#He's such an ugly little thing I love him so much

[snail-day]

Satoru thinks you might actually enjoy tormenting him at the worst of times.

Of course, not like, physically. Just with your brattiness that always seems to blossom the second Suguru steps out of the house. Like his presence alone is the only thing keeping you from touching base with that inner gremlin, and now that he’s gone? Now that it’s just the two of you?

You're insufferable.

Because you're in the bedroom - his bedroom, Suguru's bedroom, your shared bedroom, whatever it is - and you're throwing a tantrum. While he’s brushing his teeth.

“You don’t even love me,” you announce with a dramatic huff, flopping onto your back, doing a little leg kick. “You think I’m ugly. You only wanna be with Suguru. You only want me - ”

His brain breaks. Briefly. He’s standing in the doorway, blue toothbrush hanging from his mouth, staring at you as some foam drips down his chin.

It’s not the words themselves - he knows they’re not true. Knows you like to stir the pot and that you like the attention. But there’s this tiny, razor-edged part of him that whispers, what if you’re saying it because you actually mean it a little bit?

And he hates that part. Wants to knock its teeth out with his toothbrush.

Because he does love you. Horribly. Desperately. In ways that make him stare at the ceiling at 2 a.m. and wonder if he’s hallucinating this whole relationship. If he touches you wrong - if he holds on too tight - you’ll remember you could do so much better than them.

But you’re sprawled across his bed with your lower lip pushed out and your voice all wobbly and teasing, and now he’s walking. He doesn’t even decide to walk. His body just moves, like his soul’s been yanked forward on a leash.

He presses you into the mattress with one hand, climbs over you without ceremony, toothpaste still threatening to drip down his chin.

You blink up at him with that stupid, perfect face. Lips parted. Eyes wide. Waiting.

So he does what any emotionally stunted man would do: he squishes your cheeks together and mumbles, “You serious right now?” around a mouthful of mint.

You make a noise. Possibly a protest. More likely a suppressed giggle.

Doesn’t matter. He’s already hiking your legs up over his arm and swatting your ass a few times, because clearly you’re asking for it. The little wiggle you do after confirms it.

God, you’re so annoying. He’s obsessed with you.

And then - because he’s disgusting, and this is love - he spits his toothpaste into your mouth.

You screech, attempting to launch yourself away from him, spitting the remainder of the toothpaste onto the bed, whining and crying about how gross he is while he's full-on laughing - legitimately, head thrown back and utterly unrepentant.

He snorts. “That’s what you get,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Start shit, get spit.”

You’re hitting him with a pillow now. He takes it. Deserves it.

But he also sees the way your eyes shine a little at the corners. The way you’re laughing, even as you call him a freak.

He sobers slightly, tilting his head while you glare up at him.

“You really think I don’t love you?” he asks quietly. “That I want Suguru more than you?”

You hesitate. That kills him a little.

“Don’t play like that, baby,” he says, softer now. “Not when I’m already hanging on by a thread.”

You stare up at him like you didn’t expect that answer. Like maybe you thought this was a game. Like maybe you're realizing how serious it is for him.

And he realizes, maybe you needed to hear it.

So he rolls over, pulls you into his chest, still a little minty and damp, and mumbles: “Now brush your teeth before I tell Suguru what you said.”

But he kisses your temple right after. Murmurs an I love you. And while you get up to get ready for bed, he's putting a note in his phone to buy you flowers tomorrow.

[littlegochu]

military wife │ jjk 18+

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: established couple

-

jungkook: Baby, I’m so sorry. I just found out… they’re keeping us another month. I’ll call when I can. I love you more than anything.

i stare at the screen, a small part of me waiting for it to change. hoping another test saying just kidding.

i just sit there, in his old hoodie around me letting my head fall back against the pillow.

i thought i could make it. i really did. but the way it feels to read that—like my chest is being pressed in from all sides—it breaks something small and quiet inside me.

i don’t cry.

i just close my eyes and pretend he’s beside me, imagining his fingers brushing my cheek like he used to.

-

four days later.

the apartment is still, sun barely creeping through the curtains.

"its just another month, i survived for 18, why am i acting like this?" i scoff at myself.

i’m staring out the kitchen window when i hear a knock.

he’s there.

jungkook. in his uniform. the look in his eyes is as i’m the only thing in the world he recognizes.

he looks… different. sharper. stronger. but also softer.

his smile is small. sad. full of love. “i lied.”

i don’t think. i just move.

i throw myself into his arms, legs wrapping around him as he stumbles back with a small chuckle, "hi baby."

his hands are on my back, caressing my hair. my face is pressed into his neck, and i sob—ugly, shaking sobs.

“i missed you,” i cry, fingers clutching his shirt like i’ll die if i let go. “i missed you so much.”

“i know,” he breathes, his voice breaking too. “i counted every day. every second. you don’t even know—”

i pull back, just enough to see him.

his eyes are glassy. his lip’s trembling.

“you’re really here?” i whisper.

he nods. “i wanted to surprise you.”

i press my hands to his face and kiss him like i’ve been drowning without him. like his mouth is the first breath i’ve had in months.

he kisses me like he’s trying to memorize me all over again.

we don’t pull away for a long time.

and when we do, our foreheads stay pressed together, breaths shared in the stillness between us.

“i love you,” he whispers, so gently it shatters me. “so fucking much.”

authors note: just a little quickiee

[avroravia]

⊹₊⟡⋆ -> spoiled! actress! reader x bodyguard! dallas winston - sfw + nsfw hc’s.

──── ୨୧ ────

-> sfw.

♡ you two piss eachother off to no end! i’ve talked about this before, but you both have certain habits that are just unbreakable. you’re a total shopaholic, and there have been several times where dallas has tripped over shopping bags on his way to piss at 2:00 am. he grumbles about it a bit, but he just keeps it pushing. we all know dallas is addicted to smoking, and he probably couldn’t quit even if he wanted to, and it pisses you off BAD. not even the lung cancer part, but just the smell of cigarettes that seep into your clothes and house.

♡ despite how much you two annoy one another, you really don’t get into serious fights as often as you’d think! you two mostly just complain for about 5 minutes before forgetting it even happened! you tend to freak out about stuff a bit more, but you get over most things pretty fast!

♡ you guys are around each other basically 24/7, so you both got comfortable really fast! obviously dallas isn’t very vulnerable, but he’s more comfortable around you. think very domestic vibes between both of you. you live together, so it only really makes sense.

♡ dallas is very much a guard dog kind of guy! he’s always looking out for you, and doing little things for you. like carrying shopping bags or your purse around whenever you go out, holding your coffee, or paying for your stuff whenever you both go out (even if you’re the one putting money in his card LOL).

♡ dallas’ main love language is physical touch. in public he’s always wrapping an arm around your shoulder or waist, holding your hand as you drag him from store to store, or standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders or arms. at home, his touch is a lot more loving. dallas will have your legs basically intertwined watching a movie on the sofa, holding you in his arms after sex, you know the works!

