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[hkhair]

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[rayveneyed]

nanami kento is the kind of man that makes people swoon without even realising it.

he's the kind of man to walk into a luxury store after work, suit jacket folded over one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other -- his blonde hair still mostly perfect from the high-end pomade he uses. he scours the shelves, frowning to himself, while the attendants whisper and giggle amongst themselves near the tills -- an argument over who will be the one to talk to him, because he's intimidatingly pretty.

("just look at him," one whispers. "he's definitely buying something for a girlfriend."

"a wife," another disagrees. "c'mon. he's giving husband vibes."

someone hums. "but i can't see a wedding band."

"his mother, maybe?" says one other. "oh, i love when guys come in shopping for their mother."

"nobody's mother is getting a bouquet of a hundred red roses--")

eventually, one of them is volunteered as a sacrifice -- smiling and sweet as all attendants should be, she clears her throat. the others, crowded around the till, watch the exchange closely. "excuse me, sir. is there anything we could help you with today?"

her mouth is dry and her hands are clammy -- and when he fixes her with those narrow, burning eyes, her throat bobs.

"ah, yes." and his voice is deep and gravelly and drawling, and her stomach turns. she can only imagine what her coworkers are thinking -- hell, she can only imagine what she's thinking. her mind has stopped short. "my girlfriend likes this brand quite a bit. i thought i'd pick her up something..."

disappointment brews in her stomach -- and it's stupid, she knows it's stupid, because obviously a guy like that is taken. and -- she glances down at the roses -- obviously he treats her super fucking well. of course he does, because why wouldn't he? "oh, perfect! do you have anything in mind?"

"well, actually..."

he ends up buying one of the priciest gift boxes available -- fancy body care and perfume laid out in their signature boxes, decorated with ribbon and dried lavender -- no argument, no fight. he doesn't look for something cheaper, doesn't try to haggle or remove something to decrease the price. he adds, and adds, and adds -- and when she mentions a special offer at the till, a little add on for an extra 2000 yen, he accepts it readily. he inserts a black card into the card machine (of course, a black card), takes the beautifully wrapped bag, and thanks the girls for their services -- and just as he's leaving, his phone rings.

of course he answers the phone with hello, darling. of course he begins to ask his girlfriend about her day, the girls think with some amount of annoyance -- of course. maybe the curse of retail isn't entitled assholes expecting you to wait on hand and foot for them -- maybe it's the handsome men coming in to splurge on their girlfriends while you're painfully single and working for pennies.

[pedrospatch]

weakness

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s place takes one hell of an unexpected turn for you and Joel when hidden feelings start coming to the surface.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA JOEL. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is in his early 50’s). mentions of reader having longer hair/her hair gets brushed, reader wears a dress, no specific mention of reader’s size, but there is a brief mention of the dress fitting loose on her, Frank is sweet and makes her feel pretty, Bill is a grump, Joel is kind of soft, hidden feelings. dashes of angst, fluff, and an abundance of Frank being an absolute angel.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY. NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 5.7k

“Can you stop fidgeting for just one second, please?” Frank scolds you lightly, bringing down the palm of his hand onto your shoulder in a small, quick slap in an attempt to get you to stop squirming. He then moves his hands back up to your hair, which is out of its usual braid and towel dried after a much, much needed wash. The sickeningly sweet scent of the floral shampoo you’d used in the shower earlier that afternoon lingers deliciously in the air around you, a refreshing and welcome change from what your hair normally smells like—grime and smoke from hours of work detail in the Boston QZ. After coming out all of the stubborn tangles that he can find, Frank then picks up a boar hairbrush and he carefully begins to run it through your locks. He starts from the roots of your hair and brings the natural bristles down, all the way through to your ends. He chuckles and says, “You know, I would be done a hell of a lot quicker if you would just sit still.”

You sigh softly, but impatiently, allowing yourself one final, uncomfortable little shuffle in the white wicker chair he has you perched on before finally giving into his request. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” you mumble You bring your knees up against your chest and exhale another small sigh. You can’t see his face, but you can picture the smug, satisfied smile on Franke’s face as he continues brushing your hair. “So, tell me again why we’re even doing this?” you question him just a minute later, as if he hasn’t already explained it to you about a hundred times—he wants to do something special for you. “It kind of seems like a complete waste of time, don’t you think so?”

“We’re doing this because you deserve to get dolled up for once in your adult life,” Frank states in a matter of fact tone. The world had ended when you’d been about seven years old, and he’d imagined that since then, you’d never done a single damn thing for your appearance—besides the occasional at home haircut you would give yourself every few months with an old pair of rusted shears. He’d have been absolutely right about that. “And besides, it’s something of a special occasion today,” he adds. “It’s the first day of spring. The weather outside is stunning, our flowers are finally in full bloom, and we have a nice outdoor lunch planned to celebrate the new season.”

You can’t help the way the corners of your mount turn upwards into a small smile. One might think it was all rather silly, given it was the end of the world and all, but you have to admit, you admire the way Frank manages to find genuine happiness and joy in the little things, like warm sunshine on the first day of spring. Or showing a friend what a proper hairbrush looks like. He has such a beautiful soul, something that very, very few people in this new world possess. 

“Your hair is so healthy,” Frank observes a few minutes later, setting the hairbrush aside. Taking two handfuls of your hair from the front, he twists them gently and brings them around to the back of your head. He then secures them with a clear, elastic band and runs his fingers through your soft locks, maneuvering your hair until it cascades perfectly around your shoulders. Frank walks around your chair to face you, fussing until he makes sure that every stand is neatly in place. He smiles. “You should wear your hair down more often, you know. It really suits you.”

“Long, loose hair and work detail are a recipe for disaster,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. “Most of the work sites in the zone require anyone who has longer hair to keep it tied back, anyway.” You push your legs out away from your chest and plant your feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, Frank. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do,” you swear. “It’s incredibly sweet, but there’s really no point. In just a few hours, Joel and I are going to have to head back into Boston where my hair goes back into its braid and I have to change back into my normal clothes.”

“Exactly. So how about you just zip it and enjoy this while it lasts?” he suggests with a tiny, cheeky grin.

“But Frank—”

“Honey, this is a fight you simply aren’t going to win, so hush. Now, come with me.” He takes your hand, pulling you out of the chair and up to your feet. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and with a reluctant sigh, you do as you’re told. Frank leads you over towards the full length mirror in the far corner of his and Bill’s bedroom. “Okay. One, two, three—open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open and your mouth parts slightly in surprise. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur underneath your breath, taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at you, she looks absolutely nothing like you. The hair, the hint of blush on your cheekbones—the color he’d found was one one that flatters the tone of your skin—and the thin coat of decades old mascara that he’d applied to your eyelashes; the tube had been bone fucking dry, but Frank used a few drops of water to bring it back to life, swearing up and down it was fine to put near your eyes. And then there was the dress, the goddamn dressed he’d force you into. His favorite part of the makeover and your least favorite. 

“Wait until you see what I found for you to wear,” he’d told you, giddy as if it were him who would be donning a new outfit. “You’re going to love it!”

Skeptical, you had asked, “Am I though?”

Frank had gone to the boutique and found you a dress to wear, and while it was just a tad loose on your frame, he insisted that it would look just fine on you with the help of a safety pin hidden at the back of it, pulling the fabric taut. It was simple enough, white with a subtle sweetheart neckline and thin straps that tied together at your shoulders. The delicate lace fell down in a flowing skirt to just a few inches above your knees and it itched like hell, especially at your sides. Wanting to add a finishing touch to the outfit, Frank had brought you a pair of brown, strappy sandals and he’d let you know that he had a couple of different color options for a cardigan in the event it became too chilly outside. 

“You look perfect,” he gushes. “Like a daydream!”

You look different. But that isn’t what brought on the shock. More than anything, you’re completely taken aback by how fucking normal you look. 

Sure, coming over to Bill and Frank’s always gave you a temporary sense of normalcy. They always allowed you to take a hot shower, gave you the opportunity  to properly wash your hair and change out of your dirty shirt into a new clean one. They always provided you with a warm meal presented on porcelain dishware that wasn’t stained or chipped like the shit you had back home in your crumbling apartment in Boston. You’d had several tastes of normal thanks to those two, but this drastic change to your appearance was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

You’d never thought that you could look like this, not in this fucking lifetime. 

Frank immediately picks up on your emotions, senses how you’re feeling. Standing behind you, he places his two hands on your shoulders and leans his head forward, pressing his cheek against yours as his kind eyes meet your tearful gaze in the mirror. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I really hope you feel beautiful. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but if I can at least give you this much, then my mission is accomplished.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fall short. Afraid that you might burst into tears on the spot, you clamp your mouth shut and give him the tiniest little nod of your head accompanied by a quivering smile of gratitude. 

Frank smiles back. “Good. Now, come on, let’s go out front and have lunch.” His hands fall from your shoulders and he ushers you out into the hallway and towards the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he gives you a wink. “I’m really eager to see what your man thinks of your new look.”

“What?” you sputter, almost tripping over your own two feet. “Who—you mean, Joel?”

Shit. You’d almost forgotten about Joel.

What the hell is he going to say when he sees you like this?

What’s he going to think?

Probably that you look utterly fucking ridiculous, that’s what.

“Who else would I be talking about? Bill?” Frank snorts. “Yes, I’m talking about Joel.”

You glare at his back. This isn’t the first time Frank has teased you about Joel Miller, and despite the countless times you’ve sworn to him that there was nothing going on between the two of you, he insists on believing otherwise, adamant that there has to be something more there. “Don’t start with this shit again. He is not my man, and you damn well know that.”

“He might as well be,” Frank shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he leads you down the staircase.

“Frank, I’m being serious,” you say. Normally, weren’t so uptight about it all, but today, you’re not finding his antics amusing in the slightest, not while you’re wearing goop on your face and sporting a fucking dress. “I’ve told you a million times that there is nothing going on between me and Joel. He’s my partner.” You pause briefly, realizing how that must have sounded, and add in emphasis, “He’s my work partner. We work together, Frank. We smuggle shit together. That’s it.”

Frank stops at the bottom of the staircase and turns to you, letting out a curious hum. “Hmm. And if I remember correctly, you two also live together, you sleep in the same bed together, you spend every waking moment from sunrise to fucking sunset together—I have never heard of two work partners being that close, sweetheart.”

Stubborn, you shake your head. “He’s like fifty!”

“The world ended and that’s your concern? An age gap?” he questions. “Really?”

“Frank,” you plead his name, groaning. “I swear it. We’re nothing to each other. Joel is—well, he’s Joel. He’s not exactly the type of man who does that. You know, feelings and shit.”

He throws his head back slightly, letting out a loud laugh that echoes through the foyer of his home. “Oh, trust me. I know that much. Between you and me, I have to say that he reminds me a whole lot of Bill,” he muses. He notices the horrified expression that crosses your face and laughs again, holding up his hands in defense. “Wait a minute, just hear me out. They’re polar opposites in some ways, but in most ways, they’re almost the same fucking person. Joel is just like Bill. Cranky. Grumpy. He hates everyone and everything. Kind of man who’ll stab someone if they so much as look at him the wrong way. Would you say that’s pretty accurate?”

“Yeah, sounds like Joel Miller,” you have to admit. As much as you did not want to think of Joel being the same person as Bill, Frank had a pretty good point.

“But Joel also reminds me of Bill because he’s the kind of man who means well when it comes to the people that he cares about. The kind of man who will do whatever it takes to protect what is his,” he further explains. He pauses and then asks, “Let me ask you something. You trust him, right?”

You don’t even miss a beat, answering, “Of course. With my life.”

He ticks his  index finger at you. “Aha! Exactly!” he exclaims. “You know that Joel would never let anyone lay so much as a finger on you. He’d never let anything bad happen to you. And why is that?”

You stare at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. “Is this a trick question?”

Huffing, Frank rolls his eyes and lets out a disappointed sigh, as if you’d missed the obvious. “It’s because you mean something to him, sweetheart. Whether you choose to let yourself believe it or not, you mean something to Joel Miller.”

For a moment, it feels like all the wind’s been knocked out of you. 

Could Frank actually be right? 

Do you actually mean something to Joel?

No, that was impossible. Joel Miller doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything—all he cares about is surviving long enough to find Tommy again one day, and even then, he never speaks of his younger brother too kindly. He’s been hardened by this world, closed himself off, put up a barrier around himself that nothing can permeate. Not even you.

“Under that tough, rugged exterior, there’s a soft spot. It’s there, for you and only for you.” Frank’s eyes glimmer, speaking a truth he’s been wanting to tell you for the better part of the last several months. “You might need to do some digging to find it, but it’s there.”

