/N. Tell me how you fucked yourself with me in mind.” Hades slowly begins to push his hips back and forth again, euphoria inflating her muscles and causing her to yawp. “Just tell me and I’ll fuck you so hard, you won’t even remember what you said.”

She swallows heavily, mouth slightly agape with shallow inhales and exhales. Her eyes refuse to meet his, focusing on the intricate designs of the wall instead. “I…I used my fingers–”

He interrupts spontaneously, turning her head forward so that their eyes are level. “Look at me. Want you looking at me when you confess all of the naughty things you did.”

She just nods her head docilely, chewing on her bottom lip as he begins to speed up, toga draping down his body loosely with his hair flopping around and his tan skin simmering to the touch. He breathes in deeply, opening them with leisure. The look behind them is predatory with nothing but sheer lust.

“Go on, then. What’d my baby girl do without me beside her?”

“I used my fingers.” Y/N repeats quietly, eyes rolling back into her head as Harry suckles along the subtle dip of her collarbones. “And I–fuck, I…rubbed myself.”

He nods encouragingly, moving to bite down on her lower lip, pulling it away and allowing it to snap back into place. “You miss my mouth any?”

She digs her nails harder into his back muscles, feeling them flex under her fingertips. “Yes. Wanted you doing it…”

“I’ll do one better.” Harry leans back onto his heels, grinding his hips so that his cock slicks in and out of her fast and hard. He places one arm behind him for balance, using the hand on the other to slap Y/N’s dripping clit. Her reaction is immediate, body arching off the ground as he forces her legs to stay down. He slaps faster, pinching every now and then and letting his head fall back, neck vein protruding across his clammy skin.

“Little longer, peach. Warm little cunt gonna make me come so hard. Gonna take all of me in there and love every drop, yeah?” Harry gives a particularly hard smack to her folds, grunting heavily as she cries out excitedly.

It doesn’t take long at all for her to release, body slumping into the cold, shiny ground with her brain floating around high above the ceiling with the chandelier. Harry coaxes her through it, falling forward again so that his forearms are on either side of her head as he presses his nose to the underside of her jaw, pooling light kisses and mumbling encouragement. His hair tickles her cheeks, the smell of cinnamon and sandalwood evading her nose and causing her to melt.

“Tha’s my girl. Squeeze fo’ me– little more, sweetheart, c'mon. Daddy’s got you.”

He rides out his own orgasm, gasping and mewling lightly as he feels his balls tightening and then release in a flush of warmth. He gasps out as he feels the first ribbon of come spurt out thickly, trickling into her steadily as he continues to fuck her limp body.

“Oh, Gods, I’m–oooh, fucking hell!” His eyes squeeze shut as his whole face crinkles in pleasure, a hand fisting her hair as his hips jerk spastically against her’s.

He slides the other hand under the backside of one of her knees, hiking it up until it’s at the level of her navel, opening her up fully to be filled completely. He sports a tiny, wistful smile, drunk off his climax as he nips across her chin and with each word, he thrusts the last couple of times. “So– fucking– hot.”

Harry pulls out slowly, hearing her whimper quietly at the sudden emptiness. He sees himself spilling out of Y/N and begins chuckling as if he were high off his ass, giggling against her chin and blinking up at her with shining, watery green irises, the tiny specks of gold winking like stars. “So full of me. Won’t be able to get me out of your veins for days. Y'smell like me already…”

He sneaks two fingers between her thighs, bringing them up to his mouth and licking at her dripping release. “So sweet fo’ me.”

“Need–” she swallows, moistening the sandpaper that is her throat and blinking the black spots from her sight. “Need a cool bath. And you and wine and cuddles.”

And who was he to deny her that? He pushes himself up onto wobbly feet, gaining stability soon enough. He adjusts his toga, clipping the emblem back together and tugging it loose around his legs. The sweat had really done a number on the silk cloth. Leaning down, he slides his arms under her back and legs, scooping her up bridal style. She wishes she could move, but she literally cannot feel her legs and she quite likes being a right “damsel in distress” for a little bit if it gets Harry to carry her up a flight of stairs and into a tub.