♡ this ties back to the ‘annoying habit’ thing, but dallas kind of despises your style! not that he thinks it’s ugly, goodness no, you could wear a garbage bag and vogue would call it couture. it’s just he finds your skirts a little too short and your tops a little too low. when you’re out, he’s constantly pulling your skirt down and standing behind you to make sure there isn’t some sleaze staring at your ass!

──── ୨୧ ────

-> nsfw.

♡ total goonfest 24/7. can’t even make this up, but with exception to the dbf au, this probably is my freakiest au. honestly half of your dates are sex, or they end up being sexual in some way. like if you go out shopping and you give dally a little try on haul at home, he’s gonna end up getting his freak on LOL.

♡ as far as poses go, he’ll try anything but i think he’s a simple guy. i’d say his faves are anvil, missionary, doggy, and cowgirl. dallas is almost always dominant, and i firmly believe he is a giver not a receiver. whenever the two of you do fuck cowgirl, he is still taking that control. his hands are holding your hips and he’s thrusting up into you nonstop.

♡ gives fire head 10/10 no notes here. it is his favorite thing if you squeeze your thighs tight around his head or if you pull on his hair whole he’s eating you out.

♡ obviously very rough and fast paced, but he is 100% down for slow sex too. just slow, controlled thrusts while making out! he also prefers to go slow if you’re having sleepy sex. like maybe he had a wet dream and he woke you up to ‘help him out.’

♡ tying this back to his sleepy sex kink, i think he has kinks for dacryphilia & hair pulling, too. he loves to see you cry as weird as that sounds, but when its tears out of pleasure. like dallas loves that and sees it as reassurance that he’s doing a good job.

♡ aftercare is pretty simple, but good! he’ll clean you off by either wiping you off or showering (showering usually ends up in another round or two though). and dallas will cuddle you to sleep. either spooning or holding you in his arms until you both fall asleep. however if the two of you didn’t have sex, don’t expect cuddles LOL. that man sleeps like he’s dead!

──── ୨୧ ────

⊹₊⟡⋆ -> taglist! @diorgirl444, @r0seb100d, @johnnycadesslut, @twobitsblade, @browneyebby / @isasweetie, @glxsyymads, @mystiqueonfleek007, @beyondbluess, @johnnycadesmuse, @planetscobell, @kahkie, @rhea-is-bored-again, & @dinerlana! (send an ask or dm to be added! <3)

[cheynovak]

The one that got away

Summary: Jensens POV.

Jensen is secretly in love with danneels best friend but does everything not to show her. Because he knows Danneel likes him.

Warning: Cheating, light bullying

First I want to start off by saying that this is a work of fiction. In no ways do I mean to harm or disrespect the Ackles family and their friends. I don't know what is happening in their life nor do I know their thoughts. By no means is this story implying I do.

Enjoy!

---

I wasn’t exactly thrilled when I heard we’d be carpooling. Nothing against Y/N—not really. She was sweet, sharp-witted, a bit too honest sometimes—but Danneel insisted.

“Just try it, Jen. She lives like, ten minutes from you. It’s dumb not to.”

I grumbled but said fine. I didn’t want to drive alone every morning anyway, not in Santa Cruz traffic and especially not before sunrise. Plus, I figured it’d be good for Danneel. She adored Y/N. Said they’d been best friends since middle school, when Danneel still wore braces and thought eyeliner was a personality trait.

So yeah. That’s how it started. Me and Y/N. In the car, five days a week.

First week? I was cold. Not because I didn’t like her—but because I liked her too much.

Her voice had that confident, gravelly warmth like she'd smoked a pack of reds but hadn’t. Her laugh was unfiltered. She’d crack open a Diet Coke at 7 AM and argue with me about music, politics, the best way to cook eggs. And I was gone.

But here’s the thing. Danneel liked me. Like, liked me-liked me.

And I’m not a jerk. I’m not the guy who betrays the friend code. Especially not when it’s Danneel. She’s talented, funny, and I cared about her. Not romantically, not like that—but enough to want her happy.

And Y/N…

She was just there. Always around. Always offering me gum or adjusting my collar on set or laughing too loud at some dumb thing I said when I wasn’t even trying to be funny.

I started acting like a jackass, because I didn’t know what else to do.

---

PRESENT DAY – Y/N’s apartment

She invited us over. Said she was hosting a “low-key game night, drinks, maybe cards or some dumb group game.”

“Cool,” I’d muttered. “Who’s coming?”

“Just us. You, me, Danneel... and Liam.”

Liam. That guy.

He was tall, like jared tall, wore that art-school beanie like it was surgically attached to his head. I hated him immediately.

Y/N opened the door wearing a black tank top tucked into high-waisted jeans, hair up in that lazy twist she always said “took no effort.” Bullshit. She looked like she walked out of a Levi’s commercial.

“Hey!” she beamed. “You guys want margaritas or something?”

I shrugged. “Got whiskey?”

She squinted at me. “What is this, a Clint Eastwood movie?”

I smirked. She always got that one wrinkle between her brows when she teased me. I wanted to trace it with my thumb.

Danneel giggled next to me, and I snapped out of it. “Margaritas are fine."

The night passed in flashes.

Liam sat too close. Y/N laughed at his stories, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Still, it made something dark and ugly twist in my chest.

“You always dress like this when you’re trying to impress someone?” I muttered under my breath when we ended up alone in the kitchen.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You just... don’t usually wear lipstick. It’s new.”

“Wow,” she said flatly. “Thanks for noticing, Jensen. Wouldn’t want to accidentally be attractive around you."

I winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” she said, walking away.

Danneel found me sulking ten minutes later. “You good?”

“Peachy,” I said.

---

FLASHBACK – CAMPFIRE, 3 WEEKS AGO

Santa Cruz gets cold at night, even in summer. We were out in Big Basin, camping in this little site Y/N found online. I don’t even like camping. But she asked. Danneel begged. So I went.

I remember the fire crackling, smoke curling up to a velvet sky. Danneel sat beside me, knees curled up, clutching a mug of wine.

Y/N sat across from me. The flames lit her face gold. Her eyes caught the firelight, glowing amber like a secret.

She was talking to Liam —about old horror movies. Something about The Thing being better than Alien. I didn’t hear a damn word.

I just stared.

God, I thought. You don’t even know, do you? You don’t even have a clue what you do to me.

Danneel nudged my arm. “You cold?”

I forced a smile. “Nah.”

She looked at me, soft and hopeful. I didn’t meet her eyes.

Because Y/N shifted then, tucked her hair behind her ear and laughed—loud, free, unashamed. And I was a goner.

I liked her. I really liked her

And she didn’t have a clue.

---

PRESENT DAY – Y/N’s Apartment

After the warm welcome I sat like a statue on the couch, drink in hand, pretending not to watch Liam inch closer to Y/N every five minutes like a dog who thought he had a shot.