“I just don’t understand why you would think that,” you confess, shaking your head. “Joel has never said anything to me to indicate that I mean something to him. More often than not, I find myself wondering if even considering us to be friends is too generous.” You cross your arms over your chest, growing uncomfortable under his knowing stare. “Yes, Joel looks out for me, but that’s only because we work together so well. I know my way around. He needs me, especially if he plans on getting to Tommy.”

Frank bites his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. “What? Realize what?”

“You are his weakness.”

He’d said it so simply, and yet there goes the rest of your air leaving your lungs, an invisible first driving itself right into your gut. 

“Of course Joel isn’t going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s afraid,” Frank remarks, sounding so sure as if he had been told that by Joel Miller himself.

“You’re wrong. Joel isn’t afraid of anything,” you counter in the steadiest voice you can muster. “You’re wrong, Frank.”

“He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.” Any trace of teasing or playfulness had disappeared from Frank’s expression. He speaks gently, but with purpose, with such seriousness that it makes your heart sink further and further down into the pits of your stomach.

When you speak again, your voice is strained, thick with emotions you’re trying so desperately to shove down. “Frank, you really need to put down the fucking romance novels.” Before he can say another word to you about it, you place a hand lightly on your stomach. “I’m really hungry. Can we go eat now? Please?”

Thankfully, he gets the hint to drop the subject.

“Of course. Come on” Frank takes your hand. He opens the front door and leads you outside and onto the freshly landscaped front lawn. He had been right, the flowers were in full bloom—the small, round table he’d set was positioned in a perfect spot so that no matter where anyone sat, they would have a view of the colorful roses and azaleas he and Bill had planted around the perimeter of the yard.

As soon as he sees you two approaching, Bill throws up his hands in a dramatic fashion. “It’s about goddamn time!” He grouches loudly. “Jesus Christ, Frank. I’m fucking starving!”

“Sorry, got caught up inside.” Frank tosses his partner a sweet smile as he releases your hand. “But look, I found myself something pretty!”

Heat floods your cheeks. You should have known better than to think he wasn’t going to make a fuss about your new appearance. “Frank, please. Don’t.”

“Oh come now, you know I have to show you off!”

Joel, whose back had been turned towards you, furrows his eyebrows and he glances over his shoulder, looking to see what Frank was referring to. His dark brown eyes widen just ever so slightly, the grip around his glass of red wine tightening in complete surprise at the sight of you. Frank had failed, quite miserably, to convince him to dress up for the occasion, but at the very least, he’d talked him into wearing one of the nicer shirts he'd found at the boutique, a neatly pressed, sage green button up with long sleeves that, much to Frank’s chagrin, Joel had rolled up to his elbows. His graying, dark brown curls  might have even had a comb run through them, but it;s  difficult to tell if the way his thick locks were effortlessly disheveled was natural or the result of his efforts to tame them.

“What do you think, Joel?” Frank beams proudly, as if presenting the man with one of his painted art pieces.

Joel doesn’t respond. His eyes remain glued on you, following as you walk around the table and take your usual place beside him.

“Way to put me on the spot, Frank,” you mutter, your face growing warmer and warmer with every second that ticks by. You silently urge yourself to get a grip as you reach for the crisp, white cloth napkin next to your plate and drape it over your lap. The smoked, wild rabbit Bill had cooked up for lunch  smells heavenly—Frank knows  it’s  your absolute favorite dish, and so he had made sure Bill put it on today’s menu, bless his heart. 

Joel still hasn’t uttered a single word. Part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

“Joel?” Frank prompts as he picks up his own cloth napkin. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

You glare daggers at him from across the table and hiss, “Frank!”

Finally, Joel sets down his glass of wine and turns slowly, angling his body towards yours. When he speaks, his voice is low, but clear as day as he looks at you, “Yeah. She looks very pretty.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, causing your heart to skip a beat inside of your chest and a strange warmth to bloom in your belly. 

Had he actually meant that?

“You look real nice,” he adds, giving you a subtle nod of his head. He lets his sights linger on you for another moment before tearing his gaze away. He then turns back to the table, picking up his glass of wine once again, chugging what’s left of it before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. 

Bill clears his throat roughly. “Well, if everyone’s done playing dress up, I’d really like to fucking eat now.”

Meals with Bill and Frank were always pleasant. 

Well, meals with Frank were always pleasant.

 Although Bill had gotten used to having you and Joel over as guests and didn’t see either of you as a threat anymore, he still preferred to keep you both at arm’s length, a choice you two respected. He hardly ever said much and often chose to let his partner do all the talking unless the conversation had anything to do with trading supplies. Only then would he step in. 

As you’d tucked into your meal of wild rabbit and garden vegetables, you could feel Joel throwing subtle glances your way every so often. It was half expected that he would, seeing as he’d never seen you like this before. He was so used to seeing you in tattered, dirty old clothes with dirt and grime caked onto your skin and in your hair. 

Surely, he must have felt like he was sitting next to a complete stranger, not his smuggling partner.

About an hour later, once everyone has finished eating, you offer to help Frank clear and clean up the table and wash the dishes. He settles for letting you help him bring everything inside, but shoos you away before you can even think about lifting another finger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he says, waving you away from the kitchen sink with his hands. “You and Joel are taking off in just a couple hours, so go on and get some rest,” he suggests. “Oh, by the way, we found some new books to add to the collection. Might find something you like. Go ahead and check them out.”

“But I forgot my library card at home,” you joke lamely, although it earns you a sincere laugh from your friend. You pad out of the kitchen and into the living room, straight over towards a grand oak bookshelf that is packed tightly to the brim with dozens and dozens of books of various genres. You hadn’t been all that much of a reader before, but thanks to Frank, who always sent you home with at least two or three works in your pack, reading had become one of your favorite hobbies over the last few months, a sweet little escape that took you out of your shoddy apartment in the zone and into another world. You start searching the titles for the new finds he’d mentioned. Spotting one of them, you pluck it from the shelf, a paperback titled, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Opening it up, you begin thumbing through the pages, quickly realizing that it’s play—you’ve never read a play before. Still not convinced if it’s one you would like to take home with you, you flip back to the first page and start reading with a curious little hum. 

You had been so preoccupied with it that you hadn’t noticed Joel standing behind you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest until he clears his throat, and asks, “Find somethin’ good?”

Startled, you whirl around, nearly dropping the book in your hands. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you breathe out, clutching it tightly against your chest as your heart rate slows. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Not my fuckin’ fault you were too busy with your nose buried in a book,” he states, trying his hardest to fight the small smirk threatening to cross his lips. He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself away from the doorframe.

A chuckle escapes you, almost nervously, as he slowly starts walking over towards you, his brown boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He takes the book from your hands, humming as he reads the cover. “Shakespeare, huh?”

“You know Shakespeare?” you toss him a teeny, lopsided smile as you tease, “He from your time?”

Joel lightly smacks your arm with the worn paperback. “Yeah, I know Shakespeare and he was about four hundred fuckin’ years before my time, thank you very much.” He flips it over, eyes skimming the text on the back. “Had the world not gone to shit, you would’ve grown up and spent your entire middle school career being forced by English teachers to read all his shit and write essays tryin’ to interpret it all.” He hands it back over to you. “Here.”

“Sounds like a real fucking dream,” you deadpan. You glance down, running your index finger down the spine of the book. You’re trying, almost painfully, to ignore how Joel’s eyes glaze over you from head to toe. 

“Y’know, it’s kinda nice,” he remarks quietly, breaking the brief moment of silence that had fallen over the two of you. “Seein’ you like this.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the book and scoff. “What? In a dress?”

“When we’re here, you let your guard down. Ain’t always lookin’ over your shoulder. You smile a hell of a lot more.” He pauses, then adds, “You look happy here. Sure, this dress looks nice on you. Your smile looks even fuckin’ better, though.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. More than his words, it’s the genuine tone in which he had said them—you’d never even realized Joel noticed things like that. Whether you were happy or not, how often you smiled. Or didn’t smile.

You force a small chuckle. “It’s the only sense of normalcy that we get. Of course I look happy when we’re here. Because I am happy when we’re here.” Still refusing to meet his gaze, you turn around and walk over to the couch towards your pack. Opening the top, you quickly shove the book inside. 

When you hear Joel’s footsteps coming up behind you, you stiffen slightly.

“Frank, he adores the hell outta you,” Joel says. He seems to hesitate, but then continues, “You ever think of askin’ him to stay here?”

“You kidding?” You snort in response. “Bill wouldn’t allow that. Never.”

Joel’s hands go to his hips, knowing you had a point. “But you know Frank can convince him of almost anythin’, don’t you? And besides, believe it or not, Bill actually likes you. He loves Frank more than anythin’ and you make Frank happy.”

You finally turn around to face and find yourself caught off guard by how close he’s standing to you. “Joel, what exactly are you getting at?” You raise an eyebrow before playfully asking, “Are you trying to get rid of me or something, Miller?”

Joel quickly shakes his head. “Of course not. All I’m sayin’ is that—” He stops and lowers his voice, just in case Bill or Frank happen to be wandering nearby. “I like seein’ this side of you. The happy side. The normal side.” He shrugs his shoulders, the lean muscles of his upper body flexing with the movement against the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Seein’ you all cleaned up, well fed and content—” He trails off once again. “Shouldn’t be a rare occurrence, y’know? You’d clearly be better off here with them and you know that with Frank’s help, we could probably talk Bill into letting you stay.”

The second you realize he’s being serious, your smile fades.

“What? But what about you?”

“Darlin’, Frank’s good, but he’s not a goddamn miracle worker. Even if he tried, that’s not somethin’ Bill would ever go for,” Joel admits, lifting a hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “And even if he did, we’d fuckin’ kill each other by the end of the first week.”

Bill and Joel being neighbors?

Talk about a different kind of apocalypse, you think to yourself.

“I know that much,” you reply with a tiny eye roll. “What I mean is, do you honestly think that I would leave my life in Boston?”

“That ain’t no fuckin’ life—”

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “I know it’s not. But it’s my life with you, Joel.”

The rough creases on his forehead suddenly soften. That was the first time you’d ever seen that happen.

The scowl on his face wasn’t permanent after all.

“Yes, this is nice. This patch of town, this house, the running water, the food, the clothes—this is a decent life. More than decent. In this world that we’re living in, this place is heaven. But without you, all of it would mean absolutely nothing to me. I wouldn’t be happy here, not without you.”

Joel tilts his head back, shaking it lightly. “Think about what you’re sayin’ here.”

“I know what I’m saying.” Before your brain and your body can even make the connection, you find yourself taking a step towards him, shrinking the gap between your bodies even further. You glance up at him, somehow finally finding the courage to have your eyes meet his. “I refuse to leave your side, Joel. That’s never going to happen. Not if I can fucking help it. Do you understand that?”

Joel exhales the breath he’d been holding, his warm breath tickling your face.

“I mean it, Joel. We’re in this shitty ass fucking world, together. No little slice of heaven could ever get me to leave you behind, no matter how good it is,” you declare, silently wondering to yourself where the hell you were even finding the balls to confess all of this to him. “Okay?”

“You’d be safer here than in the QZ, with all that shit’s that been goin’ down—”

“I’m the safest when I’m with you, Joel. I know I am.”

You lift your hand to his face. At first, there’s minor hesitation on your part, but you will yourself to place it on his cheek. Although your touch is gentle, Joel can’t help but wince. Not because he doesn’t want you to touch him, but because it had been so fucking  long since anyone had ever touched him like that. 

Since he’d let anyone touch him like that. 

He closes his eyes and after a second or two of resisting, he finally allows himself to relax his tense muscles and he sinks  into your touch.

Joel lets himself savor the feeling of your hand on his face. His bottom lip gives a subtle tremble when you softly start to graze your thumb down along his jawline. His beard, which you often playfully tease him about now that it’s beginning to gray just like his hair, feels rough and scratchy, and yet somehow still soft underneath your fingertips.

“Hey,” you murmur, and he forces his eyes to snap open. “We’re in this together. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it’s going to stay,” you assure him. “My place is with you, Joel.”

Joel manages to speak through tight lips, his voice strained. “You really fuckin’ gotta stop talkin’ to me like that, darlin’.”

You carefully move your hand away from his face, letting it drop back down to your side. “Why?”

“‘Cause. Shit like that is dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” you repeat, almost laughing. “Of all the things—”

Then, Frank’s words from earlier come to mind.

He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.

