#trying to avoid using the dry brush bc it takes longer to color

[psykoe100]

Turning weird pics i find on pinterest into mob psycho pt 2

Just another day in s&s

pt1

[tiredstressedemotionalmess]

hey this is kinda random but I was wondering if you had any advice about making patches? I’ve been wanting to make some of my own but idk what kind(s) of fabric & fabric paint would be good to use for it

YESSSS MY TIME HAS COME I LOVE GIVING PPL PATCH MAKING TIPS!!! im actually working one a zine abt this rn so ive totally got you covered

so pretty much any fabric you can get your hands on will work. i mostly use fabric from shirts ive cut into tank tops or crop tops, and denim from old jeans. both work just as well, but the tshirt fabric is thin and stretchy so i usually find it easier to paint less detailed designs on that. if i want a detailed design and im using tshirt material ill usually use a stencil bc it helps me keep the lines cleaner. using something like an embroidery hoop or some cardboard and safety pins to keep the fabric taught and hold it in place works wonders too

as for paint, i use a mix of fabric paint and regular acrylics. usually ill do a three base layers of white fabric paint, then go over top with a layer or so of whatever color acrylic bc the acrylics tend to be more vibrant and more opaque

using just straight up acrylic on fabric will work, but it may crack a bit and will probably fade in a wash a little. if ur just doing acrylic, try and limit the number of layers you do bc the thicker the paint is, the easier it will be to crack. personally, ive found acrylic tends to crack more on denim than on tshirt fabric- i think because the shirt fabric is thinner so the paint soaks all the way through instead of just sitting on top like with the denim. if im using shirt fabric and the design is simple ill usually just go right in with the acrylics and not even bother with the base layers bc of that

fabric paint is more flexible than acrylic bc its literally made for fabric. i use the tulip brand MATTE white paint, and im specifying matte here bc they have a fucking glossy version called "slick" that goes on soooooo fucking think when you paint it with a brush it just. its horrible it takes so many fucking layers to get any possible color the matte is so much better it only needs two or three to really pop

ANYWAYS- i use that most often bc my local craft store has it for cheap and like i said i literally only use the white stuff for base layers and shit. they have other colors but ive never tried them bc acrylic over the white works out just fine for me so. idk maybe using the colored fabric paint would save time in the long run- less layers and shit- but ive never tried to myself so who knows

you can make a pretty damn good fabric paint substitute yourself though too!! its like the middle ground between the store bought fabric paint and the acrylics in terms of flexibility. mix equal parts fabric softener with acrylic paint. ivr used this method a fee times and it works well. its definitely less cracky than regular acrylics but depending on the ratio it might take a few more layers and a bit longer to dry. its not as flexible as the fabric paint but its a bit more opaque so depending on how you want ur patches to look it might require less layers

uhhhh other things. stencil are my best friend when im trying to copy a specific logo or do a more complex design. i never fucking freehand letters- use chalk or a pen to get letter placement done first bc the grief of painting half a patch and realized the rest of the work doesnt fit is REAL. thrift stores have a lot of cool fabric with little designs and patters which i personally think are super fun to paint over and use as patches. if you have access to an iron ik some people like to heat set their patches by ironing them when theyre dry (ig it helps the paint stick to the fabric? ive done it a few times but im too lazy to commit to it regularly. might be good if ur just using acrylics tho). pretty much any fabric you have access to will work (hoodies, old socks, old bedsheets, ANYTHING) but knitted fabrics are hell to paint on and so id recommend avoiding those

thats everything i can think of off the top of my head!! sorry this turned into a whole fucking novel. i really like making patches and telling other people abt how i make patches :p

[vampyr3wife]

Hiii ♡♡ u should make a hair FAQ or like a hair routine masterpost

r u a psychic anon T-T bc as I got this ask I was already typing out a hair masterpost…. I‘ve been getting a lot of asks abt hair lately but all of the info has been very scattered so here it is :] ⊹ ࣪ ˖ the hair masterpost ⊹ ࣪ ˖ I will preface this by saying it’s important to do research on what will work for your own hair type! I am still working on it >.< but this is just what I currently do for my fairly fine, naturally wavy hair. I hope this helps ^-^

ᴾʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵗˢ :

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Walgreens brand therapeutic shampoo

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Ion color repair conditioner (looking 4 a better conditioner :/ )

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Infusium original leave in conditioner

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Beyond the zone heat protectant

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Jojoba oil (optional : add a couple drops of rosemary oil)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Tangle teezer ultimate detangling brush

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Silk scrunchies + claw clips

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Silk pillowcase

ᴿᵒᵘᵗᶦⁿᵉˢ :

I wash my hair about every 3 days n I frequently give myself scalp massages, especially during shampooing. I focus the shampoo on my roots, then conditioner on my ends and leave it on for at least 10 minutes. I use a large cotton t-shirt instead of a towel to squeeze out my hair because it’s much more gentle. Leave in conditioner + heat protectant and then blow dry on low heat.

I do my best to do my oil treatments every other time I wash my hair but I’m not perfect abt it >. .< .. there are tons of YouTube videos that will do a better job of explaining than I will but basically. focus the oil into your roots and massage.. work it through your hair and ends.. avoid using 2 much oil. I usually leave it on for like an hour or longer. When you wash it out you will probably want to shampoo twice ♡ other times if my hair feels dry I will rub 2 drops of oil in my hands and distribute it through my ends.

I probably don’t trim it as much as I should, n I don’t really have any time routine for this. I do it myself and just take an inch or so off the ends.. it’s also important 2 use hair cutting scissors! I use antique hair cutting scissors tht cut womens’ hair in my family for generations.. not required obviously lol but I think little magics are important.

ᴼᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗᶦᵖˢ :

⊹ ࣪ ˖ To avoid damage, twist your hair up into a loose bun or claw clip while you sleep (see silk pillow case + scrunchies)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Be gentle w ur hair! I treat it like my little creature.. take ur time w detangling, avoid harsh heat tools, try protective styles, try hair masks, learn about your hair type..

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Hair health not only starts from the scalp n roots but from ur insides.. greens n lentils n fats r good for hair growth. there r also vitamins that are known to improve hair growth but none of it will work much if u r not taking care of urself (u_u)/)♡

ᴴᵃᶦʳ⁻ᵈʸᵉ :

I am occasionally asked about my hair dye so I will include this little bonus section! The hairdye I use is L’Oréal Hicolor black onyx H21 with volume 10 developer. It’s permanent so I only touch up my roots every month or so.

[xnchxntmxnt]

Paint War

Fandom: Sk8 The Infinity

Character: teen! Kaoru Sakurayashiki (Cherry Blossom)

Warnings: could be taken as suggestive but its not really meant to be, just a whole lot of fluff. Not proofread (bc when do i ever)

Notes: artist kaoru <3

gn!reader

Reblogs > likes

Taglist form

You knock quietly on the trim of the open door, stepping outside onto the patio. Kaoru looks up at you with a gentle smile, setting down the three brushes he had in his hands. Both of his hands were covered in paint, was the apron that haphazardly hung around his neck, and the shirt under it. He had his hair tied up and out of his face, but you were sure that some of that was colored, too.