Danneel leaned into me more and more, practically in my lap now. She was nervous, I could tell. Her voice was higher than usual, laughing at everything. Her hand rested on my thigh. I didn’t move it. Didn’t encourage it, either. Just… let it sit there like it didn’t make my skin crawl with guilt

Y/N looked across the room at me, her cheeks flushed from the wine. She was relaxed, smiling. Like this was a good night. Like nothing was wrong.

She had no clue what she was doing to me.

“Oh my god, Y/N, do you remember this?” Danneel said, cracking open a photo album from high school. “Look at this one of Y/N with the pink streaks in her hair. You looked like Avril Lavigne’s chaotic twin.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I was fifteen.”

“Fifteen going on ‘arrested for indecent exposure,’” I said, sipping from my drink. “That skirt should’ve come with a parental advisory sticker.”

Liam laughed too loud. Asshole.

“Oh come on, she was expressing herself,” he said, nudging her shoulder. “I think it’s badass.”

“Of course you do,” I muttered. “You probably have a Pinterest board of young women in crop tops holding books they’ve never read.”

Y/N blinked. “Wow. That’s... unnecessarily rude.”

Danneel giggled beside me, nervously. “Jensen’s just cranky because someone’s more interesting than he is tonight.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Sure. That’s what we’re calling guys who talks nothing but sports and movies... interesting.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “What is your problem tonight?”

“I don’t have a problem,” I said, shrugging. “I’m just enjoying the show. You know, watching everyone fall over themselves pretending they’re not trying to sleep with each other.”

Danneel stiffened beside me. Y/N’s smile dropped. Liam, oblivious, raised his glass.

“To honesty, I guess?”

Y/N shook her head. “Okay, I think we’ve had enough of Jensen’s comedy hour.”

“I need another drink,” I said, standing too fast. My glass was still half full, but I needed the distance.

The kitchen lights were too bright. I stared down into the sink like it had answers. My hand gripped the edge of the counter just a little too tightly.

The slap of footsteps behind me was fast. Sharp. I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“You seriously want to tell me what the hell that was?” Y/N’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.

I sighed, not turning around. “Wasn’t in the mood for trip down memory lane hosted by you and Beanie Jesus.”

“You were being an asshole. To everyone. But mostly me. And Danneel, who by the way, did nothing to deserve that!”

I turned to face her. Her arms were crossed tight, chest rising and falling with frustration. She looked furious—and gorgeous.

“You think I don’t notice when you pull that crap?” she snapped. “You were vicious, Jensen. Why? So you can mark territory be the bigger alpha?”

I stepped closer. “Watch it.”

“No. I won’t watch it,” she said. “You embarrassed Danneel in front of Liam, you insulted me like I was some high school slut with no self-awareness, and you made Liam feel like he was intruding just by breathing near me.”

“Maybe he was,” I growled.

She blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”

I stepped closer, the anger bubbling over, boiling past the edges. “You’re sitting there acting like this is some little tea party when Danneel’s practically in my lap and Liam is drooling all over your arm. And I’m supposed to just what? Smile through it? Pretend I like it?”

“Yes!” she shouted. “Because Danneel likes you, Jensen! And if you had two brain cells to rub together, you’d realize that tonight was for her. She needed this. She wanted to spend time with you. And you’re too busy acting like a goddamn teenager—”

“I’m not the one who’s blind here, Y/N!”

“What?!”

“You think I’m being cruel because I’m an asshole,” I said, voice low and shaking, "Because I hate Danneel and Liam in one room? No Y/N for all I care they jump eachother tonight!"

She froze.

But I didn’t stop.

“I’ve been holding it in every day. Every stupid car ride. Every set lunch. Every time I watched you laugh with someone else and act like I was just background noise.” My voice cracked. “And yeah—I’ve been a dick. Because it’s easier to be angry than admit that I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She opened her mouth—some clever comeback, maybe—but I didn’t let her speak.

I kissed her.

Hard.

Fierce.

Like it was the last thing I’d ever do.

Her mouth was soft, warm—but she didn’t kiss me back. She stood there, still, frozen against me like I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

Reality came crashing in like cold water.

I pulled away fast, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, backing up like I’d touched fire. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

I grabbed my keys off the counter, heart pounding.

“Tell Danneel... whatever you want. That I’m a bastard. That I got sick. I'm sorry.”

I turned on my heel and left the apartment without another word.

---

FLASH FORWARD.

I wasn’t prepared.

Not for the sound of her laugh echoing down the corridor, not for the way her silhouette caught the edge of the studio light, haloed in gold

Y/N.

Just standing there like no time had passed.

My whole body locked up.

“Hey, Jensen,” someone called behind me, but it was like the rest of the room dimmed.

She turned slowly, a coffee cup in hand, scanning the room—and then her eyes landed on mine.

I hadn’t seen her in seven years.

Seven years since Y/N walked away from 10 Inch Hero. 5 since I married Danneel. Since I convinced myself I could erase the part of my heart that used to beat for her.

She froze when she saw me. Her lips parted slightly, shock flooding her expression, but she didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

---

We were both quiet when we finally spoke. Small talk, at first.

She told me she’d moved around a lot. Got into special effects for a while, then makeup again. Told me she was freelancing. That she got out of a … difficult relationship. That word hung in the air like smoke.

I told her I was married to Danneel. She nodded once, like it stung more than she wanted it to.

“You look good, I knew she'd make you happy." she said, finally. But with a bitter smile.

“You look…” My voice caught. I tried to keep it neutral. Failed. “Better than I would have ever deserved.”

She laughed, but it was quieter now. Sadder.

---

It was raining by the time we wrapped for the day. Vancouver skies pouring like they knew exactly how dramatic this shit needed to be.

“You have a ride?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Ride share bailed. I was gonna call another.”

“I’ll drive you,” I said before I could think twice.

She hesitated. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Of course, for old times sake."

She sat beside me in the passenger seat, hugging her coat tighter. Streetlights flickered across her face, painting her in warm and cold alternately.

We didn’t say much. Music hummed softly from the radio. She was still so her. Soft around the edges but sharp where it counted. Tired now, though. Like she’d been carrying too much for too long.

She sighed and looked out the window. “You know I thought about you a lot. About that night."

My hands tightened on the wheel.

“Sorry I didn’t reach out,” she continued. “Because what would’ve been the point, right? In the end.... You got married. You were happy.”

I didn’t respond. Because I didn’t know if I had been.

“I thought you got over it,” she said quietly.

If she only knew.

The rain had slowed to a mist. I pulled up by her curb. She unbuckled her seatbelt and looked at me. "Thanks for the ride,” she said, voice low.

“Anytime,” I murmured, eyes fixed on her. Her fingers hovered over the handle, then paused. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” I asked.

“For… everything I didn’t understand back then. For not seeing it sooner. For waiting until now to talk to you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Don’t.”