Joel’s dark eyes flicker to the strap of your dress, noticing it had started sliding off your shoulder. Before he can even think to stop himself, he reaches out and pulls it up back into place, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin. “You’re so soft,” he murmurs under his breath. All those fucking years of working with you, even sharing a bed together, and he had no idea of what it was like to touch you.

“Joel…” 

Your heart had all but climbed up into your throat.

“Everythin’ you just said a minute ago, ‘bout not wanting to stay here without me,” he starts to say, “I know that it’s fuckin’ selfish of me, but I’m real glad you said it. ‘Cause no way in hell do I want a life without you. I know it’s wrong but—”

Placing your hands delicately on his shoulders, you lift yourself up on your toes and cut him off mid-sentence by pressing your lips softly against his. The clean scent of the soap Frank had given him to shower with fills your senses and you yearn to have more of him, you nearly ache to get a real taste of him—but your courage only went so far. Thankfully, Joel knows to take over from here. One of his arms snakes  its way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest while the other reaches up, the warm palm of his hand pressing against your cheek. His tongue swipes lightly across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore your mouth just a little bit further.

You eagerly grant him access, half expecting his mouth to ravage yours.

Much to your surprise, Joel remains gentle.

The way that he kisses you, the way he holds your body against his, the way his large hand—the same hand that slits throats and breaks bones—delicately cradles the side of your face like you’re made of porcelain. 

“Joel,” you nearly whimper his name when he breaks away.

His face remains just inches from yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting to catch his breath. “We’ll need to get goin’ soon.”

“I know.” You nod, hoping you don’t sound as disappointed as you feel. You can sense that Joel, much like yourself, is  at war with himself over what had just happened. Not that either of you regretted it, at least you certainly don’t, but the realization that you two have just crossed a line you’ll never come back from was daunting.

Joel lifts his head, lightly pressing his lips against your forehead. He then forces himself to release you from his arms and steps back, dropping them back down at his sides. “I need to, uh, I need to go get some things from Bill. Y’know, get my pack ready before we take off.”

You nod again. “I’ll start changing and get another pack of supplies ready as well.” You pause, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Joel, about what just happened—”

He silently shakes his head before leaning down, capturing your mouth with his.

This kiss is short and quick, and when he pulls away, he says nothing. He turns on the heel of his boot and disappears, heading out to meet Bill in the garage. 

Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers lightly touching your lips.

“Well, well, well.”

Looking over your shoulder, your throat goes dry when you see Frank standing there, hands on his hips and a knowing, smug expression on his face. 

“How long have you been standing back there?”

“Long enough.” Even from a distance, you catch the amused twinkle in his eye. “What did I tell you?”

You turn away from him, biting your lower lip.

So maybe he’d been right after all.

Maybe you were Joel’s weakness. 

But he was yours too.

[keisobe]

── ౨ৎ ‧˚ 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 (𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧)

・⸝⸝ some hobie brown headcanons where you’re the complete opposite of him + not completely proofread

notes. this was inspired by the anon who requested for “polar opposites” (i’m still working on that request TT). i’m a sucker for couples with different aesthetics because it reminds me of hachi and nana hshshddh ♡

you guys share an apartment together, and the contrast between your guy’s decor can be laughable. hobie has crumbled newspaper cutouts and band posters sprawled all over his walls— graffiti to roughen it up even more. while you had a dainty wallpaper with printed flowers, topped with assortments of neatly lined photos of you and hobie taken during your dates.

that’s why the living room in your apartment is completely bare. except for some framed photos of more cute memories and the dried flowers that hobie (stole) bought you on your first date. mostly, the trinkets you both own are scattered around the apartment.

hobie would be pouring cereal into a pink, bunny ceramic bowl. while you drink raspberry tea in a ridged mauve mug with the words ‘fuck capitalism’ written in hobie’s scratchy handwriting. and yes, you did take hobie to a pottery class as a cool date idea (he thought it was a cute idea too).

hobie always wears a copious amount of studded leather belts but also, your plush keychain(s) securely clipped onto his belt loops. hobie loves to show them off whenever he’s out with his bandmates— “ain’t it a lil’ cute? ‘s even got a lil’ blush on ‘s cheeks.” and that doesn’t limit him during his nightly patrols, he would get a few insults about having a ‘stupid toy’ on his belt, to which he would punch the daylights out of them and trap them in a thick layer of web.

you also proudly accessorize your bags with hobie’s handmade keychains. your favorite was a little replica of his guitar and a pink star that “represents you”. but because they are personally made, he would leave song lyrics and flirty comments written in the back of each keychain— marking the date when he gifted it to you.

going shopping with hobie was also lots of fun. there was a nearby boutique that you always shop at; selling exclusively skirts and dresses adorned with frills and bows, and hair accessories that are covered in pearls and ribbon (he honestly sticks out like a sore thumb but he couldn’t care less). hobie helps you pick out stuff, taking clothes off the rack and asking you to try it on. he compliments you every time you show off, giving you a little twirl and whispering a suggestive comment that makes you slap his chest. if you decide that you weren’t particularly fond of the outfit, hobie would go out of his way to put away said clothes back into its rack whilst having a good chat with the shop owners (they love him to bits).

one time, you decided it would be fun to wear some of his stuff. putting on a studded leather choker he left on his bedside table, you walked out with your chin held high and a grin so big. immediately, hobie felt like he combusted five times and went over to graze a hand over your leathered neck— “you’re an absolute looka’ babe.”

whenever you guys are out, he would always keep an eye out for your skirt. not in a weird way, but to make sure it doesn’t show private bits that would entertain creeps that would pass by. that’s why he would subconsciously linger his hand on your hips and he would always let you sit in the subway train, amusingly eyeing down at you drawing whilst he holds onto the upper railing— guarding you with his solid frame.

you’re a real sucker for british dating shows. it wasn’t like you believed in them, but found them heavily entertaining. hobie had always been fond of the things you like, even though they completely contrasted his personal aesthetic and interest. but he cannot, for the life of him, agree with dating shows. as you snuggled into him and share a fluffy blanket— watching the latest season of said dating show, he would cackle as he gives snarky comments at every moment and heavily criticize the whole concept of “making yourself look li’ a knob on the telly” (you sent him to his room afterwards, he apologized the morning after).

MOCHIFILM © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[beomie3]

night lounge - cbg

☆ summary: the nights spent at your favorite night lounge are everything you could ever need. until one night, you stumble upon a man that makes you rethink.

☆ wc: roughly 4k

☆ content: slow burn smut, beomgyu is a gentleman in a jazz band, light bondage (he uses his tie to fasten your wrists), light drinking, cursing, unprotected, lots of kissing :p, fluffy ending, he’s dominant in this <3

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your favorite late-night lounge lies hidden in the underground of a ritzy hotel amidst the city; candlelit and cozy, black silk sofas and a bar equipped with all the drinks for a perfect night.

it'd been your nighttime getaway ever since you discovered it accidentally one night. you haven't found a place quite as unique as it.

you just can't get over the smooth jazz band that plays in it's designated corner every saturday night at sundown when you arrive. the blend is perfect to the ear; smooth saxophone, soft drums, pretty piano, and sometimes a bassist who would join in at midnight and play well into 3 a.m. which is usually when you decide you're satisfied with your night and head home. which to be frank, it's hard to decide when to leave when it's your comfort place. it simply couldn't get better.

or so you thought.

you sat at the usual velvet barstool under the star-shaped chandelier, taking in the ambiance of the dreamy lounge as always. the subtle murmur of guests and clinks of glasses filling the room, dim with dainty light fixtures and flicker of candles in small glass jars at every table.

dried flowers, fairy lights, and classical paintings adorned the walls in such a beautiful way that made you feel nostalgic. like a museum in paris had been turned into a swanky hangout.

if you could describe the place in one word it would be; classy. no, elegant. no.. dreamy. there were just so many attributes to describe your favorite place, you couldn't begin to put your finger on one.

the peace you felt here while sipping red wine or a cocktail while listening to the smooth blend of instruments from the live ensemble was unmatched to any other place ever, like your own little neverland that you escaped to at nightfall.

the bartender you knew well had just placed a tall glass of chardonnay in front of you, setting tonight's mood as you relax under the liquid's musky yet enjoyable flavor.

cozying into the velvet seat, you shifted your attention back to the band, also paying mind to the people subtly beginning to fill the lounge as the night commenced; observing different groups of friends or couples who entered in intricate outfits, most faces familiar to you. admittedly, people watching was a pastime you fairly enjoyed.

but suddenly there appeared the face of a man you had yet to see, noticing his tall figure immediately as he came down the steps with a certain presence that radiated nothing but confidence and poise.

maybe it was the all-black suit he wore or the way his feathered ebony hair parted over his eyes in such a way that made you stare, following his every step into the warm glow of the lounge.

you wondered if he'd come here all along, or if he was simply a figment of your imagination after only two sips of your glass.

he's here for the same reason as you, it seems, as he briskly makes his way over to the bar.

noticing his approach you try your best to disregard him, acting as if you hadn't just watched his entire procession into the lounge.

"anyone sitting here, miss?" a sudden deep and breathy voice calls out from beside you, a dull pang at your stomach when you turn towards the man and realize how much more handsome he is up close. the way the dim light encapsulates his face, noticing the subtle gloss over his skin.

"you." you keep your wits about you, noticing the way the corner of his lip tugs upward when he nods toward you. swiftly taking the seat.

you turn and face the jazz ensemble again, tongue in cheek as you can feel his warmth beside you, trying your best to seem unfazed by his presence. 

although your eyes are on the band, your ears are keen to his thick voice as he orders; a gin martini on the rocks and a side of lime, please. oh and put the jazz band on my tab while you're at it.

you nearly whip your head around at the sound of his request to put the jazz band on his tab. regardless, there were only four members but still...you were in shock and mostly intrigued. it isn't an act of kindness you'd usually hear at the bar.

the waiter gets to work on his drink and your eyes drift to him like a magnet drawn to metal; his mystery, you just wanted to freeze time and observe him.

once your eyes were on him you just couldn't resist the question that lingered on the tip of your tongue.

"do you know the jazz band?" you circle the rim of your glass with a finger, his chocolate eyes immediately boarding into yours along with all of his attention.

"i do. or else there wouldn't be one," his smile slowly grows as yours does, sipping his drink as it arrives. keeping his eyes on you all the while. he's only spoken two sentences to you but you swear there is something about his aura you just can't get enough of.

although he kept his response short and sweet, you put two and two together and concluded that he founded the band or something of the sort. either way, you just couldn't take your eyes off of him.

"well then today is my lucky day," you bring your glass to your lips and he lets out a deep chuckle, setting his glass down with a smirk at you. eyes still glued to his while he briefly looks away to set his glass down, you try taking him all in; the tiny freckle on his cheek, the silver ring in his earlobe, his long eyelashes. he was almost unreal.

"choi beomgyu," he holds a hand out to you, impressed with how much of a gentleman he's been in not even the five minutes you'd spoken to him. sad how low your expectations were after how many royal douchebags you'd come across at this bar.

you state your name in response, taking his warm hand and resisting the urge to smile too big when he slightly bows his head toward you, eyes never leaving yours as he gently shakes your hand.

that wasn't until he brought the back of your hand to his lips like a prince to a princess, that your heart nearly beat out of your chest; simply carried away by his charm. you’d never been greeted this way.

"i take it you enjoy my band," he slowly releases your hand. "rare to see someone just sit. listen. enjoy the music." he slightly reclines, bringing his glass back to his plump lips with those deep brown eyes on you.

"saturday nights are always my favorite." you nod, slightly reclining in your seat too, mimicking his body language.

"i know." his smile slightly grows behind the rim of his glass, wondering how the hell he knows if you'd never met him in your life.

"and how is it that you know that?" you slightly tilt your head, crossing your legs toward him and narrowing your eyes in await for a response.

"velvet chair at the end of the bar under the star-shaped chandelier. it's your seat. how could i not know where the most beautiful woman in this place sits?"

you're good at not showing how flustered you are; legs tightly crossed together, cheek caught in between your teeth, biting back the biggest damn smile.