“You’re burning up and I don’t think it has to do with your godliness…” Harry coons playfully, voice echoing around the bathing chamber as he slips the soft shimmering fabric of her sleeves down her sweaty arms, kissing each of her shoulders gently. He buries his face in her neck as he eases her out of the dress fully, large hands coasting down her arms and around her waist to cup her bottom. He gives it a good squeeze, breaking into laughter when she gives a sudden jump. “Hundreds of years old and still got it.”

Y/N shoves his shoulder, glaring daggers at him as he shrugs it off like it’s nothing, attempting to hide his shit-eating grin. She dips into the cool, bubbling water of the obsidian tub, sinking down up to her nose.

Harry leans his shoulder against the chamber wall, a small, fond smile warming his lips. She stares up at him, blowing bubbles into the water and wiggling her eyebrows childishly.

He chuckles lightly. “Gods, I missed you. Don’t think I can express it enough.”

Y/N floats over and sits on the stone step that circles the inside circumstance of the small pool, patting the water next to her in a signal for him to join her.

“Can’t seem to stop getting me naked, can ya, love?” He unlaces his sandals, toeing them off as he undoes the golden rope around his waist that holds his toga to his body. He pulls the garment over his head, tossing it in the general direction of a marble bench.

He descends into the churning water, going under and paddling towards her. His head breaks the surface, hair matted to his neck and head, covering his face completely. Y/N pushes it back, revealing the silly face he’s making underneath. She draws him closer, sponging her lips to his nose and giggling as he scoops her into his lap, head cuddling against his strong chest.

Hades’ chin rests atop Persephone’s wet hair as he caresses her back, feeling his heart swell in his chest. The couple sit there for a while, naked bodies pressed together, yet there is nothing sexual about it anymore. It’s innocent and sweet, filled with stories about their time apart and splash fights and Harry’s stupid jokes that Y/N rolls her eyes at but secretly loves. And Harry sits there, staring down at her laughing face with her nose scrunched up and her teeth showing and he knows he would never stop loving her.

Not in a thousand years, which he freely has to spare.

________________________________

A/N: ahhhHHHHHH HADES HARRY IS MY FAVORITE THING. I hope you guys like this! I haven’t been writing much lately and I apologize for that but I’m trying to get back into a routine of it :-) thank you so much for reading and for your patience and support and feel free to drop by my inbox with opinions❤️☺️

- Andrea :)

okay have we ever considered what would happen once ronan grew his dark curly hair back?? 

{be warned: long rambly hc ahead.}


  • 
Adam once casually mentioned that he liked Ronan’s hair. Gansey’s showed him pictures of what Ronan used to look like before he’d shaved his head and he’d commented that he’d barely been able to recognize him, but in like a good way. 

  • So Ronan decides he’s going to allow his hair to grow out again while Adam’s still off at college. 

