#HIS EYES R SO PRETTY

[countingstars-17]

© Chris Graythen / Clive Rose

[drewseph]

DREW STARKEY attends the “Queer” photocall during the 81st Venice International Film Festival on September 03, 2024 — photos by Andreas Rentz

[haob1n]

[veyronvenus]

*very aggressive chewing sounds*

[eggluverz]

WAAAHSHN AT THE END DAN HENG LOOKS SO SAD !! 😭🥺🥺

in the most respectful way possible i want to rest his head on my lap and give him forehead kisses to make the worry go away 🙇‍♀️🤲

[hinamie]

itakugi sillies fr the soul

[koskela-knights]

YESSS YESSS YESSS omg 😭🙏🏽🙏🏽💙💙💙💙

Over the moon with this piece flkjdslkjf 😭😍😍😍

Drawing beautiful flustered men 24/7. Commission for wonderful @koskela-knights

[xlovz]

🍌

[stinkymicrowavedfish]

[lolathepeacocklord]

gay people i do not respect

[frnkiebby]

I AM GOING TO SOB~🎃

[darktetrasdualies]

at last . the octopus is real

[writermask-0807]

hotaru haganezuka x reader {“sweet as sugar not” or: “of sticky summer days and first steps.”}

A/N: listen, listen, there are so many reasons I shouldn't upload this. First of all, ik there r other requests i should do and I am working on them. Hopefully I'll get them all done soon.

Second of all, the title sucks ass, ik, but I honestly can't think of anything else and my brain literally only has one brain cell rn 🥲 thirdly, this oneshot u see right here is pure selfishness and self-indulgence rolled up into one thing and it's probably messy cus I haven't proofread cus it's the middle of the night and im running on nothing but whateverrr. (I think I had too much apple juice.) Also I couldn't find a decent gif of this bish so rip-

Warnings: implied teacher/student relationship cus I literally put mentions of "master" around just so u know it's nothing kinky 👀

HE’S not a soft man, your master; all red-hot temper and harsh words and growling voice, and often you’re the one to smooth his rough edges down and dull the sharp ends, guide his work-worn hands back to shaping his precious metals into swords and take his attention away from the heat you know is boiling in his chest, ready to spill over and scald in white-hot fury.

It’s just how he is, really, because Hotaru’s not a man to whisper sweet-nothings in your ear and kiss you softly, sweetly- he’s a man of his passions, and although his hands are rough and calloused by years’ worth of dedicated work and sometimes his harsh words stings and so does his indifference- he has his moments, where he makes it up to you in his own way.

As it happens, today’s one of those rare moments.

It’s one of those hot, sticky sort of days under the summer sun where the blue, cloudless sky is brilliant with sunshine and the air is warm and sweet; ripe with something that’s not quite the August-heat, and there’s a drowsy silence settled over the both of you, the droning of the insects long chased away by the whisper of the tall grass and the flutter of the spring-time blooms drifting down like rose-pink snowflakes, creamy petals catching in his long hair and yours, the sweet smell of the petals perfuming the warm atmosphere.

You’ve got a strawberry mochi bulging in your cheek as you peer up at the canopy of blushing petals, back resting languidly on the emerald, mossy bed of grass and awe starring your enraptured gaze as you watch the soft beauty of the sakura blossoms cascade all around you in sheets of delicate fuchsia, completely oblivious to the golden, hawk-like eyes that watches your movements with an intensity force enough to make you want to squirm, if only you’d noticed, that is.

It’s not until you feel his mouth slot over yours and your eyes fly open in surprise that you remember that your Master’s here with you, and he tastes syrupy and sticky-sweet like the mochi he’s been snacking on, his fingers fisting the fabric of your kimono, those rough fingers uncharacteristically soft against your skin.

It’s nothing more than a brush of lips, a simple peck, really, but the kiss leaves you breathless, wanting for more as soon as he pulls away, something unusually thoughtful creasing his eyebrow- like he’s contemplating a serious thought, but he never voices it aloud. He’s unusually reserved and quiet in moments like these; but you’ve learned that his silence speaks far more than his angry words do, if only you learned to read between the lines.

He dips down again and offers another peck, sticky-sweet and unusually soft and wanting, and this time, you smile against his mouth and kiss him back, cheeks flustering scarlet as he hovers above you, hands on either side of your body and your chest heaves, the heat of the summer sun clinging to your skin and his fingers as they brush over the cut of your cheekbones, the slope of your nose, the curve of your mouth and the dips of your collarbones.

And before you can fully register it, his fingers curl around a delicate pink bloom and tucks it behind your ear, its petals cotton-soft against your skin, and you blink, pleasantly bewildered, your face flushing the same pretty shade as the flower.

“What was that for?” you ask, smiling, and he shrugs above you, ebony locks rippling over his broad shoulders with the movement. Your fingers itch to run themselves through those soft, raven-black tufts, but you refrain the urge- you get the feeling it’d only fluster him to the point of retreating and your arms are trapped underneath all his bulk anyway.

“Just because.” is his simple non-answer, short and clipped and it comes out more like a grunt than anything, but as he rolls over to the patch of grass beside you, his calloused fingers slowly, hesitantly, lacing between yours- somewhat rough and scarred to the touch but you don’t mind, never do- and his amber hues averting from your own eyes, you grin, because you notice the faint pinkening of his cheeks- splotches of color you’ll tease him about later and he’ll insist that it was just the heat getting to him, that’s all!

But not in this moment, no. Right now you’re content to stay like this, the both of you, watching the summer-time blossoms twirl in the teasing breeze, the flowery canopy stifling the baking heat of the summer sun.

And he’s not a soft man, your Master, struggles with sweet words and soft kisses because his hands are scarred terrains not meant to be gentle or holding yours, and sometimes his words stings and so does his indifference but for your sake, he tries and you smile because that’s all you ask of him. All anyone can ask of him, really.

(He’s not a soft man, your Master, not really, not even in moments like these; but this- this is a first step, and the fragrance of the petals linger in the air, sticky-sweet and promising of sweeter moments to come.)

FIN-

[callixton]

something abt his daily look during cabaret is so entrancing to me.......

[boxwinebaddie]

oh freckle, freckle⠁.. what makes you so s p e c i a l?

[bobmckenzie]

I wanna know how he got all his little scars 😭😭😭💗💗💗 i guess it's headcanon time 🤓☝️