"saturday nights are my favorite too," he looks over at the band and it isn't until he makes a bass-playing gesture with his fingers that the puzzle pieces click.

he's the bassist that comes on the stage when the lights go dark at midnight with only candles and fairy lights left to illuminate the room as people slow dance. you thought his silhouette might have looked familiar when he came down the stairs, considering that was all you ever knew of him.

he chuckles at your reaction to it finally clicking within you, truly appreciating your deep love for his performances, as no one usually cares much.

you and choi beomgyu continued chatting the night away, and he can see deep in your eyes that you're passionate about what you talk about. he loved finding out that the girl he always keeps his eye on when he's on stage secretly always admired him and his work.

when the bartender comes around with refills, beomgyu only orders water, finding it rather refreshing that a man can control himself and find satisfaction in only one drink as you usually do.

at midnight when the lights dim, beomgyu leads you hand in hand to the front row of the stage, getting to watch his performance front and center. he loves seeing you so close, usually having to deal with watching you from afar when you sat at the bar.

he performs dried flower, your favorite song preformed by the band. you watch his fingers caress the strings, long and dainty, pretty fingers. clad in expensive rings. wrist dangling with dainty charm bracelets. he has a certain class that is hard to find in men, and you feel yourself falling for him every passing second.

hes so passionate when he plays; eyebrows slightly furrowed as he instinctively plucks every note just perfectly. you’re also keen to every woman staring at him when his solo comes, whispering and giggling amongst one another. you grin.

after, he steps down and joins you in the crowd, asking for your hand and the two of you slow dance to the soft jazz, your head in his chest as he carefully steps with you. he smells of soft cashmere, and that’s the last thing you take note of before you’ve fallen completely head over heels.

the lights dim a bit more, his face barely lit by the candles but you can still see the sparkle in his eyes. his gaze is soft, yet intense and your heart stops as his face inches closer.

before you know it, your lips are touching what feels like velvet pillows; his lips. your heart races, blood rushing to your face and he pulls you closer, feeling his chest press against yours.

his sweet kiss lingers on your lips. you must have a sweet tooth, because you’re craving more.

“how about we get out of here?” his eyes are so intense on yours, realizing your fingers had interlaced into his long ago as you slow danced.

your eyes say it all; both of your body language says it all. you can practically feel your body heat radiating through your silk dress. cheeks flushed as he guides you through the crowd and out into the cool night air.

the taxi ride to his place is tense as you sit hip to hip, his fingers tracing your palm and you can’t seem to take your eyes off of one another. the taxi driver is the only thing keeping him from saying some not so appropriate things out loud, so instead he whispers them in your ear and you’re a giggling mess.

his high rise apartment is classy like him; low lighting and wooden accents, a baby grand piano in the corner under a chandelier, record player and a vinyl collection. an array of basses and guitars adorning the living room. it reminds you of the lounge, in fact; classical paintings and candles and dried flowers on the dining room table.

the tension only builds and builds, until it snaps.

he does so much as put a record on and offer you a glass of wine before your lips are on each other’s again. messy makeout, fingers intertwined in hair. his fingers precisely unbuttoning his suit before sliding under your silk dress.

the two of you stumble toward his king bed and you help him loosen his tie but he ushers your hand away, swiftly removing it from himself.

you fall backwards on his bed, feeling the silk sheets fluff up around you, cold against your boiling skin. he stands between your legs, pulling you toward the edge of the bed toward him with hands hooked underneath your thighs.

“hands above your head,” his voice is husky, eyes dark as he towers over you. dark brown hair messy and fluffed over his forehead.

his demand makes you twice as soaked and you swear a puddle has formed between your legs. you do as he says, feeling the cold air waft against the sensitive skin of your under arms and you’re pelted with goosebumps.

“good girl,” his voice is low, eyes dark. his cock twitches in his pants as you had done what he said, leaning down to hold your hands in place. your eyes widen when he uses his black tie to begin tying your hands together above your head.

“is this okay?” he focuses intensely into your eyes as he makes several concise knots, his voice tender and genuine as you bite your lip. it’s more than okay.

“mhmm,” you moan into his lips as he kisses you, pressing his hips against your clothed heat, legs spread, wrapping around his torso.

you didn’t know what to expect from this choi beomgyu guy, but you could tell he was amazing in bed since the moment you met. he’s had you on edge, turned on since the moment he spoke. he really knows how to turn you the fuck on.

you’re completely out of control now, your wrists fastened tightly together by his tie but you love the feeling more than you ever expected.

he starts slow but increasingly gets more feral. starting by kissing your neck softly, he slips your silk dress off and blood rushes straight to his dick.

you’re wearing a lace bra, extremely see through so that he can see that your nipples are hard and poking out him. but what makes him nearly salivate; you’re not wearing any underwear.

well, you were wearing underwear earlier tonight at first arriving to the lounge, but you’d taken them off somewhere along the night.

“check your pocket,” you eyed the front pocket of his suit jacket and when he stuck his hand in it to discover a pair of lacy underwear, his tongue darts to wet his lips. he fought the urge to absolutely fuck the shit out of you right here right now.

“such a sneaky girl, hm?” he cocks his head to the side, the hint of a sly grin on his lips as he slides his suit jacket off, leaving him only his white button up shirt, yet it’s unbuttoned so that you can see his bare chest and torso peeking through. he pushes the sleeves up and runs his fingers through his feathered hair to expose his forehead briefly. he’s so unbelievably sexy.

his hands are a bit rougher on you now, gripping the fat of your hips as he tongue kisses you, so messy and wet and hot. trailing his lips all over your chest, he bites your nipples softly through the lace and it feels so fucking good. he makes a mess of his spit, kissing your body until his reaches your bare pussy, already drenched for him.

“already so fucking wet and i haven’t even done anything,” he groans at the sight of your wetness dribbling out and onto his sheets. he really can’t believe his eyes at how soaked you are, can’t stop thinking of how good you’re going to feel when he fucks you.

his lips are level with your lower ones and he stares up at you through fluffed bangs over his thick brows. you anticipate what his tongue will feel like inside of you, shuddering when his hot breath wafts against you. you’re so sensitive.

he supports your thighs with his hands, setting each of your feet to rest on the tops of his shoulders. you’re spread wide open for him so that he has the best view of your entirety.

he hasn’t even fucking done anything and you moan out, a deep chuckle rumbling in his throat. just the air exuded from his nose when he breathes brushes against your clit and stimulates it.

his tongue finally traces over your bud and you whip your head back onto his memory foam mattress. you can’t do this; no, there’s far too much pleasure. you’d never been this sensitive with anyone in your life. you'd never been this turned on by anything.

when his lips attach to your clit and suck, your hands shoot into his soft hair, grabbing handfuls of it as you whimper loudly; slurping sounds and moans echoing throughout his bedroom. your sounds egg him on; cock twitching violently in his pants with every single one of your sweet sounds.

when he inserts two long fingers into you and curls them up to your g-spot, it’s over for you. it only takes about four strokes of his fingers until you’re spasming, fluttering intensely around his fingers and grinding yourself into his face. his moans vibrate against you. no one had ever made you finish this fast.

“god beomgyu you’re- so fucking good-,” you huff out of breath between words, heavy head thrown back, chest heaving. his ego is stroked yet again.

the recovery from your orgasm is fast as he is quick to kiss you, need prevalent in his veins as you feel fire in him with the way his lips devour yours.

you clench around nothing, squeezing his arms tightly as nervous shudders course through your veins. you need him.

“choi beomgyu,” you whisper against his lips and his hungry eyes board into yours, lips puffy and glossy; he’s looks way too hot right now. you lean up to whisper in his ear.

“fuck me,” your voice is quiet, desperate. hot breath seeping down his neck. he is done for. he's kept his composure this long. but there is always a point where he absolutely loses it.

he can’t wait any longer, swiftly unbuckling his belt and dropping his perfectly ironed black trousers down to his knees along with his boxers.

when his cock springs out, it slaps up against his abdomen with a heavy thud and your eyes widen. he’s got a big fucking dick. your throat bobs as you swallow down a bundle of nerves.

“holy shit,” you say under your breath but he hears you; dark smirk spreading across his lips. he looks down at himself, spreading the ooze of precum around his tip; a darkened pink shade with all of the blood flowing up to it.

since the moment you saw him walk through the door at the lounge tonight, you’ve wanted to fuck him. but the moment he saw you for the first time; oh he’s been wanting to fuck you for months.

"what was that darling?" he leans down to look into your eyes, tender touch against your cheek as he snakes a hand around your thigh and pulls it up so that your knee is up against your chest.

"hm?" his lips are inches away from yours, eyes dark and flicking down to your lips and back up into your eyes repeatedly. he throws your leg over his shoulder.

your heart strums against your ribs as you're anxious to take him, yet you can't wait.

"you can take me, right gorgeous?" he tilts his head and you can't process how beautiful he looks right now; soft, chandelier lights of his bedroom reflect from his big, brown doe-shaped eyes. your mauve lipstick smeared across his lips and chin. hair tousled back, revealing his perfect eyebrows and forehead. the sheen of sweat glimmering from his skin.

"i can take you," a small grin is on your lips as you fiddle with the end of his tie around your wrists, realizing that having your hands tied above your head has made you way more sensitive than normal.

looking down at the space in between the two of you, he rubs the tip of his cock up and down your folds, causing you to shudder. he places small kisses to your knee, as it's resting by his cheek.

you suck air through your teeth when you feel a slight stretch as he guides himself into you, going slow enough to get you adjusted to his tip. you keep your eyes locked as he slides the rest in little by little, moans growing louder as the stretch intensifies. looking down, you realize he's only half-way in and you look up at him, lip caught between his teeth.

the stretch is so intense, but not as intense as his eyes on yours, searching deep into your soul. his hands come up to fiddle with the knot of his tie around your hands, suddenly feeling it loosen and your hands are free. immediately, they fly into his hair, thumbs soft over the sides of his face. he untied them for this exact reason; to feel your intoxicating touch all over him.

suddenly, you feel his hips meet the back of your thigh, and that's when you know he's all the way in. your mouth is agape as he slowly begins moving in an out of you, crashing your lips back to his as the skin of his thighs begins to slap against yours.

his hands are busy on you; one palming your tits as the other hooked under your thigh to keep your leg situated atop his shoulder.

taking him raw feels so wrong but so right; the edge of his tip feels fantastic against your g-spot, thick veins massaging you just right. your arousal leaves a milky white ring around the base of his cock as he slams into you. he collects some, bringing it to your mouth, followed by crashing his lips to yours again so that you can both taste it together.

“you feel so fucking amazing,” he breaks the kiss to speak to you, followed by a moan as he slams as deep as he can into you. you’ve ajusted well at the is point that the pain has turned into pleasure. his soft whimpers in your ear were enough to make you even wetter, easing the process of being stretched out.

he shuts his eyes as you’re sucking him i’m so perfectly, so turned on by the squelch of your pussy every time he enters you. he fights back the urge to cum, but it’s so hard with how beautiful you look right now.

your face is contorted in pleasure, hair sprawled out all over his bed, shimmery sheen on your skin from a mixture of sweat, tits bouncing with every slam of his hips.

“god you’re taking it so well,” he groans against your neck, lifting your other thigh so that both of your legs are swung over his shoulders. he’s impressed by your flexibility as his chest is pressed against yours, realizing just how far he is leaned down against you.

his hips are rhythmic against yours, grinding himself into you, a good tactic to stimulate your clit with this pelvis. it’s like he’s a professional.

his name along with a mixture of curses leave your lips in drawn out moans as your nails dig into his back, the sound of his name nearly drives him insane and he fucks you harder.

you feel the familiar ache in your core with every thrust, and he already knows you’re close because of how much tighter you’ve become around him.

he’s a moaning mess, deep voice like honey in your ear as you suck him in even tighter now. he reaches down to thumb at your clit and you’re right there, right on the edge.

“harder beomgyu, fuck me harder!” you bite down on his shoulder, his hips slamming at a pace so fast that his bed is creaking so loud. your moans probably audible from outside his apartment at this point.

“you gonna cum for me? yeah? cum all over my cock sweetheart c’mon,” his voice is loud yet deep and husky. his eyebrows are furrowed together in pleasure, sweat dripping from his neck and onto your chest.

the slapping of skin is so loud now, and he gives you three precise thrusts before you completely combust.

your sporadic moans are not what tells him you’ve just finished, it’s the absolutely insane convulsions that he feels inside you, fluttering around him at what feels like 200 miles per hour.

it’s enough to push him right over the edge in an ínstense orgasm. he pulls out immediately, busting all over your tummy and angling it to get some on your chest and face. milky white all over you, and there’s a lot too.

he’s so god damn vocal as he cums, his head thrown back so that you can see his addams apple in full glory, bobbing up and down as he moans.

you wipe your chin of his cum and lick your fingers clean, addicted to his salty-sweet taste.

he looks so exhausted as his chest heaves, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. but he doesn’t lay down on the bed just yet; instead he walks to his bathroom, getting a towel to clean you up first like the gentleman he is.

he wipes his fluids off of you with a warm wash rag, tender eyes on your skin as he softly cleanses you. there is a soft quietness about the room, not awkward, soothing actually.

he helps you under his silk sheets once you’re all cleaned up and he snuggles under with you, propping his head up on his hand as he rubs small circles on your shoulder.