  • They make time for each other while maneuvering around Adam’s schooling of course, some weekends Ronan will drive up to Adam’s campus or Adam will take a few days off to return to Henrietta to meet Ronan, Opal and the rest of the group. 
  • Gansey’s stunned and silently relieved, feeling like a proud father. He’d never thought he’d encounter the old Ronan again, and this was better than the old Ronan, this was a new and improved Ronan, who’d wrestled tragedy after tragedy and stood triumphant in the wake of each one, not letting it get the best of him. Blue marks it as an improvement and proceeds to nickname him Rapenzul, “Shut the fuck up, Maggot.” “Are you going to let down your hair, princess?” Noah likes to pet his hair just the way he likes to pet Blue’s hair. “So soft,” he’ll say. Ronan only lets him because it’s Noah, although he may or may not threaten to throw him out of more windows. (Yes, I don’t care what happened in TRK, Noah is undead and well, let this boy live okay!!!) 
  • When Adam first sees Ronan with his hair all grown back he actually physically falters bc goddamn does this boy have any idea how crushingly good he looks? ?? 
  • “You… You’re…” Adam doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to muster a cohesive sentence ever again. Adam was used to the Ronan who was all sharpened edges and split knuckles, but the curving ringlets that curled around his ears now and fell over his forehead in drunken midnight tufts made him appear softer, warmer, kinder. It was like seeing the before-image of a burnt photograph. It was like a fairytale filter version of him. Adam can’t help but see an uncanny resemblance between Ronan and those effortlessly handsome young war hero portraits. 
  • “Stop staring, Shithead. It’s a fucking wig.” Ronan says, because that starstruck look in Adam’s eyes is doing things to him. 
  • Adam is suddenly overcome with the sweeping urge to run his hands through it. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate running his hands over Ronan’s buzzed head or the Ronan that he’d known before. He’d loved Ronan just like he loved Gansey, Blue and Noah even back when he carried himself like a vicious python, all spitfires and bloodied lips, even when he was getting drunk every single night and trying to fight the moon. Adam wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but there’d been something ethereally enticing about him even when he was this self-destructive drag racer that Adam had been so afraid to fall and cut himself on. 
  • But the Ronan Lynch that Adam fell in love with was another boy completely. He was the dreamer who dreamed up EpiPens for his friend and hand cream for Adam’s chapped hands and performed secret handshakes with his little brother and wanted to spend the rest of his life at his family farm and who pressed his lips ever-so-gently to each one of Adam’s fingers like they were dandelion stems. 
  • All his life, Adam had felt broken and delicate, but for the first time, he felt glad for his nimble fingers, his turbulent history, to be Adam Parrish, the chipped teacup boy, because Ronan made him feel loved and wanted and appreciated, because Ronan felt everything so strongly, and there were still nights Adam was filled with gratitude for being the brunt of Ronan’s desire. 
  • So they make the drive up to the Barns in silence, Ronan asks him about how college’s been and Adam tells him all about the university Ronan wouldn’t be caught dead in and catches that proud glint in his eyes when he admits he recently got offered a TA position. “So now you’re nerding your way up to the nerdom throne. Good for you, Parrish.” They talk about Gansey, Blue and Henry’s trip to Venezuela and how Opal’s been helping Ronan build his dream ramp and chewing on all the curtains. The minute they step out of the car and into the house however, Adam can’t help himself anymore, he pins Ronan against a wall and regales him with firm, heated kisses before dipping his hands into Ronan’s hair. It’s even softer than he’d imagined, and he’d been tugging distractedly at his lip and staring out the window the entire ride, imagining a lot. 
  • Ronan’s overwhelmed but they’ve been apart for weeks and feeling the hot, reassuring weight of Adam’s lips and hips against his again, and with his long, pianist’s fingers gruffly tugging at Ronan’s hair, his thoughts upend and bottom out and all he can think is let’s never fucking stop kissing. yeah. let’s kiss until we fucking die.
  • Later when they’re laying down in bed, Adam loops his fingers in Ronan’s hair again, raking through it delightedly, and Ronan lets out a quiet sigh. 
  • “It feels weird,” Ronan then admits. “I’m not that person anymore.” Adam wanted to tell Ronan that no, he wasn’t that person anymore, but he was more whole than he’d been in a long time. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to fool people into thinking he was this awful, intimidating presence anymore. He wanted to tell him that it would be okay if he just let the world see him for what he really was. That he wasn’t the wolf in the henhouse, but neither of them were ever very good at words, so he just pushes a little bit of his hair back and presses a kiss to Ronan’s temple instead. “Well, I like the person you are now.”
  • “Do you think it kills my badass edge?” 
  • “What badass edge?”
  • Ronan presses a hand into Adam’s chest and playfully shoves him backwards at that, before helping him out of his t-shirt and biting into his shoulder.
  • Ronan’s thinking he might never shave his head ever again.

