i know i've added all the fake ones

anonymous asked:

i was a lil shy about requesting for a while bc i expected you to be slammed.. u r a very good writer haha. what about an insanely sensitive and overstimulated Kohe? bonus points if it's a drunk one night stand and Fake can hear him getting fucked for added angst. they're both really hungover in the morning and Kohe makes breakfast for Fake as some kind of silent apology, because he knows he's got a lil crush on him. sorry if this is a lot lsjkfhk, u have me thirsting for Fake x Kohe. xoxo

aww, thank you anon <33.

A fractured voice stammered through the thin walls, Fake Frank couldn’t really do much other than listen. It was late, all the lights were out and all the chores were done, there was nothing to do besides trying to sleep and Frank couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. Not with the way he could hear Kōhe’s voice louder and clearer than he’d ever heard it before, he couldn’t even hear the bed springs squeaking. It still sounded like Kōhe, stuttered and timid sounds but now they were loud enough to bounce off of the inside of Fake Frank’s skull. 

Sweat slickly running down his back, Kōhe’s entire body shook as fingers traced down his spine. Legs quaking with every thrust, what could be considered violent moans shuddered through him. He was almost certain that he’d pass out when he came, blood rushing harsh and thick through his veins making him light headed. 

The morning was too bright, Kōhe had never had much of a problem staying in the shade. He hid behind his fringe as he fried eggs in their tiny pan, long sleeves rolled up as he watched the oil swish around. 

“Good morning,” Fake Frank announced with a hoarse voice, mussed hair hidden beneath his hat, as he walked into the kitchen. He pulled a carton of orange juice from the yellowing fridge, he drank straight from the carton as Kōhe softly disapproved. 

“Morning,” Kōhe said, hunched over the kitchen counter as he dished up the breakfast.

“Who’s that for? Your friend?” Frank asked, waggling his eyebrows which seemed to start up a coughing fit in Kōhe. 

“No,” Kōhe said, pushing the plate toward Frank, “for you,” he added, turning away to switch off the cooker but also in an effort to hide his expression from Frank. 

“Why’re you making me breakfast?” Frank asked, stunned as a treacherous blush swept across his face. 

“To apologise for making noise,” Kōhe said, scratching at the back of his head as he spoke. Heat rising all over his body as a mix of embarrassment and guilt ran slick through him. 

Fake Frank didn’t have anything to say in reply, he simply said a small thanks before moving to sit at their tiny table beside the equally tiny window, savoring every bite. He practically cleaned the plate, not even leaving a single scrap for the rats.