“i look forward to seeing you at every show,” his voice is soft, a tender smile on his lips. you love how calm he is, how respectful, how tranquil. almost like he’s healing something deep within you.

“always,” you smile in return. you talked about anything and everything, in love with the way his eyes were attentive to you, keen to every single thing you had to say.

finding his hand under the sheets, you fiddle with his fingers, imagining all the things the future has in store for the two of you. you just knew this was the start of something special.

you hear the record player in his living room echoing with your favorite song, dried flower.

“can i have this dance?” he squeezes your hand under the sheets, smiling. and although you’re both tired, you each slip on a robe and walk hand in hand to his candle-lit living room.

it feels like you’re meant to do this with him, like you’ve done it together before in a past life.

you thought nights at your favorite lounge were everything you could ever need. but that wasn’t true. because tonight, meeting the love of your life proved you wrong in every single way.

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note: here is a gyu fic!! tysm for continuing to support my works while i've been gone. i'm currently vising japan and i've been here for a few months :) i'm happy to announce i'm working on a tokyo part 3 for those who enjoyed tokyo and the sequel!!! i plan on releasing more fics in the mean time. i hope you enjoyed this one<3

[1starqi]

Hair Dryer

genre: fluff, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff

pairing: anton x reader

warnings: none

word count: ~700

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~▸ Now Playing: Forever Only

Your old, oversized t-shirt is soft against your skin as you put your hair up in a towel. The other arm of your boyfriend is tucked behind his head as he scrolls through his phone on the couch. He turns his face to you and his face lights up. On the coffee table lay two unexpected items: your pink hairdryer and a hairbrush.

“I had an idea when you were in the shower.” He confesses and seems to fidget with the fabric of his sweatpants pockets.

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask yourself as you sit down on the sofa next to him. 

Back facing him, he takes your wet hair in his hands and combs it with his fingers. “I shouldn’t brush it when it’s wet, right? Because it’ll break?” You nod gently, already relaxing from the long day. You’re impressed he remembers little things like that, but that’s always been his way of showing his love. Buying your favorite soda without you asking, remembering your favorite kind of flowers on dates, all of his gestures, really. They’re all full of his love for you. He slowly stands up to plug in the hairdryer. You close your eyes and feel the sofa sink softly when he sits back down. 

Hot air greets your neck as he turns it on the lowest setting, careful not to startle you. “Is the temperature okay?” He asks.

“No.” You mumble, tired and relaxed. The fact he could make you so comfortable makes him smile. If only you could see the concentration on his face as he rotates the dryer around your head. You feel his careful fingers lift up layers of your hair to dry it thoroughly. 

When it’s almost dry, he stretches an arm to get the hairbrush and runs it gently through your hair, and you swear you’re about to fall asleep. “I know you don’t like it when your hair dries all the way when you use the hair dryer.” He muses and continues brushing your hair. He’s nearly encyclopedic about you. He loves doing things for you. If you asked him to give you the moon you think he’d do it. “Do you have a hair tie?”

“Yeah.” You take a thick black band off of your wrist and hand it behind you, and his rough hand gingerly takes it from you.

He parts your hair into threes and when he’s done, he flips the expertly done braid onto your front for your inspection.

“It’s perfect. Where did you learn how to do that?” You query him, because, as far as you know, he’s never braided hair before.

“I watched some tutorials…” He confesses sheepishly. He looks awkward, but instead of thinking it’s awkward or embarrassing, you marvel at how hard he tries. You pepper slow kisses on his face and relax into him on the couch, gently pushing him backward onto the pillow-clad arm of the sofa.

“Thank you, baby. You’re sweet.” You praise him and a blush starts to form on his cheeks. Cute. Lying comfortably on his chest, you can only think about how much he shows how deeply he cares about you.

[steveshairychest]

Steve lies shirtless in Eddie's bed while reading Eddie's worn and annotated copy of Lord of the Rings.

He rereads the same sentence twice because it's hard to concentrate when he's hyper aware of Eddie sitting on his lap, a paintbrush held delicately in his right hand as he paints sunflowers on Steve's abdomen. A metal band Steve can't remember the name of plays softly in the background and Eddie sings along quietly; the mix of his raspy voice and gentle brush strokes causes goosebumps to appear all over Steve's skin.

Eddie's free hand runs up Steve's bare side as he leans forward to peer over the top of the book, his eyes full of concern. "Are you cold?" He asks in regards to the goosebumps.

Steve pulls the book closer to his face to hide the blush decorating his cheeks. "No. I'm not cold." He grumbles, which causes Eddie to chuckle, his hand tracing over the now dried flowers that are painted on his skin. He places the paintbrush onto the small plate that's covered in paint before taking his time to appreciate his own work.

Steve sighs and flips back to the previous page when he realises he didn't register any of the words. His mind is preoccupied, all it can focus on is Eddie's hands, Eddie's voice. Eddie Eddie Eddie.

"Am I distracting you?" Eddie bends down and brushes his lips against the flushed skin of Steve's chest, his hair falling loose of the bun he'd thrown it up in as he slowly kisses his way down Steve's navel.

"Yes, you are."

"Sorry." Eddie mumbles against the soft skin of Steve's stomach.

"No, you're not."

When Eddie's fingers ghost over the waistband of Steve's sweatpants, Steve sighs, throws the book onto the nightstand, and gives him a nod. "Go on, distract me properly."

Steve doesn't touch the book again until the next day when he's covered in dried paint and purple bruises of Eddie's own design.

[paintedstories]

Y/n was tired of being stuck in the castle, Only being known as the king and queen’s daughter. She wanted to experience the world, So she snuck into the village and met hwang hyunjin, Local troublemaker and peasant. Kinda a jack and rose plot where they don’t like each other at first, but y/n keeps going into the village and they eventually fall for each other, Hyunjin sneaks into the castle during a party and they fuck each other in her room trying not to alert the guards. And also hyunjin being like a huge perv towards reader but in a charming way😭😭

pleaseeee I NEED THIS from ur beautiful mind🙏🏽💕💕

PHILOPHOBIA

♥: Thank you for the request and kind words! 💋💌

⚠: cussing ; weapons; almost caught up s3x ⚠: This is an AU meaning the SKZ band does not exist, and Hyun-Jin does not know any of the members. ⚠: Reader is a female 🚺 She/Her ⚠: Peasant Hwang Hyun-Jin x Royal reader ⚠: SMUT ⚠: Master list 📃 halter*= the design of the top of the dress(go search it up it'll help visualise better)

"Fuck it, I'm done with all this bull-shit," the Daughter of the golden king said to herself, she hated being perfect in the peasant's eye, hated being the pretty image of her mother gold and father golden, hatred was a small word for the sentiment she felt for her family, whom wanted to marry her for money. Dreadful washer life to say the least.

While looking outside the beautiful floral decorated garden an idea came up to her beautiful head, which everyone thought was all but mischief, only innocence could be seen through her eyes, which was a good advantage in the big castle when she had to lie her way out.

And this is how she is in this situation, lying to her father about going to sleep faster than usual and pleading with him to let her leave before the royal dinner, is not like it was something special, just her, her mother, and her father.

Fortunately, he agreed, as she tried to contain the excitement in her eyes she got the front of the dress in her hands and rapidly walked to her room, chuckling slightly when her dad ordered her to walk like a lady.

Closing the door to her room and getting the gown that she had with her own "incapable" regal hands made so she will look like the other peasants. Putting her hair in a messy ponytail and getting the leather shoes she made so the fit will be a total success she looked in the elegant golden framed mirror to see herself, unrecognizable she thought with a smirk. Finally, she will see the world, finally!

Climbing from her beautifully decorated window full of drawings she made of flowers and happy couples who found love by destiny not by the force of family she smiled and jumped on the branch from the big old tree from her childhood that stayed in front of her window as a welcome to escape the prison her golden family called the perfect home and finally be free, for a little while sadly.

Looking down from the tree while making the dress shorter by folding it in a spiral mode and knotting it at the front she jumped on the next tree and the final one that had the branch thick enough to go and jump from the tip on the big stone made barrier that kept her away from the world for so long.

the click of her leather shoes was heart on the rounded stones from the so called unbreakable golden fence.

Her hopes were almost taken away when she saw how far the imperial village was, but seeing a horse-drawn carriage, fortunately, by a peasant and not one of the guards, she jumped on the dirt path and walked rapidly to the peasant while fixing her dress and asked the very kind old man if he could leave her in the center of the village.

the man smiled and gestured for her to go and sit next to him, the man looked kind had blue eyes and a crispy-looking beard, he was bald and had a sun hat that was made of dried hard leaves, the traditional, and in the carriage was dried grass.

They talked and she asked where he was from, she found out he lives in the out-gate of the village but he had work in the center, that's why he accepted to let her come with him.

She found out that he had a beautiful wife and unfortunately event of her miscarriage, but they still hoped and prayed to god to give them a child. She was happy that the first person she meet was so kind, and on the 30 minutes of her listening to the poor man talking about his life, she silently prayed for all the happiness to come to him, when they arrived she hugged him and left the man shocked and smiling as she waved to him and ran to the deeps of the center, where all the people where.

Then she saw a guy with long black hair and dirty white clothes steal from a lady that was paying attention to three singers in the middle, the angry girl ran after him screaming.

"Hey you coward come back, stop stealing!" she screamed after him and when he turned on his track to look at the screaming girl he got annoyed and angry, who was she to scream after him!?! he just glared at her and showed her the middle finger while he kept running, thinking he will lose her and eat the sweet he stole from that hag, little did he know that she was trained and she had the stamina of a soldier. when he thought he lost her he turned to look behind him while jogging and saw that she was still running after him.

"What THE FUCK! WOMAN, STOP FOLLOWING ME" he screamed while he continued to run and slowly start to gasp for air, realizing that he was going nowhere he jumped onto wooden casks, but when his foot touched the cask he flew on the floor, as they were empty and very old, meaning, very fragile.

She watched as he fell on his ass grunting and rubbing his back, she then rush walked to him and punched him in the face. "what was that for?!" he screamed while rubbing the part of his face where she punched him. "for being a coward thief and not getting a job like normal humans and living in poverty because you're lazy and a coward" she repeated the word coward to him twice because of the anger she felt, she hated cowards, and hated thief's even more!

"How can you live like this!" she screamed at him. He truly didn't know the answer himself, for a second you could see the pain in his eyes as he registers the harsh words of the girl.

"fuck off, you don't know anything... stupid woman" he pushed her off of him and then handed her a hand to get up and she, unfortunately, accepted, when she got up half a meter he let her hand go and she fell with a squeak, cute, he thought before shaking bis head and smirking while gesturing to her that now she could trust him by grabbing his hand but he did not grab it, instead she swatted his hand away with anger "fucking peasant" she muttered under her breath while getting up and leaving the boy dumbfounded.

she started walking away from him, mumbling to herself while patting the hem of her dress and sleeves.

but he wasn't having none of her stubborn attitude and with his long feet slowly walked to her, with a mischievous smirk.

"you're new here, never seen such a stubborn lady around here," he said while grabbing her by the waist. Swatting his hand away and walking further ahead without responding to him. He just shrugged his shoulders and walked ahead, feeling annoyed about the girl not being like the others.

Y/n decided to ignore the boy, as she said in her mind.

"he is not worth enough to deal with, I have to see other things than talk with a thief" and she continued her adventure through the village, for another 1 hour and a quarter when she came back to the castle fortunately with the same man as when she left, she found out he goes to the village every day. "perfect," she thought, she will sneak out and go with the man.

for the past three days, Y/n kept sneaking out, of course, her family thought it was weird how all of a sudden she was happy, but glad she was they did not disturb her with unanswerable questions.

as the day's passed of the beautiful girl sneaking out of the palace in the village, sometimes (quite often) meeting with the handsome boy, whose name was Hwang Hyun-Jin, she found out after an unfortunate encounter of him bumping into her the 100th time, she could confidently say, he became more and more annoying, she hated him and knew he hated her too, always pinching her waist or taking a bit of her hair and yanking it. He was the dear devil.

it was the 35th day of her sneaking out, keeping track of her sneakings was always good, of course very well hidden under a plank of wood of her floor.

the sneaking went as it always went, no one said, saw, or discovered anything, or she thought so.

but while being in the village, walking without any thought where, she started thinking about tomorrow's party, again needing to act as the perfect spoiled princess, glad could say she was that only royals would be, but as fast as she entered her thoughts a rather someone or a one rather annoying Hwang interrupted her thoughts. "Oh hello ~ There princess" he purred in her neck as he circled her, how did he know?! she thought scared but without showing an expression.