French - Spanish false friends

Note that some of these are false friends because of their similar phonetics, and not necessarily their orthography.

French                                            Spanish

manche: sleeve                               mancha: spot

roman*: novel                                  romano: Roman

gâteau: cake                                    gato: cat

ombre: shadow                               hombre: man

sable: sand                                      sable: saber

a: 3rd person singular, to have         a: preposition, to (among other meanings)

entendre: to hear                            entender: understand

riz : rice                                             rizo: curl, ringlet

bâtir: to build                                    batir: whip, beat (for example, eggs)

nombre: number                              nombre: name

carte: map                                        carta: letter


*roman also means Roman in French, meaning someone or something from Rome

anonymous asked:

Sorry if you have answered this before but, some positivity maybe? What are your favorite things about Dan?

His laughter:
-His giggles when they squeak at the end because he can’t breathe
-His giggles when they pitch up to that literal ‘hee hee hee!’
-His giggles when they start with that literal ‘ah-hah-hah-hah!’
-His giggles when he ends up snorting
-How he snaps or claps while laughing really hard

His voice:
-When it’s normal and gentle and sweet and soft
-When he brings it lower into that sensual rumbly goodness

His long baby deer legs:
-So graceful
-So dangerous
-Has been described as gliding when he walks
-Has also been described as purposeful in his strides
-Also falls over a lot

When he sings:
-When he makes up a song based on what’s going on
-When he sings something relevant to what’s going on
-When he just sings because he has a song stuck in his head
-When he just sings because he thought of a song just then
-Voice of an angel

His eyes:
-So pretty
-The little crinkles in the corners when he laughs
-When he drifts he just gets that faraway look in them that you can get lost in
-So warm
-So full of love
-Probably when he looks at you you feel like the only person on the planet

His smile:
-That cute puppy dog sweet childlike smile
-The smirk
-The dopey grin
-The lopsided grin
-When there’s a video and we get to see him smile while laughing
-When he sticks his tongue out and bites on the tip while smiling

His hugs:
-Self described “Huggin’ machine”
-Arms “made for huggin”“
-Best hugs on the planet
-His arms are long and really wind around you
-Perfect amount of squeezing
-No matter who you are or what shape you are you just fit against him
-Because he was made for hugging

His dancing:
-The side to side headbop
-Hands up for a snap
-Hand up for a little fly-away-wave
-The side to side full body shuffle
-The hip swing
-The full head bang sending hair everywhere

His lips:
-So soft
-Great shape
-When he bites the lower one when he’s thinking about something
-When he also licks the lower one when thinking about something (though rarer than biting)

His realness:
-When he talks about going through a tough time
-When he sends out genuine love to his fans whether they’re having a tough time themselves and he’s offering advice or when he’s humbled by the response to something he did
-When he tells a story of a time in his life
-When he’s expressing love for one of his friends

His sweetness:
-“Hi babies”
-“Hello lovelies”
-“I missed you guys”
-“Bye sweet treasures”
-“Hi ladies”
-“Bye, I love you!”
-“Can we do Grumps forever?”

How he tries to use his platform for good:
-Is always trying to learn and better himself through feedback
-Always tries to better everyone else by telling people to love one another
-Talks fans through anxiety and panic when they’re meeting and is always patient and understanding about it
-Knowing he provides an escape and has helped people through difficult times just by doing Grumps or NSP and talks about getting fan letters saying exactly that and is always blown away and always tells everyone 'thank you’ for getting the opportunity to help them

His hair:
-Wild curls
-Wonderful ringlets
-Frizzy
-Droopy
-How he plays with it when he’s thinking about something
-How it is a mystery
-Sweet fluffy cloud of curly goodness
-How it is always described as soft

All of his music.
-All of it
-The deep, serene, drifting poignancy of The Northern Hues that followed struggles, but he didn’t give up, he took lessons and tried again and produced beautiful, driven, powerful but soft messages in Skyhill, falling again but only shelving his music for a while and finally catching his break with NSP when he found a musical partner in Brian

His gentleness:
-Either with real world animals (letting birds perch on his knees, petting sheep that previously shunned everyone else, being sweet with all manner of doggos and puppers, carefully holding and wistfully looking at a snake, enjoying aquariums on multiple occasions, more more more)
-Anything that is cute or a little silly looking in a game “Oohh I love it immediately!”