“Your mom said I could just come back. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” you said, looking past him to the canvas he’d just been painting on. It was a beautiful landscape full of cherry blossom trees (irony, much?) and a meadow dusted in snow. Seemed like he was almost done with whatever he was doing.

“It’s no problem at all, I was just about to clean up for the day,” he replied. “I’d offer you a kiss, but I’m kinda…covered in paint.”

“Messy artist, are we?”

“That happens when you decided to fingerpaint before starting a new project.” You gave him a look of confusion and he laughed. “Things happen when you want to paint but don’t know what to do, y’know?”

“To a degree, I guess…”

You walked around to the back of him and his stool, kissing the top of his head. “You can keep doing what you’re doing if you want. I like watching you when you’re focused.”

He smiled up at you, brushing his nose against yours. “That so?”

“It is, actually,” you chuckle and sit on the porch next to him. “I just like spending time with you, Kaoru. You can do whatever you want.”

“If you’re sure it won’t be boring…”

“I’m certain.”

He smiled and turned back to his easel and canvas, most of his attention going towards it. However, you knew he was only partially focused because once in a while he’d sneak a glance down at you and smile.

Several minutes of content quiet passed—he hummed some song to himself the longer he worked. However, when he was at the point of nit-picking and deciding to simply let it dry, he stood up and set the canvas to the side.

“That’s enough paint for the day, I think,” he sighed, offering his hand to you. “I promise, I’m dry now.”

You chuckle and take his hand to stand. He made the mistake of leaving open paint near you, however, because he leaned in to give you a proper kiss, you smeared pink paint on his nose.

He stared at you in shock, trying to figure out what you did. He wiped whatever it was off his face, and upon realizing it was pink paint, started laughing. “Oh, you are so on,” he said, reaching behind him to grab the palette he’d just been using. You, realizing what he was doing, ran to the other side of the back porch, trying your best to avoid him.

“Come back!” he exclaimed, running after you. “I just wanna give you some pretty face paint!”

“In your dreams!”

You ran off the porch into the backyard, with him close on your heels. When he finally caught up with you and reached out to grab your hand, you tripped and fell to the ground, rolling into the grass. He fell right after you, laughing as the both of you reached a stop at the bottom of the hill.

Before you had the chance to get up to run more, he swung his leg over you and took one of your hands in his. Hovering over you with a stupid grin on his face, he said, “gotcha.”

You roll your eyes at him and use your free hand to hold the side of his face. “Just kiss me, idiot.”

When he kissed you, you could feel the still-tacky paint bump your nose, but it didn’t exactly matter. It was feeling his smile against your lips and his laugh when you poked his stomach, and the quiet ‘I love you’ he mumbled in your ear when he finally helped you stand up.

taglist:

@y-infen @kodzukoi @tama-jam

i hate the ending but its okay idk how to write endings

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

This is awkward

Summary: could u maybe do a reddie x daughter where she gets her period, but wants to hide it from richie and eddie bc they’re guys, so she steals richie’s phone and calls bev for help. but like as she goes over to bevs house (maybe they live close) richie and eddie think she’s missing or lost and they freak out? i just feel like that’s such a reddie situation lmao

warnings: period talks 

In retrospect, she really should have seen it coming. All the signs they taught you about in health class presented themselves full force, from having abdominal pain and a bloating stomach after eating a cracker, to using the bathroom more than she usually has to. 

Never the less, it remained a shock when she wakes up at five in the morning to searing throbbing in her lower abdomen that leaves her helplessly whriting. The clock strikes six am at the exact moment she groans, curling her body into a fetal position and covering her stomach with her arms.

She lays still for a while, tossing and turning in an effort to find a pose that won’t hurt, but nothing helps, and so she decides to go to the medicine cabinet and fish out medication to reduce the ache. In order to do that, she removes the heavy silk comforter off her body, and shivers as her temperature reduces from the added coldness that sticks in the room. It’s nearing summer time, so the sun is gleaming up every last detail of the room even at six o’clock, rendering the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling useless.

She gets up, and as soon as turns around to readjust the comforter out of the corner of her eye she spots a red blood stain, soaked into the covers of her one person bed. Ellie’s first instinct is, embracingly enough, to cry, the sight of blood leaving her squeamish and ready to do whatever it takes to get rid of it.

Her pain tolerance is high, but the second a blotch of blood presents itself anywhere near or on her, it needs to be removed point black.  

It clicks in her mind what this situation means and what the logical explanation is, but she’s still in a daze that allows her to calmly rip the covers of the bed an paddle downstairs to the washing area, carefully avoiding to touch the blood itself, free of any panic or discomfort, beside the continues stabbing sneers. Only after disposing of the covers in the washing machine and shutting it with a small click, she sobers up and worries.

Ellie grabs a towel of a mountain of dry-cleaned clothes that Richie was ordered to organize room by room but forgot after a last minute stand up show the night before and wraps it around her middle. The towel specifically is her favorite, colored blue with the animations of winx club printed upon it, as a child her favorite cartoon show, with her name embroider on the top thanks to her uncle Mike. A trait she copied from Richie was that she lost stuff so much that Eddie got sick of it and started writing her name on article of clothes and shoes so that if someone found it they returned it to the right person, and because at the time Mike was practicing embroidery, he sowed her name in the towel as a gift.

The edges of the towel are worn out and frayed, but the texture is soft to the touch and smells like sunscreen, in a way tied to a few of Ellie’s preferred treasured memories. It’s the only at hand though, and time is of the essence, and she wants to wants desperately to avoid any more blood spillage.

Scanning the floor while hurrying to a bathroom Ellie cautions that she stays upright and doesn’t hit her toe against the doorframe like she idioticly does time and time again. She reaches the bathroom she unlocks the door from its hinches and opens it soundlessly, her parents lost in dreamland a door over. She feels weirdly docile about the whole thing, not at all trembling or making rash decision like she foresaw whenever she thought of this moment. The bathroom door shuts behind her, and she silently awaits for any sound to emerge from Eddie and Richie’s bedroom, but none materialize, thankfully.

At that point, there’s not much she can do. The house is empty of anything remotely resembling pads, with Richie and Eddie not needing them and Ellie hadn’t required them so far either.

Having two fathers is a blessing that Ellie is magnificently proud of, and most of the time she forgets that core families usually exist of one father and a mother. Richie and Eddie fill up any void that a mom could possibly leave behind, and so she is often oblivious that her home situations isn’t ‘normal’. There is nothing that a mother adds that Richie and Eddie don’t provide her, but maybe this is the one exception.