"Come on Princess, I've known from our first encounter, knew something was different with you," he said while sneaking his arm around her shoulder making her feel trapped. "and what if I am?!" she said annoyed. "nothing, nothing, just curious what a spoiled princess would want to do around here" rolling her eyes she swatted his hand away and went back to the man who she saw was going to his horse carriage and hoped in with a huff after of course greeting the old man.

Laughing slightly the man made the horses start walking and in no time she was at the back of the palace after he left she started climbing on her spot, but little did she know that a certain someone was watching her.

and as fast as that, the next day came and everyone was on alert to get ready, themself and the party.

and as the days always pass, the party came too, after the dinner, where she should have been, she could excuse herself in her room, as always, only the face, nothing more, only a pretty face.

Walking towards her room in the annoyingly long hall while huffing she finally arrived in her room and after closing the door and lighting a candle as it was getting dark she heard shuffling from her window when she turned to look around she almost screamed but the stranger slapped his hand accidentally too hard around her mouth while turning her around with her back to his chest.

"shh princess, we don't want anyone hearing us now do we?" he said, his breath tickling her neck sending shudders down her spine. "what, do you want?"

she manages to mutter after removing his hand from her mouth. "Oh, nothing sweetheart, I just, came here to get a taste from the mysterious girl" he smirked behind her while he kept holding the scared aroused girl in his strong grip, making her feel trapped.

He took her breath away when she was thrown into her bed by the man, and started kissing her hungrily, he told himself that if she wouldn't kiss him bake he would leave her, but she started kissing him and grabbing his hair.

When the girl started moaning, he knew he could continue.

Smirking into the kiss he motioned to her that he wanted her Halter, when she nodded he removed it and started kissing her chest making her whimper, slowly sliding down to grab the corset and untie it from behind her after making her stand in a sitting position and freeing her from the dress.

Seeing her naked body made him even more hungered by the girl. Kissing her softly on the lips then going down to her chest and tummy like a starved man, making you whimper and shakily call his name. "shh, sweetheart, don't let them hear you" he smirked while moving his hand down to your undergarments making your legs close. "no need to close your legs on me, I desire to see all of you, my dove" he said then slowly entered her making her whimper. " I love you my dove, every since- ngh fuck- I saw you" Her eyes widened, and cummed instantly after hearing him confess to her, he started pounding into her harder after feeling her clench on him and hearing her heavenly moans, few more thrusts and he got out cumming on her stomach while his eyes rolled to the back of his head and whimpered then let half of his weight fall on your body.

*knock*

*knock*

*knock*

"mistress is everything alright, I heard a moan of pain."

"oh n-no Brunhilde I just stumbled my toe to the leg of the bed, haha you know how clumsy I get when I'm tired, no need to check on me, you can leave, and tell the others not to disturb me as I'm going to my much-needed slumber!* she said trying o sound normal. only if her maid knew what happened. fortunately the maid left, leaving the two alone.

"so mistress what are we?" he said with a smirk moving his face at the crock of her neck and kissing her while leaving a hickey at the back of her neck not visible when having her hair down.

"I don't know, my father would never let me marry you..." she said with sadness in her voice and eyes.

he hugged her back to his chest and kissed her naked shoulder while moving his left hand soothingly on her waist up to her underboob and down to her ass.

"lets run" he said with devotion in his voice.

OH my god hi love!!

I'm sorry for responding so late but I loved the ask so much that I had to remake it 3 times haha.

If you liked it please reblog, it helps a lot ♥

[mossman004]

My aesthetic

hating school but loving to learn

messy and smudged cursive written in black ink

almost illegible notes

room full of house plants

candles everywhere because ew electric lights

scattered papers all over the floor and desk

owning a bookshelf but half of the books are in piles on the floor

obsessed with David Bowie, Queen and any other rock stars from the 70s

studying with music but the genre of music changes every 10 songs

drinking way too much tea and coffee

sleep?

shelves if trinkets collected from walks (rocks, crystals, bones, dried flowers)

annotating classics with words like "LMAO" and "that's rough buddy"

rereading dead poets society, the secret history and the picture of Dorian Gray a million times

obsessed with astronomy

researching topics and conspiracy theories at 3am

scrolling through TikTok and Pintrest instead or studying

Reading horror books (Lovecraft and Poe)

Only wearing Doc martens and converse cuz they're the only shoes i own

mixing grunge (flannels, ripped jeans, band tees, fishnets) with fancy clothes (grandpa sweaters, collard shirts, dress pants, blazers)

leather jackets covered in pins (bonus points if they're handmade)

loving cryptids and all things supernatural

crimes, sci-fi or horror movies playing in the background while studying

notes covered in doodles

hair constantly being messily pulled back

way too much jewellery

heavy eye makeup (bonus points if slept without taking off)

loving the rain/ dancing in the rain

Mars bars and mint aeros

book pages beside band posters on walls

obsessed with eyes ( but can't make eye contact)

spending cold days at art galleries, museums, and libraries

playing punk rock on guitar and classical music on piano

having the same hairstyle for 3 years

ink and paint covered hands

in love with the moon

talking to the moon and stars

freaking out about failing a test and then getting 100%

Greek Mythology

"Achilles was a bottom"

sleeping with 10 blankets

crying about dead historic figures in the middle of the night

using halloween decorations as everyday decorations

POMEGRANTE

justice for pluto

protesting women's and lgbtq rights

ranting about the issues of misogyny in ancient greece

coffee stained paper

finding random things in pockets

singing songs in different languages but not knowing what the lyrics mean

chipped nail polish

A bowl of used matches

[moondirti]

a pearl

Still scarred; you don’t think he’s ever not been. Still scarred, yet vivid enough to accept a gentle caress he said helped muffle the phantom pain. He’d tell you the stories as you did (hardly ever pleasant), and you’d cherished them enough to remember.

But the John that pistons into you now does so with muted malaise, a concoction that clusters too heavy on his tongue to fully form words around.

pairing: Captain John Price x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.5k summary: what follows bloodshed warnings: angst, seriously - angst, canon typical violence, gore, allusions to childhood abuse, lots of unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort, a happy ending (the bare minimum), rough sex, marking, p-in-v notes: i have nothing to say for myself. there's no plot, just vibes. sorry (not). very much based off the mitski song of the same name.

It starts a little something like this– 

Moments caught in the rhythmic flicker of a bedside lamp; golden, dim, dark. Golden, dim, dark. Pink flesh, blushed in foreign warmth, mottled in crops of chestnut hair you can’t help but run your fingers through. It’s sticky when it presses to you, slicked in half-dried sweat and the brine of a sour mission. You lick the salt from his collarbone, trying your best to place a firm kiss to it against the bludgeoning thrust of his body. 

He fucks you like he hates you.

Not always. No. 

But tonight, and in that perennial week that trails behind him when he comes home, he does. He finds you, supple enough for the two of them, with a restrained agony swimming in florentine eyes. It bleeds into blunt fingertips (calloused, too. Barnacles that rub rough on your breasts), staining you across the chest. You feel it in your lungs, scraping bone to marrow, your ribs a collapsible cage of sponge. And with the way he bears his weight on top of you, you think you just might. 

It’s entirely too much, violent in a way you don’t find behind a plate carrier, the heavy security of a gun in your arms. Vulnerable – some crushed flower, one might say. Ripe with gallons of water at its centre and nothing to use it on. You’re plucked, right off your stem, your petals caught between teeth. 

His hands stay planted on your hips, pinning them down to a sleep-soaked mattress while he plunges into you. One, ten, fifty times – years together and you’ll still never grow used to how thick he is. His cock is splitting, cleaving your cunt into two halves, filling you until a mushroomed head meets the gummy wall of your cervix. It falters then, nestled in that sweltering heat, before pulling back out to bruise you again. 

And you take it. Your own limbs remain wrapped around his back, curved to fit rippling muscle, your nails digging into the sinew. You could push him away, should you please, you’re far too familiar with this routine to kid yourself into believing he wouldn’t listen to consent. Fight and watch as he reluctantly breaks away, turning to less delicate vices; a Maduro cigar, toasted. Scotch with a water back, neat. 

But you cling to a sweet nothing he’d whispered to you once, crowded in the back of his old Audi Q5, his beard abrasive on the soft stretch of your neck, trailing desperate kisses. 

Bloody christ. Can live off you alone, sweetheart. 

It had held some semblance of truth then, caught under bad weather with the sky open to the heavens, a great cataclysm of rain pelting down on the car. A revenant vow, no witnesses; something for just the two of you until the day’s promised wedding – a novel, diamond-encrusted band, thin on your ring finger. 

(You now wear both his and yours on a chain around your neck. His embellishments narrow down to those dog tags, the ones that hang over you when you fuck – silver slips the only indication of the man beneath the uniform, a body to be brought back home once it’s been bled through.)

Younger. You remember it distinctly; right out of SAS training, his skin a canvas for memorised marks. You’d been able to map each one to its source; rings of red concentrated at the wrist, cigar shaped but not self inflicted. Silver lines on his knees, founded atop the Brecon Beacons from his long drag assessment. Scabbed knuckles that never seemed to heal, not since he’d punched through a concrete wall the night he decided to leave home. 

Still scarred; you don’t think he’s ever not been. Still scarred, yet vivid enough to accept a gentle caress he said helped muffle the phantom pain. He’d tell you the stories as you did (hardly ever pleasant), and you’d cherished them enough to remember.

But the John that pistons into you now does so with muted malaise, a concoction that clusters too heavy on his tongue to fully form words around. You imagine it tastes bitter, bitter and much like the ichor that blooms to your cuticles. You don’t expect him to reel those horrors back with him – the sight of a dead mother after his executive order to shoot all potential hostiles. You know he’d much rather find sanctity here, with you. But he bends under the perceived punishment you inflict, groaning when you carve crescent shaped divots into him; and it comes clearer to you than anything else. 

His burden as Captain finds him far beyond the field. You’re just not made privy to it. 

You let him express it in the only way he can.

It goes a little something like this–

You don’t ask, despite the named tension that floods the chilled bathroom. 

He lets you shower first. Actually, almost commands you to, murmuring the words into sex clogged air while he cradles your quivering thigh. He waits until you find your strength again, nudging a tear away from your cheek with restrained tenderness. He guides you while you make your way, his touch smoothing from the small of your back to your shoulder, where it clamps down to steady you.

You can’t pinpoint the expression that twitches beneath his moustache as he does. It’s much too complex under the varicoloured delirium that clouds you. You see, you hear, you feel and smell and taste the oceanic headiness at the back of your mouth, yet none of it crackles back to your synapses where you can properly process his disquietude. 

So, you whimper a little asseveration in place, the sound of it lost amidst hissing pipes when he sets the shower for you. 

I missed you.

Maybe he doesn’t hear it. Maybe it’s drowned in the same chasm that eats him alive. But his eyes catch yours before he turns to leave, and they flicker with the light reflected off the faucet. Or, you’re tricking yourself, and it’s recognition of something he can’t reciprocate. 

By the time it takes you to clear your throat, he’s gone – off to his spot on the balcony, no doubt, stretched on an armchair you’d bought especially for him. You’d set a Maduro box on the coffee table between his seat and yours. 

And you can smell it on him when he returns. 

He must time it so you’re already out when he comes to wash up. You check it on the watch he’d discarded by the sink – forty five minutes to the second, a gratuitously long stretch to press on sore legs, but the water had been nice. He’d known the exact temperature to turn it to. 

(He used to avoid the spray during your times together, too. 

Any hotter, eh? It’s barely blistering.

You were the one who insisted on joining.

And kneaded your reddened flesh when you asked him to moisturise your back.)

His baths are militaristic in comparison to yours – he’s always in, soaped, and out before you get to your hair. You’d teased that he does it to avoid those grim thoughts that taint deluge silences – the ones no one is immune to. Perhaps you’d been on the mark.

So, you don’t ask. But you try and bear through ten more minutes upright, standing in front of the mirror, a towel around your bust, untangling the jewellery that’d been neglected in his absence. 

You hardly get through your wedding chain when he finishes, picking at the same stubborn knot. 

“You’ll get sick,” John gruffs, padding up behind you. You move over for him to reach the towel rack and pointedly avoid the large mass in your peripheral, hanging between thick thighs, nested in chestnut curls.

“If rearranging my guts wasn’t enough to ail me, then what harm can a bit of cold do.” You jibe. He gives you a grunt in response, tucks a corner into the wrap around his waist and sticks his hand out.

