#something soft

[skyeedom]

I love you (1/4) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[t-yari-d]

SOMETIMES THEY CAN BE HAPPY OK?!?!? 😭😭 This is totally an alternate reality where nothing is wrong and they can act sweet and soft 🥺🥺🥺

YOU KNOW, MAYBE IT'S A DREAM, THAT'S HOW WEIRD THIS IS.

THE QUESTION NOW IS... WHOSE DREAM IS IT?!

[jayneedsadarling]

Come here, darling, rest your weary body against mine. Allow me to wrap my arms around you, hold you close and keep you safe. Lay your head on my chest and let all this tension go. Let it be just me and you and the warm light surrounding us.

You're alright, pretty girl. You're doing just fine.

[super-fast-octopus]

[kuroken-divorce-arc]

Tendō Satori — Something Soft

(fluff / established relationship / post-canon france era) │ love feels like warm light, steady hands, and the hum of clippers against his skin.

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the apartment smells faintly like cocoa and sugar, the way it always does after closing the shop. the windows are cracked open to the night, and paris hums quietly outside—car horns, laughter, the far-off sound of music drifting up from the street below.

tendō is sitting on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror, towel draped over his shoulders, hair falling in soft red strands around his face. his grin is lopsided, familiar, the kind that still makes your chest ache a little even after all these years.

“you’re sure about this?” you ask, clippers humming in your hand.

“mmhm,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “it keeps falling into my eyes when i’m tempering chocolate. plus—” his smile widens, “—i think it’s time for something new.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “you say that every time you buy a new apron.”

“yeah,” he says softly, “but this time i mean it.”

you bite back a smile and brush your fingers through his hair one last time before turning on the clippers. they buzz low and steady, and tendō’s eyes find yours in the mirror immediately.

he watches you like he always does—like you’re a story he’s already memorized but still wants to read again.

you guide the clippers gently along the back of his head, careful, steady. strands fall away in slow motion, sliding down his neck to the towel below. the hum of the clippers mixes with the soft jazz still playing from the other room.

he doesn’t look away, not even once.

“what?” you ask, cheeks warm.

he tilts his head slightly, eyes soft. “you look beautiful when you’re focused.”

you laugh quietly, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

“hopelessly,” he agrees, lips curving. “in love, too.”

you pause, heart skipping. he says it like a fact, simple and certain, and it hits you in that quiet way he always does—no performance, no tease. just truth.

“hold still,” you murmur, brushing a few stray hairs from his temple. your fingertips linger a little too long.

he hums contentedly. “your hands feel nice.”

you smile. “you say that every time.”

“yeah,” he whispers. “because it’s always true.”

the clippers hum lower now as you work through the last section. his hair is short enough that you can see the slope of his neck, the curve of his ears, the freckles dusted along the back of his skin. you run your fingers through what’s left—soft, uneven from the first pass—and reach for the comb to even it out.

he stays perfectly still, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

“you’re staring again,” you tease.

“can’t help it.”

“why not?”

“you’re my favorite view in paris,” he says simply.

you nearly drop the comb. “satori.”

“what?” he asks, smiling. “the eiffel tower’s overrated.”

you laugh again, and he grins, clearly pleased with himself.

when you’re done, you turn the clippers off and brush the fallen hair from his shoulders. the room feels too quiet without the hum, the silence filled only by your heartbeat and the soft city sounds from outside.

you set the clippers down and step around to face him. he looks up at you, head freshly buzzed, eyes still full of mischief.

“well?” he asks.

you run your hand over his head gently, fingertips tracing the soft bristle of new hair. “you look beautiful.”

he smirks. “just beautiful?”

you lean in, pressing a slow kiss to his forehead. “and handsome. and perfect.”

his grin softens, eyes crinkling. “you missed one.”

you tilt your head. “yeah?”

he pulls you closer by the waist until you’re standing between his knees. his voice drops to a murmur. “loved.”

you smile, cupping his face. “that one’s a given.”

he kisses you then—slow, unhurried, tasting faintly like chocolate and contentment.

the city hums beyond the balcony, the lights of paris blinking through the open window, and for a moment everything feels exactly as it should be.

when you pull back, he rests his forehead against your stomach, his arms looping around your hips.

“you know,” he murmurs, “you could quit the business side and just be my full-time barber.”

you laugh, combing your fingers through his hair again. “you’d miss the numbers in a week.”

“nah,” he says, smiling against your skin. “i’d just find more excuses to sit here and let you touch me.”

“you’re impossible.”

“and yet,” he hums, looking up at you with that soft, lazy smile, “you love me anyway.”

you kiss him again just to shut him up.

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[khonshupropaganda]

[chocofudgesblog]

Lawrence with my yet-to-be-named OC!

[ladyblueloves]

And love and love.

Where to begin?

The way my heart pounds the rhythm of your name,

and the sound bounces around my chest,

rattles against my ribcage

like a stone skimming across water.

Shall I start here,

with the circulation of my blood?

I sat down to write with thoughts of your lips, your pretty mouth.

Open mouth,

wet tongues,

tracing the edges of your teeth,

my hand cupping your cheek.

I take a deep breath,

and my heart rate slows,

and in the smallest moment right before the exhale,

I find you racing through my arteries,

kissing red blood cells,

filling hollow bones with marrow,

and honey,

and cum,

and love.

And love.

And love.

I sit down to write about shoving my tongue down your throat,

and I swallow and my mouth fills with love.

@pleasemissdream