She turned toward me fully—and suddenly she looked like that girl by the campfire again, the one I couldn’t stop staring at.

I opened her door, we got out, but for some reason she stayed with her back against the car.

“I still dream about you,” I said out loud like a love sick puppy. But it was the truth.

I didn’t have time to react before she leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t hesitant this time.

It was years of silence and heartbreak colliding in one motion. Her hand came to my jaw. My fingers tangled in her coat before I could stop myself.

When she pulled away, we both stayed there—foreheads almost touching, breath mingling in the quiet.

“You don’t have to come in,” she whispered. "But I have Margaritas." I smiled I rather have a whiskey.

---

The door shut behind me with a soft click.

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve said I’m married and meant it like a vow, not a sentence.

But I didn’t.

Because the second I looked at her standing in the soft amber glow of her hallway light, hair damp from the rain, lips parted, eyes on me…

I knew.

I’d never stop wanting her.

It was like time folded in on itself. One step inside her apartment and I wasn’t married, or broken, or scared—I was just a man who’d spent years pretending he didn’t love her.

And she was looking at me like she knew. Like she’d always known.

She stood there silent, nervous. My coat was still clinging to me, rain still drying on my sleeves. And yet, all I could feel was the heat between us.

"You shouldn't be here." She said without remorse.

"Want me to leave?" I said while walking closer.

"No."

---

We barely made it to the bedroom. Clothes were slow to come off—not rushed, not frantic—just reverent. Like every kiss was memorizing, every brush of her fingertips rewriting the years I lost.

My lips found her shoulder, her jaw, her collarbone. I kissed her like I was trying to undo the damage I’d done. And she kissed me like she’d never stopped waiting.

It wasn’t desperate. It was deliberate.

The kind of lovemaking that said I missed you, I needed you, and I’m still yours without ever speaking a word.

We took our time. Again and again.

And when it was done, we didn’t move. My arm stayed around her waist, her fingers resting on my chest, tracing lines like she was trying to sketch my heartbeat into her memory.

---

The sun slipped through the curtains like it was trying not to wake us.

I opened my eyes to find her still tucked beneath my arm, her cheek against my chest. The air was warm with quiet, thick with what came next.

She stretched a little, then looked up at me. "Morning."

After a long peaceful silence she asked.

“What now?” she whispered.

The question landed like a weight on my chest.

I stared at the ceiling, heart racing.

What now?

What now, when I’m still married?

What now, when I’ve wanted you for years and now that I finally have you, I don’t want to let go?

What now, when I don’t know if Danneel deserves to be hurt, but you don’t deserve to be lied to anymore?

I turned to her. My voice was hoarse. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said gently. “But I need to know… if this was just last night or once or—”

I cut her off. “No. It wasn’t just last night. It’s never been with you.”

She exhaled, a shaky little breath. Her eyes searched mine.

“I want to be with you,” I said. “I know it’s going to be messy, she is... your friend, and I don’t have all the answers. But if you’re okay with it—if you want this too—I’m not walking away again.”

She blinked, stunned. “You’d really… leave her?”

“For you?” I said, brushing her hair back, hand trembling.

“I think I’ve been trying to be yours since the day I met you.”

---

Taglist:

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[madameisaacpereire]

Would you ever write a little fic about Henry and a ballerina reader, like professional? Not necessarily in one of your universes, and this is totally self indulgent. 🩰

hiiiiii i love this concept so much & struggled with trying to work it into something where henry is always henry, so i'm sorry it took awhile and I'm sorry it's short & there's so little henry in it. thank you for the request! i love getting them (:

leftover bits of tulle

henry x fem!ballerina!reader

Unbeknownst to you, you’re on Henry Winter’s radar long before you ever speak to each other. Unbeknownst to Henry Winter, he is also on yours. Mostly because he’s the stiffest, most formal person to attend Hampden dance shows with any regularity, because few bother to consistently show up for ballet in rural Vermont. Henry Winter comes to every performance  You aren’t sure why, of course, but you like it. It’s nice.

You first speak to him in autumn. There’s a chill in the air which you welcome, an excuse to layer thick, large sweaters over top of your dance clothes. It makes you feel delicate and light as it nips at your nose and squeezes your fingers. You relish it every chance you get, which is perhaps the problem. Because on the day you officially meet, you’re stiff in a way you can’t stretch out. You only falter once, thankfully, and nobody seems to notice. Nobody save for him, of course.

You first speak to him backstage. His friend, a slender brunette with shifty eyes, is close with Sophie Dearbold— another of Hampden’s talented dancers— and they duck back into the dressing rooms to say hello. It doesn’t seem like Henry wants to be there very much, but rather has followed him to ensure that he doesn’t dawdle too much. Maybe that’s why he says it. 

“You were The Sylph, yes?” His handshake is intentionally gentle without compromising his strong, firm surety. 

You nod with a smile. He studies you, expression bland and unreadable. His eyes feel like pushpins, you a flat magazine poster, with how they puncture through you. This alone is enough to begin to dismantle your confidence in self. You’re acutely aware, suddenly, of the way your lashes have become unstuck at the outer corners. You can feel a flower, made of snow white silk, loosening at your hairline. The cold no longer feels welcome when it radiates off him. 

“I hope your ankle’s quite alright,” He brushes a speck of glitter from his cuff, “You didn’t land that first sauté very well.”

You have fought through blood encrusted toes, black bruises of all shapes and sizes thanks to pas de deux partners that liked to drop you once out of an instructor's view, the spondylolysis you ignored against doctors recommendations two summers back. It’s ugly and hard, but it has made it so very few people bother to make you feel unimportant; because you aren’t. You’re a good dancer. The best in your class. Still, this stiff giant that looks as though he belongs no less than a century in the past manages to do so with little effort. 

What’s more, you’re not so much infuriated or vexed by this as you are enlivened to hold yourself up to a higher standard than before, braced to work impossibly harder. He has only pointed out your mistake, not unkindly, but it cuts through the protective tissue you’ve bled to weave around your dancer’s ego as if its napkin paper. You feel awkward and heavy footed. You feel small. You feel incentivized to earn his respect, stretching towards it as though you’re a heliotropic flower, his approval the sun.

You throw yourself into ballet entirely, somehow becoming far more rigid, even over break, than you’ve ever known anyone to be. You’ve always been dedicated, skilled, a good dancer— one cannot work as hard as you do without rising to excellence— yet this is no longer enough. You become singleminded. In your most exhausted moments, one thing plays behind the blackness of your closed eyes like a film reel. His face, coarse and blank, as he criticizes your performance.

It is not recommended, by anyone, to push as hard as you are. You know this. It’s risky and dangerous, a foolish thing for a dancer to do. Yet you push on anyway. You never miss a day, dancing from sunrise to sunset. Your tendons ache constantly, stretched beyond their mortal limits, but determination and spite win out. 