“Let me see that.” 

You blink, looking up at him for a split second, before handing over the chain. The bathroom provides a brighter luminescence than the glow of the hazy bedroom. 

It’s then you notice a hardly healed cut on his shoulder, sutured with black stitching. 

And one on his chest. 

And leg. 

A purpling bruise, stippling the expanse of his abdomen, furling over the side of it to darken into black. 

You’re caught like that – staring, hands at your chest – for far too long. If he realises, he doesn’t say, pulling at gold strands until something gives. 

But his elbow tucks closer to hide the discoloration, the gesture veering on childish insecurity. Though that conclusion rolls between your teeth; a pearl that won’t dissolve and is much too large to swallow. Things can never be so simple with John. He fits the world in ways you’ve spent your entire marriage attempting to figure out – like a sole jigsaw piece, made with no greater picture in mind.

(You cut yourself to suit it, sometimes. He changes shape before you can catch up.)

The action is an inclination you can never fully acknowledge, then; not until it’s you racing to see what can heal first – your body, or your mind. So you single in on the bulk of his arm instead, expanding thew with the movement, choking back the stone lodged in your chest. It becomes easy to lose track of time like this, returning to your perpetual dysthymia. 

You’re only snapped out of it by the smokey gravel of his voice, somehow simultaneously full-bodied and edging on a whisper. It pops like wet wood on a campfire, seething with an undercurrent of resignation, like it’s aware of its failure to fully fuel the kindling heat. 

(You still feel it though; like a deafening salvo in the chamber of your hollowed gut. Butterflies turned gunpowder. It holds the same effect.)

“Here.” 

And he hands you your necklace back, unravelled.

Brushing your teeth, you point to the hickeys decorating the column of your neck, then at his own wounds. 

“Look, we match.” 

His reflection tenses, the razor pulling away from his jaw. John opens his mouth – knuckles blooming white, clutching the edge of the sink – then snaps it shut upon scanning your foamy grin. 

He goes back to lining his mutton chops, his lips pursed in a grim line.

Maybe you should’ve stayed quiet.

It ends a little something like this–

Moonlight filters through sheer curtains, ballooning with the tranquil breeze. You left the window open to allow some air while he finds his rare sleep. 

You’re usually the first to knock out, but you stay awake on certain nights, these nights, stuck on vigilant duty against forces you can’t quite keep at bay. You know where he keeps his guns – taped to the sides of dressers or under a chair. They aren't anything you need. No. Now, you weaponize your hand, spread flat and smoothing over a coarse head of hair. You brush the strands that stick to his sweaty forehead and pull down the duvet when you notice his continuous battle with the heat. 

Then, the nightmares start. 

It’s subtle at first. No stranger would notice. 

You cradle his forearm and his pulse quickens under your thumb. Doldrums, a war cry. His body thrums with awakened adrenaline as his pupils thrash behind fluttering eyelids. It’s an unsettling tremor that vibrates through you, the mattress, the still midnight where things tend to find their peace. You bite your lips through it and hope the worn-film memories go easy on him. 

His breathing breaks into a stuttered pace. He’d forgone a shirt, clad in just plaid bottoms, and his chest gleams with a thin layer of cold perspiration. It shakes with him, rapid inhalations, his lip twitching while his body tries to regulate the instinctual fear. Your touch never leaves his head, your other, freer hand wrapping around twitching fingers. 

And so begins the paralysis. The purgatorial state where nothing exists outside of stifling sheets and the distancing sounds of fusillade. You can tell when he comes to uneasy wakefulness – wavering in and out of a fight long since filed away in manilla cabinets – when his digits go rigid underneath yours. He gasps in one final, drawn-out convulsion, assured in his survival, before his eyes snap open to the present. 

He grabs your wrist and flips you over in the split second afterwards. 

You can’t help the scream that pitches at the assault. It’s not the first time this happens, but never has he been so quick to act. 

“John–” 

“Fuckin’- Fucking hell.” 

His inflection warbles, still a victim to whatever profound helplessness overtook his dream. 

“Are you okay?” You lament into the scant space between you. His nose brushes yours. You can feel the red-hot distress radiate off him in waves. 

“Y-You… Affirm– Yes. Yes, I’m solid.” Though his eyes don’t meet yours. 

You nod. He doesn’t let go of you. 

“Water?” 

“Scotch.” 

“You’re not going back to sleep?” 

“No.” 

He flinches when you caress his cheek, brushing over wrinkled crows feet. 

“You need your rest, John.” 

“You haven’t slept, either.” The reaction holds more venom than he likely intends. You use the lowlight to memorise the way he appreciates his anger, the hissed admonishment echoing back with full force. Before his brow can crease again, you place a tentative peck to his chin. His jaw ticks at the movement. 

“I will if you do, yeah?” He doesn’t agree, but his shoulders drop with an exhale. “Let me go, I’ll fetch a bottle for you.” 

His face bows, a retired concession. It’s a side of him you hadn’t had the privilege of seeing, not until your first morning together, post-honeymoon. 

(I have to go, love. My flight’s in an hour. 

Stay. Just ‘till I fall back asleep. 

He had.)

You’d miss it if you had stayed basking in the thought. His lips, chapped and bitten and cracked, brush over your knuckles when he pulls away. 

You smile like a fool on your mission for refreshments. And, on your way back from the kitchen, you clasp over the rings on your necklace. An old habit, a happy tick. 

(You almost drop the water when you feel only one; your classic, round diamond ring. 

But you find his adorning his finger when his left hand reaches for the bottle.

You hadn’t noticed he’d taken it off the chain.)

The next morning, he tells you about Serbia and the calamity that brought upon new disfigurements. He grieves it in between thrusts, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck, his grip unabashedly bruising on your breasts. So we match, he echoes.

Still scarred. Always will be. But he dives deep into the personal upon remembering the comfort in your low hums. 

(Your nails circling the marks on his palms - he’d told you about his dad two years in.

It helps. 

What does? 

When you trace over them like that.) 

A week after every return to his house, John finally settles and rediscovers home.

taglist: @yeyinde @guyfieriii @nqberries @kkinky @ravenhood2792 @allekat1988 @rattlemyb0nes @simonrileywife @melancholyy-hill @sexlapis @s-u-t @sweetybuzz25 @hypernovaxx @glassgulls @superbafango @eternallyvenus @thoticious @noassparetime

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[strawbs-screaming]

★more punch out headcanons ★

my favorite punchy men can be weirdos. as a treat

- Carmen has every flower Don gave her,she dries them and hangs it around the house, Don finds it absolutely heartwarming

- hondo has fallen asleep while meditating multiple times, especially after rough training sessions

- Aran sometimes adds salt or lemon into other boxers waters for fun, he gets away with it somehow

- great tiger used to make smoothies everyday when he was in college, his roomates absolutely despised him for it since he did it early in the morning and he got his ass kicked on the last day

- bear hugger has been thrown into a lake multiple times by ms bear

- Mac used to eat sand as a child, he was a total gremlin when he was little

- joe has been in the wvba longer than pretty much everyone so he knows everyones cringy phases and has embarrasing pictures of everyone, he likes pulling them out during arguments

- kaiser has the most embarrasing scream ever, King Hippo was the first one to find out by accidentally jumpscaring him

- Disco kid used to be in a band when he was in middle school, hes still friends with the people he was in a band with

- Soda used to have the UGLIEST buzz cut when he had hair, he looked like a thumb

- Macho has been banned off Twitter 30 times since he keeps shit talking everyone

- Sandman has thrown hands with the ref more than once after his TD

- bull has used a log as a pillow on a camping trip once, the neck pain he got after it was absolutely horrid

[shewritesallnight]

Kintsugi

Kintsugi: highlights cracks and repairs as events in the life of an object; an embracing of the flawed or imperfect.

While Yuji and the others have their own plans at the Jujutsu Campus, YN sees Inumaki for the first time since the Shibuya incident. Things seem uncertain for the curse user and she's determined to let him know that she's not going anywhere. 

Rating: 18+, NSFW (also shibuya arc spoilers)

a/n: an attempt was made 🤧

1.3K words

Mindlessly, YN spun the golden ring around her finger. A nervous habit she had picked up after receiving the gift from her long-term boyfriend. It popped up occasionally, during intense missions or coming under the scrutiny of the Elders. But the habit had reared its ugly head the moment Yuuta told her the status of Toge. 

He was alive. 

But he wasn't unscathed. 

With each new twist of the band, she felt another coil of worry wind around her heart. The coils momentarily tightened when she found Inumaki's room empty, though it wasn't an unfamiliar sight. He often spent more time in her dorm than his own. Hopeful, she made her way down the familiar hallways. 

At the sound of the door, a figure jerked upwards from her bed, comforter pooling around a waist. Her eyes met Toge's before falling on the seal covered bandages and her breath caught in her throat.

It was one thing to hear it from Yuuta, to see it, was something else entirely. 

To center herself, she dropped her gaze to the room; it was in unfamiliar disarray. Papers and clothes everywhere, even a vase of dried flowers he had gotten her two weeks prior, lay broken on the floor.

Evidence of an outburst.

It wasn't like her boyfriend to lose his cool. She felt another squeeze in her chest.

Stepping around the mess, she made her way to the cursed speech user. The bed dipped with her weight as she reached out a hand to caress his cheek. Delicately, she brought her other hand up to trace the bandages on his left shoulder. 

Inumaki jerked his injured side away from her while subconsciously pressing his cheek further into her palm.

"Toge..."

She hadn't noticed his hand gripping the comforter until he released the fabric to point towards the vase before resting it against his own chest.

A whispered, "okaka," fell from his lips and YN felt her heart shatter in her chest. 

Broken.

She had to take a moment to push down the hatred for the King of Curses that rose like bile at the back of her throat.

"N-no, don't say that."

She cupped his other cheek and tilted his face down to kiss his forehead, then pressed her lips against each temple, his nose, and chin.

Inumaki watched her with wide, glossy eyes. They were shadowed with uncertainty and she hated it.

"I'm just happy you are alive." 

Her hands brushed back the hair from his face, pressing a gentle kiss over each curse mark before laying her lips upon his. It was deep and unyielding as she poured her love for him through the connection.

The sorcerer whimpered into the kiss, his shaking hand gripping the hem of her shirt.

She felt, more than heard, his whispered, "need you." 

Nodding, she pressed one more peck to his lips, letting her hands travel down to his torso. Leaning forward, she eased Inumaki back onto the mattress.

Cautious eyes watched her as she moved with ease, leaning down to place a gentle kiss against the bandages. A shudder traveled down Toge's spine, forcing him to advert his eyes, overwhelmed with the sensation.

The sight made her more determined to ease her lover's mind.

She grazed her teeth across his collarbone to repeat the motion on his other shoulder and Inumaki trembled for another reason. Flicking her tongue over his exposed nipple she was rewarded with a hitch of his breath and the graceful arch of his back.

Traveling downward she danced her fingertips across his ribs to tug at the comforter. Kisses dotted his body to his hip, when she reached his pajama bottoms, her tongue traced along the edge in wait.

"Shake."

Inumaki could feel her soft smile against his skin. Swift hands eased down any barriers, leaving the sorcerer bare. Kisses forgone to slip the head of his cock into her mouth. His cries were muffled behind the back of his hand, unable to look away.

Greedily, she took him into her mouth until her nose pressed against the hairs at the base. Toge’s head fell deeper into the pillows, his toes curling in the sheets. 

Bobbing her head steadily, she cataloged every reaction. From the harsh breaths falling from his parted lips to the way his hand moved to clentch and unclentch the pillow. But the faraway look in his eyes remained. 

That just wouldn’t do. 

YN slipped him from her mouth, coming to a kneel, she undressed. Clothes discarded; she straddled his hips with a hand on his waist for support.

Toge's own hand caressed hers, his fingers grazing against her ring before gripping her waist as she lined him up at her entrance.

They locked eyes and with three little words she seated herself fully. 

Their cries were instantaneous, a mixture of frustration and the relief of finally being joined together again. 

He felt warm and right inside of her and YN started moving. A slow gentle rocking that wasn’t nearly enough.

She wanted to give him more. Make him understand that she loved him all the same. To cut through the waves of insecurity rolling off him and disperse that darkness threatening to swallow him.

Raising up, she started to ride him, swiveling her hips with each downward stroke. Pulling whines and broken moans from the sorcerer. 

She ignored the burn in her thighs to keep the rhythm of her thrusts; faltering only when Inumaki moved to sit himself up. She paused, reaching forward to help but fell short when he shook his head; instead, she settled into his lap, unsure.