All of his lingo:
-Jams
-Jimmy jams
-Tasty
-Totally
-The use of um and like a lot (which denotes intelligence, by the way, look it up)
-Oo-OO!
-Keyop!
-Moremoremore

His genuineness with others, he never hides who he is.
His trusting nature, willing to put his faith in the people he loves.
Loving everyone.
Being a 'bad judge of character’ because he believes in the good in everyone.
Overcoming his struggles to become the musician he knew he was always meant to be.

His proud nerdiness:
-Loves Magic the Gathering (still owns his old decks)
-Loves DnD
-LotR
-Harry Potter
-Game of Thrones
-Vidya games
-Comics
-MUSIC he is SUCH a music nerd! Speaking of-

The incredible encyclopedia of music knowledge that he has.
-Can name millions of albums off the top of his head
-Can name all the songs of said albums
-Knows the names of all band members in any given band
-Knows trivia behind songs
-Has read just all the liner notes of every album he’s ever owned
-Can recall a tune rhythmically and melodically perfectly in a snap
-Has been to thousands of concerts
-Rush

He’s also such a SPORTS nerd:
-The Giants
-Podcast about football
-Loves basketball and hockey too
-Throw in some baseball
-And soccer as well
-Can recall players names and statistics and games from years and years ago in any one of these sportsball categories

His encouraging change in people, whether they’re trying to be more like him or just trying to change for the better because he is such a good example of happiness and love. How he genuinely wants everyone to be better and accepting of themselves and others. How he talks openly about mental illness and encourages people to get help if they need to get help because there’s nothing wrong with it and everyone needs help.
“Love everyone, forgive everyone. Especially yourself.”
Just.
Dan.

Landslide: Part One

                                             SUMMARY:

Dayton White (Logan Lucky) x Reader

When a tragic accident happens in the heart of your hometown - you’re forced to go back to the countryside you’d sworn to forget. In the midst of your world turning upside down you find yourself in a state of panic when the familiar face returns in your life, Dayton White. From the time you were young he was labeled in your mind as the man who got under your skin, with the past brimming to the surface - will you be able to fight off the landslide of love?

Word count: 3,804

Notes: Cursing, Character Death, Funeral

Let me know what you think! :) if this gets to 100 I’ll maybe do a part two. :)

Keep reading

Imagine...

Tommy asking you to be a distraction for him in a meeting with an important client and you do an excellent job, making Tommy jealous.

Originally posted by imaginesparadise

“No, Tommy! I will not do that.” You crossed your arms across your chest, a stubborn stance that couldn’t even come close to the outrage that sparked in your eyes. 

“Y/N. Please. Do me this one little favor.” Tommy Shelby wasn’t one to beg, but this was the closest you’d heard him come. You wondered what made this client so important, and why he wanted you to be the one to accompany him to, as you imagined, sweeten the deal.  “He’s coming from London to Small Heath to talk business. He’s some rich bloke who wants my advice. If he bets how I tell him, well, the payout would be pretty significant.” He met your eyes and you saw what was, for Tommy Shelby, genuine excitement at the prospect of swindling the man out of his money. 

“Tommy, what’s so different about this one? You get clients asking you to tell them how to bet all the time, what d’ya need me for?” You were outraged, frankly, that he’d ask you to do this. As one of Tommy’s oldest friends, you worked for him as a trusted secretary for both the legal and illegal aspects of the Shelby business. While he mostly hired you to take notes of his transactions, handle phone calls, and deal with scheduling, you felt like whoring you out to some client was a bit out of your jurisdiction. 