When winter rolls around you no longer allow yourself to revel in the frigid air. You keep your muscles soft and hot beneath excessive layers, ready to dance at every moment. It’s exhausting. It’s worth it. Because you’ve exceeded your own expectations, landing a role far more taxing than the last, and what’s more: you dance it well. 

You’re unsurprised when you peek out into the audience before curtain call and spy him, spine straight as ever, in the middle of the audience. He’s speaking with a white haired man to his right, ignoring the sloppy blonde to his left. In fact, you’re smug with the knowledge that there is no criticism he could give you tonight that wouldn’t be fabricated. 

To you, he is the only audience member. This alone propels you through each number as if you’re floating across the stage, flying as a baking sheet slides down an ice ridden sledding hill. Your movements are precise, muscles taut, smile wide. You don’t mean to single him out, fixing your gaze on his face as your anchor as you begin to spin. But you do. 

You watch him watch you as people begin to clap. It’s electrifying, and yet you don’t care. Their electricity doesn’t matter. It is not their approval that you want; it doesn’t compare to the liquid gold that floods your limbs with warmth when you see his stoicism crack for a fraction of a second. It doesn’t compare to the sense of pride that swells within you as he begins to clap.  

32 flawless fouettés. A feat many ballerinas fail to achieve. Still, you push yourself further. Still, this isn’t enough. You strain against your own body, molding and breaking it as though it is little more than a machine, until Hampden’s dance program can no longer hold you. You work until you have hollowed out every friend you’ve ever had in Vermont and filled them back up with the sticky green caramel of envy. 

In spring, you dance as Giselle, and he sends you seven soft pink roses. The note is simple. Two words: ‘Well done.’ As though he knows, somehow, that you’ve only worked so hard because of him. But you can’t bring yourself to care. This is exactly what you’ve wanted since fall, anyway. You’ve done it. You’ve proven yourself. 

It feels good, in some ways, even if there are moments that the degradation of it all settles in with sickening clarity. It’s agonizing and anti-feminist, so you don’t lick your wounds away, you ignore them. You cover that empty ache behind your ribs with whatever leftover bits of tulle you can find and escort yourself to the commons for coffee and cigarettes. 

You don’t send him a thank you note right away. You can’t find the words to, especially when one of your instructors approaches you about transferring to Juilliard next year. Because as awful as it is, without him, you wouldn’t have such an opportunity. 

Maybe it’s better that you don’t, anyway, because a week later, during one of your shame addled coffee runs, there he is. He pays for your coffee, though you protest, and you sit on a bench together for awhile. There’s some talking, some silence. His gaze is still sharp and judgmental when he looks at you, but you think there’s something else there, too. Respect, maybe. And though you’ll be in New York come fall, something new begins to bloom alongside the dandelions nobody can seem to keep from sprouting from the lawn. And though you’ll be in New York come fall, you let it.

[luzial]

solas and ellana using their newfound ability to say i love you to each other as weapons

I had a stupid amount of fun writing this. Thanks anon.

Smutty one-shot below and also on AO3. Contains spoilers for Chapter 22 of Roots.

Ellana exhaled loudly as she stared up at the ceiling of her nearly empty apartment. Her mattress was on the floor now, after they'd disassembled her bed and watched the donation truck haul it away with the rest of her furniture yesterday afternoon.

They'd taken the train to Ostwick with empty suitcases in hand to pack up everything they could - the rest would be shipped or given away. She'd watched the color drain from the walls as they took down photos and artwork, and organized her books into heavy boxes that would cost a small fortune to send back to Lydes.

Solas had examined each object with the same intense curiosity he would apply to an artifact in the field. It was the sort of thing that would have sent Ellana spiraling into a paranoid crisis a few weeks ago. Now it struck her as mostly harmless - just Solas making his usual, thorough effort to learn everything he could.

She winced as the first hints of sunrise spilled through her now curtain-less windows. She wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep, especially not with Solas snoring softly beside her.

The problem really wasn't the snoring. It was sort of a problem - still so obnoxious that he actually snored too, since he'd made fun of her for doing exactly the same thing back when they were sleeping together but not actually sleeping together in Boranehnan. But this was just an annoyance and and not the actual point, Ellana reminded herself as she fidgeted on her back.

She'd spent entirely too much of the day watching Solas when she should have been working as hard as he was. It wasn't her fault he was so distracting. Yes, it was the middle of the summer but no one had told him to wear a pair of shorts that meant she lost time staring at the long lines of his calves each time he went up the stairs in front of her. Sure, she probably shouldn't find it so attractive that she could watch the sweat beading on the back of his neck and trace its slow path down between his shoulders and below his shirt.

And, what, was she not supposed to watch the flex in his forearms, the delicate bones of his hands suddenly prominent each time he lifted something heavy? He spent the whole day lifting heavy things and she certainly wasn't some Chantry sister who could turn away from the sight. (Maybe that comparison was a bit outdated, Ellana thought. Sister Jeanne would have done the same thing in her shoes, if not worse.)

After becoming a little more used to Solas being in grabbing proximity at all times, Ellana had gradually begun to identify the degrees of how badly she wanted him from one minute to the next. While he was wearing his ugly hat that she'd bought him in Vyrantium (as he'd done yesterday when they took a short walk to pick up lunch), it was on the lower end of the scale. When he made one last climb back up to her apartment after loading the truck, and then immediately stripped off his shirt and sat down on her mattress with his legs spread and his elbows perched on his knees while his chest heaved …

Breathe, idiot, Ellana told herself.

… and then she'd handed him a glass of water and watched as he tipped his head back and the muscles in his throat stretched and she thought she should absolutely go lick him from the base of his neck to the tip of his chin and …

BREATHE! IDIOT! she thought again. She tried, but it sounded embarrassingly like panting, and that just made her even angrier.

She should have fucked him last night, and it was her own fault that she hadn't. In the process of packing yesterday, she'd discovered a new way to distract him and had then immediately gotten too greedy with it.

It started when she realized she still had clothes to pick up from the dry-cleaners she used down the street. They had a (supposedly) strict policy of only holding items for a month, but in reality they never got rid of anything. Ellana had pushed the point before but never for quite this long and was not looking forward to the lecture she was going to get from the elderly dwarven couple who ran the place.

"Solas?" she called from the kitchen.

A muffled "Yes?" came from her bedroom. Ellana peeked around the corner, dry-cleaning ticket in her hand, and found him disassembling a bookcase using tools he had thankfully thought to bring with him from home.

He looked particularly exasperated by whatever he was currently doing with his screwdriver when he turned his attention to her. "I thought you were cleaning out the kitchen."

"I was. Am. But I found this," she held up the ticket, "and, well, would you be willing to do me a favor?"

Solas very pointedly stared at the bookshelf before he slowly slid his gaze back to her.

She swooped in, gave him a quick hug, and then whispered "I love you" in his ear. He was smiling when she released him, his hand lingering on her elbow to keep her close.