Ellie learned about menstrual cycles and how to deal with them via sex ed in school, but at home not a word was ushered about this. Unintentional no doubt, since Richie took it upon himself to bring up as much cringe-worthy conversations to shy her away from trying anything stupid. She never brought the topic up, and it must have slipped from Richie and Eddie’s mind too.

She debates waking up Richie and Eddie to drive her to the store, but it’s too early for that, the sops opens at nine, and there honestly sounds nothing worse but rousing her fathers for something like a period.

Richie will joke, and Eddie will research the whole thing down to the smallest details to aid her with all the knowledge found on the internet, but what she would really benefit from is a girl simply explaining the whole thing to her.

The solution literally falls in her lap, as Ellie accidentally knocks over the parfum Beverly left behind last time she visited. Aunt Bev and uncle Ben live two streets away, in a giant modern home they fosters pets in, at the edge of a forest.

They reside there any time they aren’t on their boat travelling around the world, but with Beverly six months into her pregnancy, they swore to not go on any outings up to the birth of their very first child.

Both Ben and Bev work every weekday, but if Bev is home, she’ll be happy to help, Ellie is certain. She should call first, to let Bev know she was on her way and to ensure Bev won’t contact the police on her, a figure appearing out of the blue early morning might not present well. The only problem with that is that Ellie’s phone was dropped in the water of a bath, cracking the phone’s screen from the hard landing and drenching it in water, causing all the phone’s functions to give out.

Calling aunt Bev is only an option if Ellie locates a phone, and her best bet on that is her pops.

Richie obsesses over his phone, and while he says that’s not the case, Eddie humorously hid it once and it send Richie in such a frenzy he explored the whole house top to bottom and discarded any and all cabinets to locate it.

Eddie chides the overexercise usage and resorts to conking Richie over the head if he dares to divided his attention to it for over ten minutes, but it’s all in a loving way, Eddie wouldn’t ever dream of hurting Richie.

A compromise was formed, Richie promising to leave his phone unattended on the bedside table at the end of the bed, and Eddie dialing down his complaints. The phone can’t ramify it’s toxic radiation from that far, but it’s close enough that the alarm clock rouses them up if necessary.

Invading Richie and Eddie’s bedroom is a dangerous game to play at, Eddie’s hearing out of this world with precision and picking up on the smallest, barely there clamor, but assisted with a tad of luck, Ellie might be able to evade waking them. After all, she’d rather get caught sneaking in, than having to provide a valid reason she ought to shop.

------

The clock strikes eight a.m. when Richie stirs awake, the light streaming through the window in such a way it glistens directly in Richie eyes, and in order to avoid it he swivels around on his stomach. His arm covers Eddie side, snoring loudly right net to his ear. Huffing out a laugh, Richie retracts his arm to cover his eyes from the sun that maliciously demands him to wake.

Eddie sniffles, his hand lifting in search for Richie and sighing happily when his fingertips bump against Richie’s shoulder, tugging his arm back in position.

‘Too early’, he grumbles, smacking his lips to rid himself of his dry mouth and burying his head further into his pillow. Richie laughs, kissing his husbands bare shoulder and readjusting Richie’s shirt he’s wearing after.

Weekends are a synonymous with rest and sleep, but Richie starts the day bright and fresh anyway, cooking a giant breakfast with Ellie to lure Eddie out of bed under the guise of food.

It strikes Richie as odd that Ellie’s not up and about it yet, he strains to hear any movement in the house but he comes up empty.

‘Aren’t you gonna make me breakfast, babe?’ Eddie asks his lips curled in a teasing smile, accustomed to their morning routine.

‘Sure thing Eds’, Richie says gooey, slobbering a kiss on the first part of Eddie he can reach, his temple, knowing that Eddie revolts the thought of kissing without brushing teeth first.

‘Wait I was kidding come back,’ Eddie whines, outstretching his arms to stop Richie from getting up but failing.

‘You’ll be so much happier when the food’s ready, trust me. I’m going to wake our munckin up too.’

He steps away from the bed, pulling his shirt, bunched up thanks to the wild gestures he performs in his sleep, down in the meanwhile and yawns so wide his jaw protests.

His limbs feel lose and relaxed of waking up not so soon ago, and they seem to be begging Richie to crawl back under the cover and cuddle with Eddie some more, but tour life stretched itself through all the aspects of Richie’s life these past months, and he really long for some time to spend with his daughter.

As he stumbles blindly, his hand scours the miniature table, but the only thing he can find are his glasses, neatly tucked away in what must have been Eddie’s doing after Richie zonked out.

At first he thinks he missed it, but then his glasses help him see clearly, and he notices that the phone is no longer there.

‘Hey, Eds?’

The only answer he receives is a grunt, muffled by the blankets Eddie hides under.

‘Did you hide my phone again?’ Richie asks, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Eddie shakes his head without looking up, napping on.

‘Huh’, Richie responds, deciding to let Eddie wake at his own terms. He probably ditched the phone somewhere and is drawing blank on where it could be, but it’ll be found again soon. With a deflated shrugs, Richie leaves the room to wake up his daughter, excited like a kid on Christmas to rope her into mischief.

Eddie huffs, forcing the blanket of off him and screwing his eyes open, scratching at a spot on his back that insistently itched all night.

Soon, Ellie will run in with coffee, with a meticulous steady head so none of it spills, and announce that breakfast is prepared. Some of it will be burned, other things will be so delicious Eddie will look forward to it every day of the week till he eats it again. Regardless of how good the food is, the most important thing is that it’s family time, and that no interruption or distractions occur but the laughter and unprovoqued leering both Richie, Ellie and Eddie gathered throughout the week.  

Eddie smiles contently, resting his eyes a tad longer and imagining the inviting warm smell flowing up from downstairs. What he gets instead is frantic running up the stairs, loud thuds that rattle the foundation and follow each other quickly, subsequently followed by the bedroom door ricocheting of it’s hinges.

The urgency behind it spooks Eddie, who scrambles out of bed before Richie manages to utter a word.

‘Ellie’s not here.’

----

‘Thank you for helping me aunt Bev’, Ellie reinforces Bev, who brought out mint tea and joined her on the sofa to watch tv.

The movie provided background noise to the conversation they previously held, Ellie a little intimidated otherwise.

‘Any time honey you know this.’

Bev smiles brightly enough that her pearl white teeth show, her hair in a braid swiped over her shoulder, she radiates happiness to a degree Ellie has never seen.

‘I love dad and pops, I do, but you know how they get’, Ellie grimaced, his hands twisting nervously in the hem of the shirt she wormed herself in on the way here. A laugh bubbles out of Bev, already nodding her head.

‘They mean well but yes. I’m glad you confided in me.’ On instinct, Ellie dropped her hand down to pet the soft fur of Ben and Bev’s dog, a lifelong companion to them but also to her. She swiped nothing but air, Ben took the dog on a walk in the park, leaving the two girls to discuss thing among themselves. It was sad she didn’t get a chance to say hi to them, but she figures she’ll visit again later.