Keep reading

King of the Lost Boys - Anthony Ramos x Reader (Chapter 3)

Summary: There are some new encounters with the other members of the Lost Boys, as well as an introduction to the local villainous gang. Noses are broken. 

Warnings: Quite a bit of swearing, blood and bruising mention. 

Words: 7,176 (can you tell that i’ve just stopped trying)

A/N: It’s really late where I am but I’m so excited for this?? What the heck. Anyway, just a little reminder that @alexanderhamllton and I have made matching aesthetics and playlists for the Lost Boys…coming soon to a tumblr near you…anyway, enjoy. Tags: @daveedsbra @myself-and-the-madman @clamilton @robotic-space @attackonmikaelson @pearltheartist @itsjaynebird

askbox | masterlist


The Pirates were a venomous crew of reptilian proportions, who didn’t play by the rules. They were of the privileged class, people who didn’t bother to think about their repercussions or the damage caused. Boredom is their motivation. Lives where everything is given to you, where money is not an issue, are lives that are awfully mundane. With a craving for possibility and the fire of resources at their fingertips, the Pirates seem to think themselves wonderfully immortal. They are the good ones gone wrong, a budding flower bitten at the stem by a poison with no antidote. In their blind want for something of substance, they chose to take as a method of getting what they want, but do not need. The local gas station cowers after a history of hold-ups. The department stores have lists of clients who are not allowed in; the Pirates are at the top.

Keep reading

10

LaPerm

The LaPerm is a rex breed which originated in the United States and is now present in many other countries worldwide. Their most significant feature is their coat, which is made up of soft waves, curls and ringlets, resembling a shaggy perm, with the tightest curls being on the belly, throat and base of the ears. LaPerms come in many colors and patterns. The breed is genetically unique and not related to any other rex cat varieties, having a dominant gene causing their curly coats. They have an elegant and athletic build and are affectionate, active and outgoing in character. 

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PART 3!!!

Surprise I wanted to put it up now. Sorry I know it’s late a pretty lame update and it hecka sucks but #4 is about to be great. Love you guys!

Rating: PG maybe

It was impossible to sleep that night. The reveal of my art piece was approaching quickly and my nerves were catching up to me.

I got a text from my mum first thing in the morning saying she was so proud and excited to see me. I had picked out what I was going to wear weeks ago.

The black dress hug my porcelain curves, the red lipstick I boldly chose matches my red shoes and hang back.

I felt like I was going to something as significant as the Grammys. My dark hair falling in perfect ringlets as I curl it.

I arrived at the studio early, much earlier than required. I observed the blank space on the wall that would soon hold my masterpiece.

Artwork that I’ve tried to express multiple times in my teenage years but just finally was able to do.

My parents are the first to show up. They race to hug me.

I introduce them to the owner of the art gallery who I met while sketching at a coffee shop. My artwork caught his eye and he said he wanted to see more. I want to say it is because he liked my work more than the fact I was drawing a nude woman.

Many strangers show up. Already with still a half hour left until we start, there is a much bigger turnout than I expected.

The art covered walls feeling much closer together as my nervousness increases.

Calum, Ashton and Michael all show up. Michel brings a girl who I do not recognize.

“Is my art reveal the place you bring a girl on a first date?” I question as the blond wanders away to look at the other art pieces.

“Well I get major props for knowing the artist.” Michael bumps me.

I grin and look at all of them. They are all dressed up, meaning they are wearing button ups. Sure michaels is only half tucked in and calum is wearing blue jeans but it’s really the effort that counts.

“It really means a lot that you guys are here.” I smile at them.

“Aww!” Ashton squeals like a girl before hugging me.

“Have you guys heard from Luke?” I ask nonchalantly.

They shake their heads. I brush it off, I’m sure he is on his way.

When the owner starts calling for everyone to gather together I glance at the door one more, waiting for Luke to make one of his last minute entrances.

I make my way up to the front, while I was chatting with people I didn’t notice them put up my painting. It is covered by a thin cloth so no one can see it.