"What's the favor?" he asked with cheerful resignation.

He returned with her clothes half an hour later, after getting an earful from the woman behind the counter. Apparently her attitude shifted when Solas informed her that Ellana was moving and would no longer have need of her services. She quickly forgot her earlier complaints, and had insisted Ellana should stop by in person to say her goodbyes.

"Is this how you manage to charm people so easily?" Solas asked, and Ellana felt herself blush at the compliment, foolishly baited into thinking there wasn't more to his question. "By having someone else handle the tasks that might paint you in a bad light?"

"It might be now," she said, baring her teeth in something like a grin. "I know you love me too much to ever paint me in a bad light - literally or otherwise - so I can trust you with this kind of thing."

She watched his expression war between affection, amusement, and annoyance. And that was really the worst thing that could have possibly happened, at least in terms of dissuading Ellana from doing it over and over again, because seeing Solas befuddled was her second favorite way to see him. (The first, obviously, was naked.)

When he eyed her dead houseplants and wondered aloud why she'd bothered to buy them when she was rarely at the apartment, she grabbed the back of his head and gave him a deep kiss that had him running his hands down her hips and chasing her mouth after she abruptly pulled away.

"It must be so embarrassing for you," she said, "to be so in love with someone who can't even keep a potted fern alive."

Ellana could see him composing replies in his head before she turned her back on him to gather up the dead plants that adorned her windowsills.

She'd come up with at least half a dozen other variations by the time they finally lay down, each more hilarious than the last. It was a wonderful diversion, Ellana thought, a way to tell him she loved him without the words feeling so enormously terrifying, and it also guaranteed he would heave irritated sighs at her. An absolutely perfect combination.

She twisted to face him on the mattress, running her hand down his chest until she reached the hair below his navel. She lingered there for a long moment, tracing gentle lines back and forth across his skin. Solas hummed softly, his eyes already closed, as she dipped her fingertips below his waistband.

"Ellana." He mumbled her name like he was half asleep, but he was quick enough to catch her hand with his own. "I'm exhausted. Are you not as well?" he asked as he blinked his eyes open.

Maybe she was, a little, but now it felt like she needed to prove a point.

"I'm tired but … I love you." She said it as softly and sweetly as she could without making herself sick, widening her eyes as she looked into his.

Solas shook his head. "You must know I'm aware you've only been saying that to get what you want."

"Well not only," she objected. "But you keep doing what I want every time I say it, so what's my incentive to stop?"

He pulled her against him suddenly and it was all Ellana could do to keep up with the feverish pace he set. She gasped when he swept his tongue into her mouth, and was caught completely unprepared when he pressed his thigh between her legs. She rocked forward immediately, seeking the friction he offered, only to discover he didn't intend for her to do it herself.

He gripped her ass with firm determination, pressing her cheeks together each time he pulled her forward and spreading them again when he dragged her back. His fingers curved close to her core without ever actually touching her there, a maddening tease that only made her rut more desperately against him.

She tried to arch her back, to angle herself how she needed, but she found she could not pull away from his mouth. Each time she attempted, he caught her lip with his teeth, or moved a hand to the back of her head, or pulled her closer until her breasts were pressed up against his chest. She was overwhelmed, the ache between her legs nearly unbearable as he dragged her forward again and again, her soaked underwear an infuriating barrier between her skin and his.

She was close, panting into his mouth and grinding slick onto his thigh, when he stopped all at once. He withdrew his tongue, withdrew his leg, and Ellana moaned little objections as he made space between them on the mattress. Solas swept her sweat-slick hair away from her face and gave her a soft, sympathetic smile.

"I want you to tell me you love me, even when you have ulterior motives for doing so," he said. "But should you require incentive to stop, know that I love you too much to do the same."

He touched his lips chastely to her nose, then rolled over onto his other side before she had time to fully register what he'd done.

Ellana scooted closer to his back, struggling to catch her breath.

"You are such an asshole," she hissed. She felt, more than heard, him chuckle, his shoulders shaking against her.

She fought with herself - desperate to touch him and certain she could persuade him to fuck her without resorting to words at all, but also incensed by the realization that it was exactly what he would expect. She was not about to give him that satisfaction, even if it meant denying her own.

Solas fell asleep before she could decide what to do. The moment she heard his breathing slip into a steady rhythm, she dipped her hand between her legs and finished herself in a few quick movements, biting her lip so she wouldn't wake him. It was an entirely anticlimactic edge, and she toppled over it so quickly she had no time to enjoy it, imagining his cock inside her but clenching around nothing at all.

When she was done, she rose from the mattress and suffered the indignity of rifling through one of the stuffed suitcases in the darkness to find another pair of underwear. Then she'd lain down again and stared up at the ceiling, every bit as frustrated and furious as she still was now.

He is such a fucking asshole, Ellana thought once more as turned her head toward him, examining his profile in the dim morning light.

Solas was on his side, facing away from her, as he had been all night. His lips were parted slightly and she could see the scatter of freckles below his left eye that were her absolute favorites out of all the those she knew of on his body.

Get a fucking grip, she told herself. That is not the point right now.

She thought maybe, with some distance from what had happened last night, she could finally touch him without wanting to strangle him - though, really, it could go either way.

She turned so her chest was against his back, then slid her hand down his ribs. She paused at the dip of his waist, continued along the firm curve of his hip, and willed him to wake. When he still didn't stir, she gently worked her fingers into the crease between his hip and thigh and kissed her way across the back of his neck.

"Mmm," he groaned.

"Wake up," Ellana said, before kissing his neck again, this time adding an impatient scrape of her teeth.

He gasped in what sounded like shock, which really wasn't her intent but it would do for now.

"What time is it?" he murmured, as if he had the audacity to still be tired when she'd gotten far less sleep than he had and spent most of the night half awake, wishing he would roll over and slip himself between her thighs.

"Early enough that we can spare a few minutes before we finish what's left," she said, wiggling her fingers against his leg.

That, finally, got him to notice her hand, but he did not respond at all how she wanted. He took in a deep breath and tried to roll away from her, onto his stomach. She splayed out her fingers and held him in place, pulling herself as tight as she could against his back.

"You can't still be tired," she said.

"I assure you, I can."

"How? You slept all night."

"After I spent yesterday climbing those stairs a few dozen times and disassembling every piece of furniture you own."

"It's not like you did it alone," Ellana protested.

(He mostly had, though, while leaving her to the easier tasks of folding clothes and sorting through books. But she'd provided crucial support - sometimes in the form of a second pair of hands and sometimes by teasing him with running commentary about how hot his ass looked when he bent over. She had been an essential part of the process.)

"Of course not." He was just trying to appease her. "But I am exhausted, regardless."

"That was your line last night."

"It's not a line. And it is still true."

Solas yawned and stretched an arm above his head, the movement just enough to force her thumb lower, through the patch of hair she'd been playing with and onto his cock.