Fully sitting, Toge wrapped his arm around her, pulling her flush against him and nuzzled her neck.

"More," he croaked out against her skin.

"Oh baby,” she choked back a sob. “I've got you."

Wrapping her arms around him, her hips started again. Turning to find his eyes closed with a crease of frustration stuck to his brow, she rose to her knees. 

His cock slipping halfway out, Toge looked up with a panicked expression. She cradled his face once more, running her thumbs under his eyes.

"You've always taken care of me and everyone else. Let me take care of you." She brushed away the stray tear slipping from the corner of his eye and kissed him. 

It was slow and sweet, full of all the love and adoration she felt. She kept her mouth on his as her hips started moving again. Little half thrusts that she knew drove him wild with a slow drag through her clenching walls. 

His cock twitched inside her at the same moment he broke away to let out a deep moan and she knew he was close. 

"Just let go baby, I’m right here.”

With a huff he buried his face in her chest and she took it as a sign to drop down and sheath the entirety of his length. The feeling was overwhelming even for her, and it only took a handful of thrusts before Toge jerked in her grip, painting her inner walls with his release. 

YN eased him out once he slackened in her grip; this time wasn't about her. She ignored the throbbing of her core and the warmth of his cum leaking down her inner thighs. Instead, twisting and laying herself back on the mattress while bringing Inumaki down on top of her. 

Pulling the comforter over their bodies, her gaze fell back to the room, landing on the vase and a sense of clarity struck her. 

Silent, she chose instead to trace lazy circles over his bandaged shoulder blade and run a hand through his hair. 

She waited to speak until Inumaki’s breathing had slowed and she felt him melt into her.

"Kintsugi."

Toge propped his chin up on her sternum at the word.

"Shows us that there is beauty in imperfection," she continued. "I look forward to the future… of the vase, of course," she said with a kiss to his nose. 

The cursed speech user was silent for a moment, absorbing her words. Yet, she knew she had gotten him back when he grunted, "sujiko," and playfully bit at her breast. The tightness in her chest finally vanishing with the shadows in his eyes. 

[fictoculus]

౨ৎ general hcs...

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT... tighnari

♪ as pretty as bouquets and floral gifts may be, tighnari isn't the type to purposefully destroy even the smallest piece of life. therefore, you would never receive freshly cut flowers. instead, he would gift you potted plants, or pressed petals which he had found fallen on the forest floor.

♪ in the rare occasion you do recieve a flower in it's entirety as a gift, he would most likely have found it already plucked and damaged in some way or another and dried it to make sure it lasts. if he could do nothing to aid the growth and stability of the flower, he could at least preserve it's beauty.

♪ you often find him buried in his books, barely blinking as he makes sure to take in every word; his posture seeming uncomfortable, his facial expression seeming... intense. only when he feels your hands on his shoulders does he finally loosen up, leaning into your touch and resting the book face down on his knee. only you could relax him enough for him to completely unwind, leaving his train of thought behind as his mind is filled with you...

♪ tied to tighnari's satchel is a small, drawstring pouch, in which he keeps any trinkets or objects that remind him of you; whether it be a stone that looks like your eyes, a leaf that's veins spell out your initials, or a wedding ring in the making...

♪ when he does ask the "big question", he proposes to you not with a ring that cost him thousands, but instead with a ring he had painstakingly put together since the day the two of you shared your first kiss. it would be a silver ring, the band twisting and wrapping around itself to form a beautiful entanglement. the two ends of the bend would meet to hold the center piece. contrasting with tradition, it would not technically be a gem, but instead a piece of resin carved meticulously into a somewhat natural shape and filled with things significant in your relationship. a petal from the first bouquet you gave him can be seen, as well as a splinter of wood that broke of his bow when he first introduced you to the art of archery.

♪ everyday, after he returns home from his adventures outside of gandharva ville, it's become almost routine for you to carefully comb through his tail; picking out all the leaves and branches from the trees he'd climbed or the bushes he's pushed through. you'd ask him how his day went, what new discoveries he'd made, updates on withering zones; he'd ask you how your day went, what you had for lunch, whether or not the rangers behaved when you were teaching them archery (tighnari thought it was far more logical for you to teach them in the safety of gandharva ville rather than he, outside and in the face of danger). only once you were satisfied did the two of you move into the shower, helping eachother get to tough-to-reach areas and making sure to wash the ranger's hair, his arms sore from wielding his bow all day.

♪ does tighnari want children? no, no he does not. he firmly believes in the quiet life, and young kids are the opposite of quiet. besides, you already have collei, the rookie ranger you haven't formally adopted, but there is an unspoken, domestic bond between her and the pair of you.

♪ this man loves to take you out for picnics, it's starting to seem like a little obsession of his. he'd always head out early to scout the area, clearing out any nearby monsters and moving any fallen sticks or branches which could be uncomfortable to sit on. somehow, he never fails to make every single time perfect. just the two of you, lying together and bathing in the warm sunlight, surrounded by countless species of flora and fauna, feeding each other food; just... being in love. you couldn't ask for a moment more beautiful.

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you'd like me to write next!

© FICTOCULUS 2023; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[maracujatangerine]

75. Reflection

CW: discussion of body image, scars, chronic pain, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

After stepping out of the shower, Coriander dried its hair with a fluffy, beige towel. The pet looked up and met its own grey eyes in the mirror.

The reflection was misty around the edges with steam from the hot water, but Coriander could still see the changes.

The lines of its body were more filled-out, each rib no longer sharply visible. The bruises since long faded. Even the scars seemed less prominent now. Miss Lydia encouraged the pet to eat well, to work in the garden and to do some moderate exercise. It could feel the difference in its own body, it felt stronger, more energetic. It still hurt, especially its damaged shoulder, but the pain took less place in its mind.

Wrapping its towel around its hips, it studied its tattoo in the mirror.

247084

The number had been a part of its life for as long as it could remember. It was just a normal thing. It wasn’t until lately that Coriander had started to consider how odd it was that among everyone the pet met on an everyday basis, it was the only one marked in this way.

Before, it has always been surrounded by other pets. The difference between them and people had been clear as day. Now, looking at itself in the mirror, the bar code looked strange, almost unfamiliar.

A knock on the door broke Cory’s reverie.

“Sorry Cory, may I come in? I just want to get my toothbrush.”

“Y-yes Miss Lydia. This pet is ready.” Coriander hurried to unlock the door and stepped aside to let his owner enter.

“Oh, look at you, so squeaky clean.” With a grin, she suddenly reached up and playfully tousled his blonde hair.

The pet started at the quick movement, but more in surprise than in fear. As it turned towards her, like a flower turning towards the sun, it knew that she would describe that as healing. Perhaps the pet would, too.

A glimpse of dark numbers in the mirror, before Coriander turned away, reminded the pet that not all things may be healed.

*

This post is a part of the 2023 BBU Community Days organised by @bbu-on-the-side . This is my entry for day 8: Bar Code.

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[indigo-corvus]

In honor of the Banana Splits' 55th anniversary, may I Humbly present...

Banana Splits Headcanons!

⭐ 🍌 🐶 🍌 🦁 🍌 🐵 🍌 🐘 🍌 ⭐

(These HC apply to all versions of the Splits, unless otherwise specified)

Bingo:

- Helps Snorky groom/dry himself after baths

- Will wake up in the middle of the night to record drum riffs he dreams up

- CONSTANT DAD JOKES

- Is the kind of roomie that leaves dishes piled in the sink forever

-Has big Chad energy

- Is prone to use jazz lingo ("Cats and Kittens, Groovy, Hot, Wild, Man, etc)

- Gets on all fours when he wants to move quickly or is really excited

- Occasionally gets the Zoomies

Snorky:

- A sensitive, whimsical, dreamer type

- A poetic lyricist (structures songs similar to Sean Lennon)

- Kinda Gender Non-Conforming, Possibly Gender fluid. (Magic Machine flash)

- Doesn't get angry often, but will explode when upset.

- Loves taking walks in the park to observe the nature and flowers.

- Is fluent in ASL

- Social Media Microinfluencer (Jellystone!)

- Is an artist (Jellystone!)

- Uses texts, Emojis, Signs, and white boards to talk occasionally, but all the other band members can understand him no problem.

Drooper:

- Actually a little vain (Jellystone!)

-Takes forever to groom self. He has a certain way he washes, brushes, and dries his hair. He uses multiple products in his mane.

- Loves to join in on Bingo's pranks on Fleegle

- Loves his large muzzle and nose. He thinks it makes his profile very distinguished.

- Wears colored prescription sunglasses

- Is the most athletic member of the group (OG)

- Uses rollers and a bonnet at night

- Big himbo energy

- Usually the last person to get the joke

Fleegle:

- Loves being the one to answer the door

- ADHD like a MF

- Will occasionally do dog stuff, like bark at stuff he hears outside and chase small animals

- Hates baths, but never wants to get out once he's in there

- Closest with Drooper

- Has other members pick him up to appear taller and more threatening (Jellystone!)

- Has Big Golden Retriever Energy (OG)

- Always the one to get hurt in slapstick gag stuff (Jellystone!)

- Easily embarrassed, gets tomato red in an instant

- Helps create a lot of the bridges of their songs

- Never not working on Splits' club business.

[starrystevie]

For the valentine's prompts steddie & “you didn’t have to go to all this effort just for me.”₁ “that’s why i did it. for you.”₂

part 1 | part 2

it's easy for steve to go overboard on holidays, but especially valentine's day. he likes lugging out the totes from the attic full of garland and wreaths and table runners and knick knacks just to get into the spirit of whatever holiday might be around the corner. he likes when the house feel warm and nostalgic, soft and lived in like a cozy hallmark card. and normally, eddie will help with a few grumbles under his breath, but he does help nonetheless.

but eddie's been on a small tour with his first band after the inevitable "we're not in high school anymore" corroded coffin split, and steve is tired. his third graders are driving him up a fucking wall, the excitement for spring break around the corner and being stuck inside from weeks of dreary winter days winding them up to being goblins. he comes home to an empty house that he can't be bothered to decorate in cheery pinks and reds, pours himself a vodka soda, and sits with a tv dinner to grade papers with cheers reruns playing in the background.

the day of valentine's is the worst. steve pulls into the driveway and tugs at the frosting in the ends of his hair where jenny decided to give him a hug during their classroom party with a cupcake in each hand. he wants to shower, he wants to hug his husband and maybe more than just hug, he wants to come in to a homecooked meal and a clean kitchen and fresh sheets on the bed since he hasn't had the energy to do any of that for weeks on end.

it's strange, steve thinks as he stops in the driveway, that there's a light on in the kitchen. he can see it through the front window and he remembers turning it off this morning, making worry tug harshly in his stomach. he turns the front door open slowly, pausing when he hears phil collins spilling out of the living room sound system. there's a clanging somewhere that sets steve's nerves on edge.

"steve?" he hears a voice call out and it almost brings him to his knees but he has to see it for himself.

he runs to the kitchen and sees his husband, pretty pink apron tied around his waist, vase full of flowers and something delicious smelling in a pot on the stove.

"hey baby," eddie says with his gently sweet smile that makes his eyes crinkle and steve bursts into tears.

everything is decorated the way steve likes it, the stupid valentines table cloth covering the kitchen island, little cupids sitting on the countertops, garland and fairy lights intertwined in the doorway. and eddie, he's there.

eddie leaps into action, catches steve under the arms in one part embrace, one part holding him so he doesn't fall to the floor. he swipes a soft hand over the tears on his cheeks, quietly shushing his sobs as he goes. the hand on his back rubs a slow circle into his spine before burying in the hair at the base of steve's skull.

"you're home?" steve asks, sniffling and snotty and probably not cute at all.

"yeah, got home just in time for your day," eddie responds in his low timbre, pressing a barely there kiss to the corner of steve's slack mouth.

"and you're playing phil collins? you hate phil collins."

"of course i am, he's your favorite." eddie says it like it's simple to say, like it's obvious, like he hasn't taken the time to learn steve inside and out and know what he needs in a way no one has ever or will ever be able to. "i'm making that pasta you like but it won't be nearly as good as when you make it and-"

steve cuts him off with a kiss of his own. it's valentine's day and he's exhausted and he has dried frosting in his hair. he has nearly permanent worry lines in his forehead and hasn't had a shower in two days but he has his husband holding him close. he has the love and warmth and comfort that he'd been needing back in his home. in his heart.

"you didn’t have to go to all this effort just for me."

eddie sighs, and his shoulders sag and he looks so right, so perfect with the fairy lights, or maybe it's love, twinkling in his eyes. "that’s why i did it. for you"