I glance down at my phone. There is a text from Luke:

Finally couldn’t put off taking ‘A’ out to dinner any longer. Wanna hang after?

I swear I could literally feel my heart being smashed. All of the pieces tearing through my body, desperate to find their way back together. But they were too lost.

He had forgotten and her again Arzaylea got what she wanted. On the night that was supposed to be mine.

I know if he had remembered he would have been the first person here. He would have wanted to come out to dinner with my parent and I after and he would have calmed my nerves before the show.

He wasn’t here, instead he was with her probably fighting.

I feel as I am about to cry. In front of all of these people. Everyone is looking at me, am I crying and not noticing it.

The one say I do decide to wear make up of course I would ruin it.

The owner says my name and I realized he was speaking to me.

“I’m so sorry. what?” I ask.

“Nerves seem to get the best of these young people.” He makes a joke. Many people laugh and I pull together my best smile.

“Why don’t you uncover your piece when you are ready and tell us about it.” He says.

My eyes scan the faces of the room once more. Hoping Luke remembered and snuck in without me noticing. I’m yet again let down.

The thing is I’m not even mad. I’m just so incredibly hurt, this was one of the most important nights of my life and he promised.

I slowly remove the barrier and everyone claps before pulling out their cameras. My mother has been filming since she got here.

“I want to catch my baby girls big moment.” Her words ring through my head.

“It took me a really long time to think of a name for this piece. Eventually I just went with ‘Air’.” I say. “It is painted with oil based paints. To me it represents freedom and individuality.”

My painting has a silhouette girl who is off centered next to a house. It is a pallet of colors. She is holding on to a bunch of balloons that I like to are pulling her up, wherever she wants.

The small room that recently seemed so full suddenly seems so empty. One of the only people I wanted to be here celebrating wasn’t.

I try to swallow back the tears of sadness the blur my vision. One single drop wins the battle as it slides down my cheek, the rest of its arm fallows in its quick descent down my face.

“There is a reason I wants the girl to remain identity less. Because I do think of this as a self portrait but adding something like skin color or hair color could ruin the illusion that this could be any other woman out there. Those fighting for freedom, equality.” My voice cracks as I continue to cry.

My mothers eyes mirror mine, smiling as proud and happy emotions stroll from her eyes.

“Those fighting for love. I wanted this to be a painting that could be looked at and see from so many different perspectives and points of view. See yourself in my work. I do this for the world.” I finish my speech.

The audience stars applauding and as much as I feel it’s impossible I muster up a smile.

“Wow. It is very phenomenal that this piece means this much to you. And it is only through true emotion like this do we find success and beauty in one’s art.” The owner of the gallery starts another round of applause.

I think them all, excusing myself to get some air.

On a day that is suppose to be about me I would ruin it crying over some boy. I painted the girl to be me but I don’t feel half as strong or beautiful as I want people to feel when they look at it.

I’m joined outside by Calum. I wipe my eyes and smile at him.

At least people think I’m crying for a different reason.

He pulls me in for a hug, rubbing my back.

“I’m sorry he wasn’t here today.” He says.

The waterworks start all over again. We pull away from each other i try to conceal myself but I can’t.

He already knows anyways. Everyone knows that I’m so in love with Luke. Everyone but Luke.

“I don’t know why I’m letting him get to me like his.” I rub my face, a lot of my makeup coming off with it.

“He said he would be here. It’s not right and you have every right to be upset. It’s not fair. He is supposed to be here.” Calum says.

I wonder if he knows where Luke actually is.

“Yeah well he has other obligations. Like a girlfriend who he is with right now.” I say.

The surprise etched in his face shows me he didn’t.

“He is with Arzaylea? What? 10 times out of 10 he would rather be with you.” Calum says.

“That’s not true.” I shake my head. Luke and I do have the best fun together but there is something about being in a relationship with someone. You want to be with them all the time.

That’s how I’ve always felt about Luke except we aren’t in a relationship.