He did that on purpose, she considered. And then she realized she didn't care and wrapped her fingers around his length.

The soft "Oh" he exhaled sounded surprised enough, so maybe he actually hadn't meant to deliver himself directly into her waiting hand.

That's fine too, she thought as she pressed her lips to the back of his neck again. She loved touching him like this, while his skin was still soft as velvet, though she only had a moment to appreciate it before he began to harden to her touch.

"Ellana. I -"

"Shh," she whispered into his ear and felt the shudder that ran from his shoulders all the way down his back and then lower. "You don't have to do anything. Let me."

"And … and if I should decide I want to do something?" His breath was coming out in amusing little puffs now, punctuating his words.

"You're thinking too much." She kissed the tip of his ear. "I love you and I want to do this for you."

That one's OK, Ellana told herself.

She realized after what he'd pulled last night that she should maybe back off just a little from teasing him with I love yous. That she was budging on this at all, considering how much fun she'd had flustering him all day, was worrying - Solas had correctly guessed that denying her a satisfying orgasm was a very effective rebuke.

He relaxed into her hand and his head fell back toward hers. She stroked him unhurriedly, her touch featherlight as she dragged her fingertips up and down his length. It wasn't long before he grew impatient for more. His quiet moans and the way his chest shuddered with each exhale were evidence enough, even before he rocked his ass back against her hips.

She took some pity on him then, rubbing her thumb up along the smooth skin of his head until she found him leaking at the tip. His hips jerked forward and Ellana grinned against his back as she took him properly within her grip.

Solas threw his arm back over hers, digging his fingers into her leg as she began to move faster. He twisted his mouth to the crook of his arm as the noises he made grew needy, thrusting up into her hand and then back against her hips again. She gripped him as he liked, whispered little encouragements into his ear, and ignored the sting in her forearm as she moved her hand as quickly as she could.

He came with a cry, her fingers suddenly slick and warm, and she worked him through the last of it until he released his tight grip on her leg. She rested her head on his shoulder and listened to the beat of his pulse, pleased to think she was the reason his heart was pounding so vigorously.

When his breathing had settled a few minutes later, he rolled away from her, stood, and took a step toward her bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

Shit, she thought. That came out a bit like a whine.

"To get ready," Solas replied with a suspiciously casual shrug. "We still have plenty to do before we can leave, especially if you want to stop for breakfast."

"But …"

Oh, she realized. She was truly fucked now. She had, after all, explicitly said she didn't expect anything in return. And that was sort of true. But she had also just assumed that once they started he'd have one of his moments where his nose crinkled and he looked at her very seriously and she knew he was about to spend as long as it took making her come as many times as he could.

"I want to feel you inside me," she blurted out with absolutely no preamble and entirely too much desperation.

It almost worked. She saw it in the way his gaze dipped down to her mouth, how his lips suddenly parted, the sharp intake of breath that filled his chest. And then she watched his expression shift as he shut it down. She would have yelled if she didn't think he would find that even more gratifying.

"I would love that as well," he said. "Perhaps once we arrive home."

Ellana could feel him slipping through her fingers - or, more accurately, she realized she was not going to feel his fingers slipping into her cunt.

Do NOT give in, she thought, even as she squeezed her thighs together.

"I'm not going to beg you," she told him with haughty certainty, her nose tipped up and her lips pursed.

"Nor should you." Solas turned back, kneeling beside her. "My love, you needn't beg for anything."

He cupped her cheek with his hand and Ellana felt her jaw go slack. There was something in his tone that made her feel like she was perched on a throne rather than sitting atop a mattress on the floor in an empty apartment. She wanted him between her legs murmuring my love into her thighs.

"Particularly when begging would not change my mind," Solas finished with a kind smile.

Ellana blinked at him.

"You are such an asshole," she bit out through clenched teeth. "You have no idea what you've started."

"I think you'll find that I do."

He dipped his head to press his mouth against hers, then pulled back too quickly for Ellana to sink her teeth into his bottom lip.

"When we get home, I'm going to f-"

"Please. Do not tell me your plan," Solas said as he stood. "It will be such an enticing distraction to imagine during our - what is it? - five hour trip back to Lydes."

She flopped onto her back on the mattress, releasing an infuriated grunt.

"I love you," Solas called from across the room.

"I'm going to murder you," she called back.

"You wouldn't. You love me … as you've told me so many times now."

He shut the bathroom door and Ellana thrust her hand between her legs, picturing with self-righteous outrage the exact shape her revenge would take.

[morningfawns]

Kinito my beloved little freak

Bonus NUH UH gif:

[egophiliac]

GET LOVED, IDIOT

GET LOVED SO HARD YOUR KIDS HOLD HANDS AND POWER-OF-LOVE YOU BACK TO LIFE

sorry guys, this is just my brain now. this is going to be the only thing I think about for the next week at least.

oh and also this

FIVE YEARS IN AND IT'S FINALLY CANON 🎉🎉🎉

WE DID IT

[keferon]

May I ask what were the best transformers media you ever saw/read?

Well Transformers Prime, Transformers 1986 and IDW comics are having the first place that’s for sure

And then the second place is kind of shared by Fall of Cybertron, Exodus, Prime wars trilogy, Robots in disguise(2001) and Transformers One.

The third place goes to G1, Animated, Earthspark, Armada, War for Cybertron Netflix series, Aligned Robots in disguise, Bumblebee, Rise of the Beasts and Cyberverse because I only liked some little parts of them.

And then I also saw some of the Bay movies, Victory and Headmasters and didn’t like them at all.

Separate first place for J-Decker. It is not exactly Transformers but it is a show about giant robots and I loved it

[mossterunderthebed]

[buwheal]

BEACH OUTFIT 💥💥💥💥

He used to surf the web back in 98'.

[evilbitchartist]

i fucking hate him

[perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin]

It has been requested (@awfullybigwardrobe44 💛) that I provide an update on How Things Are Going With The Young Man, and there’s so much I could say that it all kind of cancels itself out (I’ve been journaling like a madwoman lately), but yes, I think things are going well. I still can't believe any of this is happening, I am not the kind of person that this kind of stuff is supposed to happen to 😆 We have gone on several more dates, one of them a day-long fishing trip, and it’s been lovely and I just think he's delightful and I really like being with him. I still have a lot of shyness to overcome, but considering how intensely terrified I used to be of him I think I’ve made excellent progress 😆 I’ve seen less of him lately because he’s extremely busy with work and especially school but we text a lot and this weekend we’re planning to go to dinner and then the symphony after that (I bought the tickets and I can tell it's driving him nuts that I finally paid for something myself but ahaha it's too late there's nothing he can do about it now) 😊

[stuworbutwitheds]

This might be a hot take(?) but i do like how Eddy become more grumpy as the show went between seasons

Of course he is more mean and kinda more aggressive with his friends.

But i think it's a great way to show how trauma can affect your personality, especially when it comes to physical abuse. Not every child that suffers like that is quiet and shy, some of them can mirror the bad traits of their abuser and they're just as valid to get love and support.

