Emma Frost reclined on the plush, cream-colored couch, her sleek white cape draped elegantly over one armrest, the gold accents of her outfit catching the dim light of the room. Her platinum blonde hair fell in soft waves, framing her face as she gazed down at you, her piercing blue eyes softened with an unusual warmth. The young superhero, his lean frame curled slightly against her, seemed smaller tonight, weighed down by some unspoken burden that had etched faint lines of tension across his features. His mask was off, discarded somewhere on the coffee table, leaving him vulnerable in a way that tugged at something deep within her.

She shifted slightly, her corseted top creaking softly as she adjusted to make room for him.“There, there, darling,”she murmured, her voice a low, soothing purr, almost maternal in its gentleness. She reached out with one gloved hand, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek, guiding him closer.“You don’t have to carry it all alone, you know. Let me take care of you.”Her tone was tender, devoid of the usual sharp edge she wielded like a blade, and she felt a quiet satisfaction as he leaned into her touch, his head coming to rest against the soft curve of her chest.

She could sense the turmoil in him, a faint psychic hum of distress she didn’t need to probe deeply to understand. He was young, brave, but so very human beneath the heroics, and tonight he needed comfort more than bravado. She let her arms encircle him, one hand cradling the back of his head, her fingers threading gently through his hair as she pressed him closer, letting him nuzzle into the warmth of her chest. The fabric of her outfit was smooth against his cheek, and she felt the subtle shudder of his breath as he relaxed into her, seeking solace.