‘I really should get going,’ Ellie starts, her hand enclosing the plastic bag filled with supplies Bev landed her gracefully. ‘Pops and I love arranging breakfast, so I should really get home before they wake up to me not hanging around the house.’

Bev blinked innocently, surprise grazing her features. ‘Well, it is nine am, will they not be awake yet?’

‘It’s not that late yet is it?’ Bev’s phone rings loudly, startling Ellie out of her stupor. Even from her angle on the phone, she deciphers her pops names before Bev announce that it’s Richie.

‘Oops’, Ellie mutters, grimacing as the severity of the situation begins to down on her. She’s in big trouble now. Accepting the call, Bev puts in on speaker, a hand apologetically stroking Ellie’s arm conveying that yes, Bev’s sorry, but Ellie might get killed today.

‘Beverly’, Eddie distraught voice shakes through the microphone. A sinking stone weighs Ellie down, flushed with guilt, she hadn’t thought she’d be here so long, she only counted a five minute drop by.

‘Do you know where Ellie is? She’s not in her room or in the backyard either.’ In the background something smashes to the floor, in addition to cursing that sounds more like roaring, and Richie running out.

‘I really think she snatched my cellphone. Maybe she called someone to pick her up?’

Bev attempts to capture their attention goes unheard, the bickering between Eddie and Richie hardly begun.

‘I fucking told you Richie, dump the goddamn phone so much.’

‘How the fuck is that my fault? It has nothing do with that’, Richie argues frustrate, it’s obvious from the way he snapped back at Eddie he is equally as overwrought as Eddie.

‘You’re right, it’s mine. I’ve pushed her away by being to hands on. I should have given her more freedom to do what she wanted and I-‘

‘Eddie no. I honestly don’t think there’s anyone less strict as you. You remember when she was ten and she asked for two ice creams in a row and you just gave them to her because we were on a vacation?’

‘Stop dad. Pop’s right, I’m not running away for fuck sake’, Ellie yells out eventually, frustrated by the conversations taking place.

‘Ellie?’ A chair is pushed back and screeches across the floor, intending on the floor Eddie hammered on about being careful on.

‘Stay where you are, we’re on our way.’ Richie grounds out, seizing hold of his jacket and racing to the car. The connection then severs and dead silence is left in its wake.

‘Good luck with that.’

----

Though Bev, Ben, Eddie and Richie live nearby, Ellie is shocked by the fast response as the car halts not fully parked, Eddie and Richie jumping out in pajama’s.

Bev opened the door, so they waltz right on it without regarding Bev, seizing Ellie in a close knit hug both Richie and Eddie participate in.

‘Don’t you ever, ever scare us like that again. You hear me?’ Richie threatens, his words crackling with relief that his daughter is fine.

‘I’m sorry, I won’t. I honestly thought I would be back before you knew it.’

‘Why are you here in the first place?’ The family remains close, Eddie’s hand holding Ellie’s forearm loosely.

A blush shoots up her cheeks, coloring them bright red at the question. 

‘Yeah about that, Is it not enough for me to promise to never do this again?‘

[durifmdarchived]

old times sake  ⏤ self para. (task 004, #2.)

date: september 2018. character(s) involved: chorong; an official who’s assisting on the volunteering & hayun; an elderly woman that duri has assisted before.  about: duri has no problem with volunteering; it’s something that he does often without even being prompted by bc entertainment to do so. he decides to volunteer as an action officer (someone who goes to an elderly person’s home and assists them in tasks like changing light bulbs, cleaning, shopping, and etc) after some time of no longer doing it and stumbles upon a good friend, hayun, who he’s assisted before.   trigger warnings: n/a. word count: 2,357

Volunteering was something that Duri always enjoyed doing, whenever he had the free time and energy to conduct it, it was something that easily got done. There was something that was incredibly rewarding about doing it. Even seeing the smiles on people’s faces as he helped, that was enough to make Duri’s whole day, even his whole month. Nothing really needed to prompt Duri to go do such a thing, considering he’s been volunteering since he was a teenager. Truly, he didn’t need to be prompted by BC Entertainment to go and so something that he was already doing in his free time.

The sun was shining, the days still warm, but were slightly fading into cooler days as the days passed by. He woke up that early morning, feeling refreshed from his slumber; something that Duri didn’t often feel. He had quietly gotten out of bed, doing his best to make his own bed as quietly as he possibly could. After he finished and was satisfied with the finished product, he crept out of the bedroom to make his way to the bathroom, where he’d freshen up for the day. He took a quick shower, full of steam to open up the pores, before he’d wash his face with his endless skincare routine, brush his teeth, then do his hair. He was making good time for when he had to show up to the police station for his volunteering duties for the day. There was still enough time for some form of breakfast and coffee; coffee was the most important. That was for, well, after he managed to creep back into his room to grab a change of clothes to change into for the day.

After spending enough time beautifying himself, he had finally made his way down the steps to have the first bite to eat for the day; though, he still did things quietly as he wasn’t sure who was awake, who was still asleep, and what was going to echo through the whole dorm. He went simple this morning, a simple meal of toast, some form of fruit, and coffee. It was something quick to eat and he did just that, reading through Instagram, and other things that he had consumed the meal fit for a king. He was quick with it, but not too quick; it wasn’t worth getting indigestion or a stomachache from eating too quickly. He was still making good time, but Duri was always the type of person that wanted to get places incredibly early. Nonetheless, he got him from his seat, collecting his dishes, before washing them by hand, and drying them. He proceeded to wipe down the counters before he’d finally make his way to the door to put shoes on his feet, and go out the door. A hat, sunglasses, and mask over his mouth to conceal his identity from those around him.

It was a bit of a trek to the police station, but it wasn’t something that Duri really minded. He enjoyed talking long walks and taking his time, especially when the weather was nice. He liked to avoid having to sit in cars for as long as possible; he couldn’t make it any more obvious how much he wasn’t a fan of being in a car. He was still working on that though, it was fine when he was the passenger to someone that he trusted, he didn’t feel so nervous or on edge. Trying to get behind the wheel was also a whole other story that he was avoiding; there was no need for that nor did he want to explain how he would felt trying to get behind the wheel. That’s why he only had an ID and not a driver’s license. But, that was not a topic that was current, that would be for another day, another time.