[collecting--stardust]

Cele's little chuckle when the interviewer asked him if he will be the one to beat fermin tomorrow... his usual ciao at the end... HHHHH

[seiwas]

omfg i ran out of tags talking abt this tee but !!!

there’s this line: maybe he’s fine just coming home to you

and it just!! was the final blow !!! my heart clenched !!!

i love it when people talk about one another as if they aren’t talking to each other if that makes sense… or people talking abt themselves ! but in third person idk !!! there’s something so flirty snd teasing about it !! but also so shy and i love it 🥺 when u say things like that !! with the maybe’s and all, it’s so soft !! and honest !! and tender !!

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ LUCKY — GOJO SATORU.

contents. baths + non sexual nudity, established relationships, tired toru :(, lots of kissies and praise for the babie :(, solid proof in the form of writing of how embarrassingly lovesick i am for this FOOL

it’s past midnight when satoru walks into your bathroom. he doesn’t even question why you’re in the bath so late—just gives you a lopsided grin tiredly as you smile.

“you’re home,” you brighten.

“look at you,” he coos, staring down at you with amused eyes, “waitin’ for me?”

satoru is tired—you can tell from the way the his shoulders are slouched and his blindfold is clutched in his hand. “i was,” you hum in agreement, “c’mere.”

it’s all it takes. he’s stripped down and waiting for you to move up so he can slide behind you in seconds, hand waving to motion you forward. but you’re stubborn—you shake your head as you hold an arm out for him.

“baby,” he whines, “c’mon i was out fighting big bad curses all day. jus’ lemme hold—”

“no. just come here, toru,” you insist.

there’s something about it—something about the way your voice is so gentle, so insistent, so knowing. it’s like you can read him more than he can, sometimes. satoru is tired, you can see it, you can feel it. you can’t carry his burdens, but you can hold him while he holds the weight of the world for a night.

maybe it’ll do for now—maybe it’ll even be enough and more.

“what? feelin’ like pampering me today?” he teases, “aren’t i a lucky guy,” he hums—but he climbs into the tub anyway, settling between your legs, leaning his back against your chest as his head falls back against your shoulder.

instantly, two gentle kisses plant themselves against his head, and his eyes flutter shut. he’s starting to feel the beginnings of a headache form—the gentle thump in his skull just barely there, but persistently present.

your thumbs rubs along the sides of his head, enough pressure to soothe the pain like you know it’s coming—he thinks you must.

“you are a lucky guy,” you giggle, “look at me. such a catch.”

he grins, chuckling that boyish chuckle of his freely in your arms as he relaxes. it’s been a while since he’s relaxed, you think—it’s half past midnight and he’ll be up with the sun in a bit to head back to the school, but it’s nice to know he’s relaxed. even just for this short, rare moment.

“oh yeah,” he nods, lips curled into a grin as he cracks an eye open and peers up at you, “s no catch like my pretty ‘lil baby. i’m living it up.”

“glad you know your privileges,” you murmur contently, shaking your head in amusement as you wrap your arms around his body. one hand rubs over his abs—he wants to tease you about feeling him up, wants to make a sly comment about missing his body more than him while he was gone. but there’s something about it, about the way it’s so slow and soothing and soft—it’s so painfully soft, satoru swallows.

finally, he lets his body go slack against yours, sliding down so his head rests against your chest and the water soaks more of his body. it’s warm. the water and your arms. it’s all so, so warm and forgiving.

“aren’t you gonna tell me how lucky you are too? i’ll listen, don’t worry. no interruptions.”

“yeah?” you chuckle, threading fingers through his hair and pulling a soft sigh from him, “wanna know how lucky i am?”

“course,” he murmurs, “well, i already know you’re lucky. it’s me after all—but i’m not opposed to hearing it.”

“how humble of you, satoru,” you snort.

he grins wider—he hasn’t had a chance to smile all day. not properly, at least.

“feel free to start any second,” he says with a wink. then his eyes flutter shut again as your thumb traces his cheek, ever so gently running along the soft angles of his face.

it’s pretty—everything about him is pretty. there are no ugly parts to satoru. just the parts painted from cruel hands. they’re beautiful too, you like to think, in their own, fragile little ways.

“okay,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head, “i’m very lucky,” you murmur into his hair.

he hums, mumbling a quiet, “knew it.”

“lucky i have such a handsome face to greet,” you pepper kisses along his forehead and find his cheek, giving it an affectionate little bite that makes him huff out an amused chuckle. “and he’s so tall too,” you add, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“that all he is?” he pouts, “just a pretty face? you’re breaking my heart, baby.”

“no,” you say quietly, grabbing his hand and brushing a thumb over his knuckles, “he’s also kind. too kind, sometimes,” you say quietly, “he comes home a bit later than usual every once in a while because he took his students out to eat. he loves them a bit too much, i think.”

“no such thing as too much love,” he hums, squeezing your hand.

you smile, admiring him as he lays against you, small in your hold even with the larger than life weight he carries.

“and he’s strong,” you add, “really strong. it’s not fair sometimes,” you whisper, “he’s got so much on his plate.”

“he handles it fine,” he assures, “he always does.”

“and then he still makes time for little old me,” you say fondly, kissing his shoulder, “never lets me feel lonely. he’s too good to me.”

“there’s no such thing as too good for you,” he gasps offendedly, pouting like you’ve insulted him, “he’s definitely not—”

“and sometimes, he comes home tired. and he tries to act like he’s not because he’s a bit of a prick who doesn’t let me help, but i’m smart and i know him well so i’ve figured it out. and if i’m extra lucky, i might get to hold him for a bit like this and help him relax.”

you squeeze him gently for emphasis, holding him closer as you press your nose into his neck and breathe in his smell. it’s like cologne that’s rudely expensive and that sweet smell only satoru has—it’s all you want to breathe in for the rest of your days.

you hope he’ll allow you that much. something tells you he will.

satoru swallows thickly at that, rubs a thumb over your bare thigh as he rests his free hand over it, the other still in your grasp.

and then, quietly, “maybe he’s fine just coming home to you,” he shrugs, “who can stay tired with such a sweet face waiting at home?”

“i don’t know,” you say thoughtfully, “he’s got a lot to take care of. wonder how he does it.”

“he’s probably the strongest,” he shoots with an easy grin, “sounds like the strongest to me.”

“he is,” you nod, “he’s a lot more than that too. i’m lucky he’s mine.”

“oh yeah?” he drawls—there’s something a little shaky about his voice though.

you choose not to mention it, pressing soft, delicate kisses along his jaw as you murmur, “yeah. he makes me feel really, really lucky. love him so much.”

“love you too,” satoru breathes, “guess we’re both really, really lucky.”

don’t talk to me i don’t want to be perceived. that’s enough softness for a lifetime so the next time i write him he’s getting hit by a bus