“They just fight a lot. I’m scared sometimes he is unhappy but then there is days like this where he forgets about me because he is with her.” I wipe the unders of my eyes.

“I don’t think he ever stops thinking about you.” Calum says quietly. “Do you ever think the reason Luke is so unhappy with Arzaylea is because she isn’t the one he wants to be with.”

Calum seems like he is almost trying to hint something.

“What? What are you saying?” I squint at him through my tears.

“Oh my gosh. You are both so blind. He likes you, as more than a friend.” Calum rolls his eyes.

I shake my head in disbelief “Luke doesn’t think of me that way. I’m nothing more than a friend to him.” My soul breaks as I say that.

More and more these days being with Luke seems to not even be possible. Like a dream I need to give up on.

“Drunk Luke can’t keep a secret from Calum.” Calum speaks of himself which makes me laugh.

I still don’t know if I believe what he is saying.

But what if he is right. All those times I’ve caught Luke staring at me isn’t because he is spacing out. When he tries to make me laugh with horrible jokes or pays attention to me over his girlfriend.

Maybe Calum is right.

I don’t know if I have enough willpower to find out though.

PART 4 COMING SOON

you can thank @noon30ish for this piece of softness

——

Viktor is usually the first to wake in the mornings.

The moment the sun is up he’s already stretching in bed, back arching delicately off the mattress, arms high and stretched far above his head until his palms meet the headboard and his muscles are satisfied. Sometimes he gets up, starts a pot of coffee for his night owl husband and scrolls through his instagram feed until he has two piping hot, steaming cups in either hand and he wakes Yuuri with a soft kiss and a murmur of “good morning, beautiful”.

Other times, he rolls around in bed and curls into Yuuri’s side if he isn’t already, with his palm flat on Yuuri’s chest and his eyes tracing Yuuri’s wonderful, prominent jaw, smiling so hard because he still can’t believe it’s been years since they first met rather than days. He stays there, tracing hearts into Yuuri’s skin, touching Yuuri’s mouth and cheeks and collarbones until the love of his life wakes and they kiss good morning one or two or twelve times before anything else happens.

Sometimes, though, Viktor is not the first to wake.

It’s rare, but it does happen, and when it does Yuuri is usually the one kissing him awake, holding him close and tight until Viktor’s breathless and one of them ends up on top of the other, eventually. Even rarer than that, though, are the mornings when Viktor wakes and Yuuri is staring at the ceiling.

Viktor’s mid-stretch when he notices one morning. There are blue-purple bags under his eyes and Yuuri is staring at nothing in particular, just up, far past the ceiling and the sky and whatever else is beyond that. His throat bobs, a slow, little thing, and his eyes tighten, and Viktor knows.

He reaches out, and when he touches him Yuuri jerks back to reality, stares at Viktor with wide eyes just briefly until they fall half-mast again, and his mouth quivers.

“Solnyshko.” Viktor brushes the backs of his fingers across Yuuri’s cheek, and he cups his jaw when the glimmer in Yuuri’s eyes grows more pronounced.

He’s seen Yuuri like this before, when the anxiety hits and the sadness that follows, and Viktor’s sorry that he didn’t wake up sooner.

Viktor’s already crawling over, wrapping Yuuri in his arms and pressing his ear over his heart. “I have you now, sweetheart.” he says, right as Yuuri’s hands tremble over his back and into his hair, and when they squeeze he tilts up and presses a soft kiss under Yuuri’s jaw. He feels Yuuri’s throat bob and the slide of water on his brow and Viktor only holds him all the tighter, lets Yuuri play with his hair and twirl his fingers around his curly q’s and push the curling ringlets of his bangs back into his hair.

They stay like that, Viktor leaving kisses into Yuuri’s skin and Yuuri playing with Viktor’s hair, until Yuuri kisses a thank you into Viktor’s brow and offers him a smile. It’s small, gentle, but Viktor knows Yuuri feels a little better and, to him, that’s what matters the most in all the world.