He arrived early; typical of Park Duri, he was always early. He made his way to the office, a very familiar place that he’s seen multiple times over with the times he had volunteered as an action officer. He knocked upon the door softly, before told to come in. “Ah, Duri!” The man shouted from behind the desk. A soft smile lingers against Duri’s lips, “Hello,” he greets with a bow. “Come in, come in. It’s been a long while since you’ve been here,” He says, before Duri steps in and shuts the door behind him. “I’ve been meaning to come back, but my schedule is very busy between everything else. So, I’m sorry for just coming back now,” Duri responded back. “Aigoo, don’t worry about it. I was just excited to hear you were volunteering as an action officer again after a long while. I never thought I’d be speaking to someone’s manager on the phone,” the officer laughs, shaking his head, before sitting down at the table. “Sit, sit,” he says to Duri, before Duri follows such and sits down at the table. “We’re just waiting on Chorong who will be going with you today,” he explains. Duri nods before the two of them would just sit there in the room catching up like a pair of old friends. It wouldn’t be long till Chorong had entered the room, which Duri would stand up to greet her and introduce himself.

With a brightly colored vest, he was excited, to say the least, after finding out that they’d be going to see Hayun, an old woman whom Duri has met times before while volunteering as an action officer. They had become some form of friends, finding things that the two had bonded over. She was someone that he had a lot of fun with and was happy to be able to put a smile upon her face. Chorong and Duri had gotten to the front door of her apartment, before Chorong had knocked upon the door. The two had continued their conversations as if it was nothing before the door was opened and a very happy Hayun was on the other side. “Duri-ah! Aigoo, it’s been so long! How are you?” She said, like an excited grannie who was seeing their grandchild after a while. “I’m good! How are you? Sorry for only visiting now, I’ve been pretty busy,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re finally here,” she said, before she let in Chorong and Duri into her apartment. There was a conversation between Hayun and Chorong that Duri didn’t hear because he was focused on the pictures that Hayun had around, since she had added new ones to her collection. There’s a soft smile that sat against his lips as he looked. He turned to Hayun and Chorong a few moments later as they had finished up their conversation with one another.

“Is there anything you want me to do, grandmother Hayun?” He questioned. “Ah, I really need to go shopping for groceries and some new clothes items. But, can you change the lightbulb in the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom?” She asked, before Duri nodded his head. “Yes, no problem!” He said, before he moved to grab the lightbulbs and start doing what needed to be done. Chorong would be given the chore of cleaning a few things that Hayun was unable to do. The ceilings weren’t much higher than Duri was tall, so it was a simple fix for him. He opened them up, before removing the light bulb that sat in there, and replacing it with a brand new one. After switching and placing the thing back on, he’d switch the light on to double check that it did indeed work. He’d spend about ten minutes changing lights out carefully, before riding of the bulbs carefully and placing back what he didn’t use where Hayun had kept things. Then he was quick to assist Chorong in the task that she was doing. Things were looking good and it was nice to see Hayun happy that she was receiving help.

They’d spend the next hour or so out and about, picking up the things that Hayun needed. She had insisted on coming along, saying that it would be nice to get out with the two, and how she wasn’t so nervous to go out considering she had the two with her. They had helped her pick out some clothing that she had needed, as well as helped her shop for food for her apartment. Though, what they didn’t know was she was also gathering stuff for a meal that she was going to make them before they would leave for the day. As they walked along, they came along a bakery, Duri’s eyes looking towards the cakes that were on display. “Keep heading back, I’ll catch up!” He said to the two of them, before he would enter the shop. He purchased a cake, one that he knew was Hayun’s favorite, considering she had mentioned it a few times before. After leaving the bakery, he’d move quickly to catch up with the two of them, the cake in a bag hidden upon the other bags that he was carrying. They had finally made it back to her apartment, before they would work to put things together. “Can you both help me make something before you leave?” She asked, before they would both agree. “We’re going to make a meal to share before you leave because I want to make sure you ate and use this as a thank,” she said, before she’d get to telling them what to do like she was the head chef in a fancy restaurant in some kind of fancy hotel. He kind of chuckled, before he worked on chopping things up for the meal that she had decided on. “Ah, cooking together, this is so nice,” she said in a sing-song voice as she stood at the stove, stirring together ingredients in a sizzling pan.

They talked and laughed, having a good time spending time together. It was like a meeting between old time friends, who was catching up, and just had a good time together as friends. They managed to treat each other like family, but that just seemed to be the people that they were. Chorong was someone that was quickly becoming a friend of Duri’s after spending the day together, plus she was someone that had spent time with Hayun in the past as well. Soon, they’d sit down for the meal with side dishes and all, Hayun really going out for them. They had sat and ate, talking over their meal. It was a normal conversation about life and things going on, Hayun always taking an interest in the things that Duri does.

“My granddaughters are always so jealous that I get to hang out with a member of Knight,” she said, it was something that she would always say and giggle about because she loved to rub it in their faces. They’d probably take a picture together again later so Hayun could once again, show it off to the grandchildren like she liked to.

Though, there was one thing that had managed to hit Duri like a ton of bricks. While they were talking, she’d ask him one question. “How are you, Duri? Are you okay? I know you told me about a few things…” she said, looking upon him. He wasn’t excepting it, but he nodded his head to her question. “Ah, I’m good, I’m good! You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, a soft smile on his lips. Why was that such an easy thing to lie about? How could he lie to Hayun and his new friend, Chorong. Maybe it was just because he didn’t want anyone to worry, especially Hayun in her older age.

Nonetheless, they continued eating, before Duri had gotten up. “I have one more thing that we still have time for before Chorong-ah and I have to leave!” he stated, before he would move quickly to get it. He pulled out a cake, placing it on the table. “Grannie Hayun’s favorite cake!” He said, a giggle leaving his lips. “Aigoo, what’s this for?” She said, before reaching over the table and grabbing his cheeks, “Whoever marries you is going to be so lucky! Do you have anyone? I should set you up, I know a lot of people!” she said, excitement lacing in her tone. He laughed, his head shaking. “I know it’s your birthday soon and I wanted to celebrate it because it’s going to be awhile till we see each other again because the end of the year is coming up, which becomes pretty busy for me schedule wise. And no, no there’s no need to set me up!” He giggled once more, shaking his head, before they’d celebrate with cake, Hayun’s favorite cake. They’d clean up once they were finished, drying the dishes, and putting them away.

“It was so nice today, thank you for coming today to help me out and spend time with me,” she said, a grin upon her face. It was obvious why Hayun would constantly sign up for people to come to volunteer at her place, she just loved people. There was a lot the two had shared in common. “Hold on! Just one picture!” She said, before grabbing her phone to take a picture with him. “Okay, okay! Go now!” She said, before Duri and Chorong would nod after putting their shoes on. “Thank you, grandma,” they’d both say. “If you need anything ever, just call me! If I don’t answer at first, I’ll call you back as soon as I can!” he said, the smile still against his lips. “Okay, we’ll be going first.” Duri and Chorong would make their way back to the police station, just so Duri could finish up anything that was needed for after the volunteer work, as well as to return the brightly colored vest that he had on. He bowed to them, thanking them, and went on his way with the paper he could hand to his manager to show that he had accomplished what BC Entertainment wanted him to.

[thedeviljudges]

Daddy Billy? Serious daddy Billy? Serious daddy Billy turning into a fluffy bear for his princess, Steve?

uhmm, so like i’m so sorry this took ages to get to, but!!! it’s finished, and this is a bit long. although, i really don’t think this is what you had in mind?? just know that i love this; i love this kinda stuff, and i should probably redo this prompt bc this wasn’t exactly what i was going for; it just kinda happened??/f jasldkf idk, but here ya go, babe.

The window to his studio overlooks the whole of New York, and Steve doesn’t miss the way the wind curls into the room like smoke, thick and heavy from air polluted by busy streets and the life of people.

There’s sirens in the distance and the honking of late cars – they’re always there in a place like this, too loud when he’d moved in, but a comfort that lets him know the world still spins. Steve might even hear the distant rattle of voices on a warm, breezy day if the flat wasn’t several stories above floor level.

Deeply, he breathes, inhales air and fresh paint. His fingers are stained blue and green, crust under his fingernails from the hours he’s spent in his studio trying to transfer the images from his head onto a canvas. Soft strums of music fill the room, too, mostly drowned out by city life, but the distinct violin and flute are pitch perfect alongside the orchestra he loves to listen it for concentration.

As Steve picks up a brush, he hums, dips it into the paint and smears it across the canvas in gentle strokes. Sometimes- and only sometimes, does he know what he’s painting. He likes his landscapes well enough, people, too, but often, he likes freehand, knows that it’s child’s play when he does it, as if he’d dipped his fingers into the paint and willed tacky into existence.

It’s still a form of release, though. It may not be anything special, but it cuts his anxiety right in two when he needs it the most.

“You’ve been in here all day?”

Steve jumps, watches helplessly as the brush slides across the canvas in an indecent stroke only to fall out of his hand onto the floor. “Fuck,” he says, climbs out of his chair, reaching for the brush. He delicately places it onto the table, the one that holds all his supplies, his brushes, his paints. He’s even got clay and watercolors, colored pencils and markers he’s still testing out because the texture runs different; the liquid is thinner, and Steve’s determined to understand the variety. “You could’ve made a noise, you asshole.”

“Forgive me for walking through my house.”

The tone is sharp, unexpected, and when Steve looks up, Billy’s leaning against the threshold of the door with a pinch in his brow and a curl to his lip. Steve’s not sure what’s caused it, thinks back to this morning when Billy smiled as he’d leaned over the edge of the bed to kiss Steve goodbye. Thinks maybe he could’ve left something out of place, then wonders if maybe something else has crawled up under Billy’s skin and settled there.

“Right,” he answers, not knowing what he could follow that up with. The tension is thick now, heavy and unsure, and Steve knows it’s one of those moods, the kind that isn’t deliberate because Billy’s only holding back his feelings like that’s the right thing to do.

Might have to coax it out of him, then.

Billy’s brow arches, pointed like he’s waiting for Steve to snap, and at that, he rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “You’re going to come sit down,” he starts, sees the way Billy’s eye twitches after being told what to do. “Sit. Down.” Then, he nods at the chair, turns and pulls open a few drawers until he’s sorting out a set of clean paint brushes.

When Steve turns around, he runs into a solid chest, Billy bracing his hips with the palms of his hands. He’s warm even through Steve’s clothes, a weight he’s missed all day. “Princess is getting a little too big for his britches,” Billy says, blue eyes amused as Steve attempts to wiggle free. He knows that Billy’s cornering him for a reason, for a fight, for maybe a good fuck to avoid the problem at hand, but if there’s anything Steve’s learned about Billy, it’s that his instincts to please win out every time.

“Daddy’s getting a little too serious,” he counters, tone like the edge of a knife. He smiles, makes sure Billy knows that he knows and that Steve’s only going to make him work for anything more than a deep kiss.

It takes a moment, but only that, for Billy to sigh, takes a step back, then another, until his hands are no longer on Steve. He almost looks disappointed, but Steve knows Billy’s insides burn brighter than any star, and if he can’t have his way now, he’ll certainly get it later.

Billy sits down, sort of plops into the seat with a huff like he can’t believe Steve’s making him do this. Really, Steve doesn’t have a clue what he’s intended, but he does have paints and stained hands, clean brushes and white canvases that take his mind off of the bullshit his brain conjures. Billy’s never one to join Steve on his quest, complains too much about the paint fumes and that there’s no point to this if I can’t draw jack, Steve.

Billy’s more of a reader anyway, the study a life of its own with the shelves extending from floor to ceiling. It’s how Billy usually relaxes when he needs it, if he’s not busy coaxing an orgasm out of Steve – which he very happily enjoys – but this time, Steve reaches for Billy’s palm, pries his fingers open and sets a single brush in his hand.

“I trust you know what to do with it.” Steve nudges Billy’s fingers, closing the hold around the wooden stem of the brush. Then, he glances at the canvas from underneath his lashes, back and forth until Billy’s frowning.

“You mean you’re not going to give me a lap dance? I sat down for nothing?”

Try as he might, Steve can’t contain his smirk, tilting his head like he’s talking to a child. “You haven’t earned that yet,” he says, cupping the underside of Billy’s jaw in a tender gesture of affection, only pulling away to grab the other chair he keeps in the corner of the room. “Show me what you got, pretty boy.”

“You using my lines on me is not doing you any favors,” Billy says, narrowing his eyes. He’s pretty good at reading Steve – they’re both good at reading each other now, but sometimes Steve still pulls one over his head, likes when Billy’s games slip from his control, right into Steve’s.

“Just paint, Billy.” And then he waits, stares at the other man until Billy’s grumbling under his breath. The brush rotates between his fingers, Steve watching as he attempts to find a comfortable grip before hovering over the paints like he’s scared to touch them, like he’s never seen them before.

“Weren’t you working on something?” he asks, let’s his arm fall down, elbow to his knee. He glances at the paining, half of it covered in paint, the other half white, and the one lone streak that wasn’t intentional. If Steve could give it one ounce of personification, it’d be the way it mocks him as it lies drying.

“Nothing’s as important as you,” he replies, turning his gaze away from the eye sore – though in actuality, the whole canvas is, but that’s neither here nor there – to continue staring at Billy, watches the way the corner of his lips drag into a frown, realizing that there’s no way around Steve’s stubbornness.

Billy blinks, still doesn’t look impressed and says, “You’re being a brat.”

Petulance is a word Steve would use to describe Billy sometimes, so used to snapping his fingers and people crawling on their knees for a moment of his time. His job – though more like his position – gives him that luxury, and Steve hates to admit that maybe he’d fallen for it too until he realized just how much he could bat his eyes and turn Billy into a puddle of putty. “Didn’t start it, babe.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were,” Steve insists, gives a quick point to the project as if that explains it all. “So, now you’re going to paint me a picture.” It goes quiet then, the music in the background filling the room, the city outside rumbling as if it wasn’t listening to their conversation.  

“You know I can’t paint, princess,” Billy attempts on more time, just one moment of reprieve. Steve doesn’t understand why it’s so difficult to follow simple instructions, but then again, he’s dealing with a man in a fortune five-hundred company who’s never rolled over for anyone in his life.

Except Steve, but even then, that’s not something Billy easily admits to. It isn’t out of weakness, per se, and Billy loves showing him off to all his friends. As if Steve found objection in the question the first time Billy offered because he hadn’t, but more to do with the fact that Billy and emotions have never gone hand in hand. Like pulling teeth, Steve’s been on the brink of frustration too many times, knows the reason, knows Billy’s past, but still doesn’t wholly understand.

So, out of playing stubborn, Steve shrugs. “Does that look like a masterpiece to you?” Failure has welcomed him too many times; Steve feels like maybe that’s the root of a much larger problem. The career he’d aspired for left no room for positive affirmations, not until he’d struggled for a few years and finally booked a gig big enough to have offers roll in, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deal with his fair share of personal torment over whether all he’s good with his posing.

Steve likes his looks well enough, uses that to his advantage more often than he’d like to admit, but that alone isn’t fulfilling as the time spent in between painting and creating something much more than an image.

He frowns, holds disdain in his eyes because some of the colors have muddled together in a particularly ugly shade of brown. Not what he was going for, but it’s not like he can’t start again. That’d always been a lessoned learned.

“You know anything you do is good enough.” Billy’s eyes are on him now, intense and blue under the streams of sun that shine through the window.

It makes Steve suck in a breath, reminds him of all the reasons he loves Billy’s attention on him. “Not the point,” he croaks, definitely not disillusioned with the idea that Billy knows how he affects Steve. “But thank you anyway. You’re stalling; now get to it or-”

“Or what?” Billy says, the arch in his brow back.

Steve plucks the brush he’d been using off the table, dips it into a shade of blue – bright like the sky and similar to Billy’s eye color; he’d never admit it, but it’s why he bought it, felt like maybe the deep reds and shades of purple he loved the most could use the contrast even though it never really matched.

He’s sure there’s a metaphor somewhere in there, hates how he’s always slow in understanding what his subconscious already knows, but Steve only dabs the canvas in the corner, knows Billy’s looking at what he’s doing, only to surprise him by lifting the brush to slide it down the side of Billy’s cheek. “That’s my favorite color on you,” he says. “For future reference.”

Billy stills, gone rigid by the gesture. The flick of his tongue is what gives him away, that he’s not mad but agitated with really? Did you really?

“If you get paint on this suit-” he says, voice dropping low.

“You’ll what?” Steve taunts. “Spank me, daddy?” And just as he says it, like a slow motion shot of a film, paint drips off Steve’s brush and lands right on the lapel of Billy’s suit jacket. Bright blue paint on a deep brown suit don’t really go together, but Steve is reminded, if only briefly, why he loves color theory so much. “That was not planned.”

He shrinks away, wide-eyed as Billy dabs the paint off with a finger, slides it across the canvas in front of him because Steve doesn’t have a rag nearby, and there’s no sense in it anyway. There’s a dark spot on the suit, and it’s going to be a bitch to remove.

“Wasn’t it?” Billy rubs his thumb and forefinger together, that maybe if he does it long enough, the rest of the paint will wither away. Instead, it just leaves the tips tacky and stained like Steve’s.

“No,” Steve replies, dumps his brush into the dirty cup of water he keeps only in case he runs out of clean brushes. It hardly happens because Steve has enough sets that he can wash and dry a pair without waiting to use them. “You should’ve taken your clothes off before coming in here.”

Now the tables have turned, his argument weak across the tongue. Billy certainly picks up on that with, “Is that so?”

“You know what I meant.”

“Do I?”

“Billy,” Steve whines, flush gradually fluttering across his cheeks.

“Hmm. See, that’s not my name, baby. Not when you have to beg.”

“Who says I’m begging?” But he’s not confident in that question either, pointed out by Billy’s lazy smirk.

“Well, if you’re not,” he pauses, thumbing the bristles of the brush in his hand, “then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I did this.” Billy then takes the paint brush and runs it straight down Steve’s forehead, between his wide brown eyes and stops just as he reaches the tip of his nose.

“That’s-” Steve falters, feels the cool breeze twice as much as the paint sits wet upon his skin.

“Not fair?” Billy’s brows raise, amusement hidden in the corner of his eyes, significantly lighter than when he’d entered the room. It’s a better look on him, as Steve takes him in, gently touching the tip of his nose, definitely checking that one line had been given to his painting and now another sits between his eyes. Billy must read his thoughts, pushes further by emphasizing his tone lighter and nowhere close to Steve’s. “Didn’t start it, babe.”

He makes a split second decisions - not even that, really - by dipping his fingers directly into the yellow paint, flicking them until little dots dance across Billy’s skin. “Then finish it.”

It happens within seconds. One moment Steve is propped up on the edge of his chair, perfectly pleasant in sharing his space with Billy upright, and the next he’s sprawled across the floor. His brush rolls across it, left to be found later, and his paints - including the canvas and the water - splash around them. It’s in this moment that Steve’s grateful Billy replaced the carpet with tile, but even then he winces until Billy’s got four fingers - all stained with paint - running down the curve of his neck.

“Gladly,” he say as he reaches forward, attaching his lips to the side of Steve’s neck that isn’t covered in paint. He nips, and he sucks until Steve’s wriggling from beneath him. His cock fills quickly, doesn’t take much when he’s around Billy anyway, and he lets him know by rutting against his thigh, soft little presses until Billy reaches for his hip to hold him still. “I’m thinking,” Billy says, slipping two fingers just past the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants. His cock jumps, the anticipation curling in his chest, but Billy moves no further. “That I probably shouldn’t let you cum.”

Steve swallows a noise of disappointment. This isn’t what he’d intended, had really hoped for more of a conversation of intent and resolution than Billy pinning him against the floor on the off-chance that maybe he’d get to come.

But now that he’s here, he’s shameless enough to admit his will power doesn’t proceed him. “Please, daddy,” he emphasizes this time, latching onto Billy’s tie to pull him down into another heated kiss. His tongue is rough against Billy’s, sliding past his teeth, tastes the cigarette smoke and mints, the cleanliness that lingers because Billy knows of nothing else.

Immediately, whatever tension was left lingering in Billy’s body, simply dissipates. Steve feels the extra weight of Billy on top of him as he relaxes, as he pushes Steve’s sweatpants down to expose his cock. Billy takes him in hand, rough at first with the callouses against his palm, but it’s a discomfort that makes him twitch, makes him grind up into the palm of Billy’s hand seeking more, seeking a release he knows will be quick.

Billy thumbs at the head of his cock, breaking away from Steve’s kiss to latch onto the underside of his jaw. Blurts of pre-cum swell at the tip as Billy slowly rubs it down the length of him.

Steve always gets embarrassingly wet, generally likes to use his slick to fuck his fist, and Billy knows this, too, because he’d watched Steve once, made him sit on the couch in broad daylight just so he could stroke himself to orgasm with only the touch of his hand. Billy’s blue, wanton eyes were the only thing he’d seen as he’d fallen over the edge.

So, this isn’t an exception, not when Billy takes him fully, strokes up in one swift movement and too slow - agonizingly slow - to calm the desire in Steve, to make him wet, to make it easier. He whines low in his throat while Billy smiles against the curve of his shoulder. The linger of a kiss remains as he pulls away, stares at Steve and tells him, “Fuck my fist, princess.”

There’s no hesitation from Steve, doesn’t crow over the tile against his back, hard underneath the tarp, and he doesn’t complain about how his pants restrict him from opening his legs wider, can’t use his feet as leverage to give a good thrust.

Instead, Steve’s movement’s are limited, sloppy and uncoordinated. Billy’s seated in desire, curled around Steve’s side as he tightens his fist, releasing it a moment later only to repeat the torture of not giving enough until Steve catches his wrist, holds him there.

The corner of Billy’s mouth twitches, reads Steve’s eyes as they beg, until he releases Billy in the hope he’ll listen. “You’re awfully haughty,” Billy whispers, though the thick of his voice gives away just how little control he has over it, how little he cares that Steve’s pushy when usually it’s the other way around. “Should let you take care of yourself.”

Shaking his head, Steve licks his lips, gives a particularly enthusiastic push of his hips before he tells Billy, “I’m too much of a sight to behold.”

With that, Billy squeezes around Steve’s cock, thumb curving just underneath the head until Steve’s hissing. Billy hums again, has a fond look on his face as he says, “You are, my darling. Watching you makes my day.” And then he’s shoving Steve’s shirt up, releasing his length for only a second to do it, sliding his hand down, down until he’s back stroking, quick sessions of his fist accumulating pre-cum, meeting the sharp thrusts Steve gives.

And then- then Billy’s lips are lower on his skin, as his shirt bunches up against the line of his collar. Billy gives a rough command, says, “Now cum or I won’t fuck you later,” then licks across the bud of Steve’s nipple, swirling his tongue until he gives a particularly hard bite that sends Steve’s head reeling, has his cock blurting thick strips of cum across his tummy, towards his chest.

He’s loud when the moan escapes, as Steve cries underneath Billy’s torture, feels his toes curl, limbs shaking. Billy presses kisses across the middle of his chest, laps at the cum that’s landed that far before taking Steve’s other nipple into his mouth despite the fact that he’s already cum. His hand is gentler now in his strokes across Steve’s cock, eases him through the after affects of release and only steps off when Steve whimpers, squirms away from sensitivity.

“You’re always so unfair,” Steve says after he few breaths, catches how easy it is to fill his lungs after the rise of his heartbeat.

Billy smiles, rests his chin on Steve’s chest lightly. The thick of his lashes make him look bashful, Steve staring down the bridge of his nose for a clear glimpse. He thinks, sometimes, how unfair it is, that all the small, pretty things about Billy always add up into one big picture of beauty, often made him wonder how he ended up here like this with a boyfriend who loved him good, fucked him good, too.

“If anything’s unfair,” Billy retorts, “it’s the fact that you got off, and I’ve yet-”

“Do you want me to-”

Billy’s quick to shake his head, places his cum-covered hand on Steve’s shoulder, which stops him from moving. “Told you I’d fuck you later. I meant that.”

“Like you also meant to snap at me?” Steve asks without a tone of regret. He slides his fingers across the back of Billy’s head, sinking them into his hair, rubbing his scalp with the blunt of his fingernails in light scratches. Steve looks away then, hates to be the bitch that ruins the mood, but he had intended for the issue to be addressed.

Besides, Steve might’ve been cookie-cutter perfect for a good chunk of his life, and that might’ve changed after years away from home, but the one thing that hasn’t left him is wanting to know the truth. No bullshit; no lies, Billy, he remembers telling him. You cheat, and we’re done.

It’s been years since that conversation, and they’ve never held each other to anything less. This is still no exception.

Billy sighs, turns his head so he’s ear is pressed against Steve instead. “Shitty day at work, that’s all,” he says, tired seeping through the vibrato. “Shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

There’s no reason to be mad, and Steve’s not, continues to sweep his hand through Billy’s curls, across the top of his head until he’s pulled away the tangles, and Billy’s eyes are fluttering closed.

“You do know I’m always down for a good, hard fuck if you ever need to let your frustrations out, Billy,” Steve eventually says when the silence stretches. “I’ve told you that, and I’d much prefer having my ass pounded than you angry and sniping at me.”

“Fuck, how’d I get so lucky.” Billy’s arm curls tight around Steve’s waist, warm and pliant. Steve can feel the rise and fall of his chest, maybe even feels Billy’s heart hammering away from another slight, like they’re all adding up until Steve finally penalizes him for it. He won’t; Steve will admit he’s stubborn, but he’s not scornful. Especially with Billy.

“You really did,” Steve says in agreement, lets the two of them rest there for what feels like ages, lets the music play and the paint dry and the wind breeze through the window until his back grows sore. “C’mon, babe.” He nudges Billy, almost would’ve guessed he fell asleep if it weren’t for him stirring underneath the shake of Steve’s palm. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Billy sits up, reluctantly, turning to help Steve with his pants, helps him stand. His suit is ruffled, has paint on it in random places. His hair’s a mess from Steve rucking through it, but he looks more than content, looks soft, at least, and much more like the person Steve likes to spend his time with.

Rough around the edges has always been, and will always be, Billy’s forte, but Steve enjoys this, too. Enjoys it when Billy sweeps him into his arms, presses their foreheads together, then kisses him softly. Enjoys it when Billy is sincere, when he tugs on Steve’s hand as he nudges a foot in the direction of their bedroom.

“I’ll buy you new paints,” he says absently as they walk down the hall. Steve regrets not cleaning anything, but the bed looks more than inviting, and more importantly, he knows Billy needs the sleep as he clings to Steve, hugs him from behind. Billy’s lips are delicate against his temple, hands caressing Steve’s hips.

“Good,” Steve says, finally urging Billy to untangle their limbs to sit down. Steve helps him off with his shoes, his socks, lets Billy remove the rest of his clothes until he’s in nothing but his boxers.

With his legs spread wide, Steve slots himself between Billy’s thighs, lays his hand on wide shoulders. “I’ll hold you to it.” And then he’s cupping Billy’s cheek with the palm of his hand, kissing him softly because once is never enough. 

Soon, Steve’s balance fails him, the two of them falling into bed in the middle of the afternoon just because they have the time, just because they can, and just because Steve’s missed the way Billy curls around him when they’re together.