#anon… kissing the top of your head for this

[nadvs]

　 —⊹　♡　 newlyweds ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

anon asked . . . i'm thinking about being newlyweds with rafe. you're at friends' house for dinner and as midnight falls, rafe notices how sleepy ur getting, sheepishly smiling and all, trying to keep up with the conversation. he's gotta take his sweet wife home and fuck her all soft and deep for being so so good

author’s note obsessed with this request. filthy smut below the cut! 18+!

a smile tugs on the corner of rafe’s mouth as you settle in the passenger seat, another sweet yawn escaping your lips.

“i don’t think you said thank you enough,” he rasps.

you laugh softly as you pull your seatbelt on. you’d thanked your mutual friends for hosting you countless times on your way out, earning his gentle teasing.

“i wanted to be polite,” you say. “is that so bad?”

“no, baby, it’s not bad at all,” he murmurs. “you ready for bed?”

you bite your lip, looking over at him as the overhead light dims to black. you’re no stranger to that depth in his voice, coated with velvet, laced with arousal.

“mhm,” you reply in a hum, your eyelids heavy.

he can’t wait to bury himself deep inside you. the sex has always been incredible, but since the day you made your vows and slid rings onto each other’s fingers, it’s been mind-blowing, your love having never felt so rich.

rafe drives out onto the road and you sink further in your seat. his eyes drift to the way your dress is gliding up your thighs. he’s getting hard, his briefs tightening. it’s like all he ever does is thirst for you.

he imagines the silk bunched up between his fingers as he hikes that dress off of you. he wouldn’t have the patience to take it all the way off if he didn’t love seeing you entirely naked, all of you ready for him.

his hand finds your thigh, his palm big and warm, thumb stroking over your skin.

“i saw you trying not to fall asleep at the table,” he teases. his fingers glide to your inner thigh. the feeling of your soft, hot flesh makes his cock even harder. “my sweet girl. didn’t want to be rude.”

you instinctually spread your legs, your stomach coiling at the thought of his fingers on you, in you.

one hand is tight on the wheel while the other plays with the lining of your panties at the crook of your thigh. he gently nudges against your core, the thin layer of your panties already wet against the pads of his fingers.

you breathe a moan. your head is spinning, your body writhing to feel him without any barriers.

“you gonna thank me tonight, too?” he asks.

“yes,” you whisper. you gently buck your hips and reach across the console, touching the hard bulge in his pants.

“fuck,” he groans. you cup him over the fabric, desperate to feel his girth stretching you out.

you tease each other, your breaths going shallow as your hands move the way you know the other loves. his fingers dip into your panties, gently parting your lips, just barely sinking inside.

rafe has never been so glad the drive is so short. his heart is pounding in his ears once he gets you in bed, his knees sinking into the mattress as he hovers over you.

his tongue is against yours, your mouths open and hot and wet as your clothes clumsily bunch together and drop to the floor.

you’re panting when his mouth finds your neck, kissing and sucking. he cups your jaw to ensure that you look him in the eyes as he guides himself into you, slow, so slow that you want to cry out.

rafe shudders against your mouth as sinks into your heat. this is the best place in the fucking world. on top of you, your pussy wrapped around him, your moans filling his ears.

“was staring at you tonight, thinking about how lucky i am to call you my wife,” he rasps. “about how hard i want to make you come.”

goosebumps bloom over your skin as he shifts to trace circles over your clit. he finally bottoms out, stretching you out with a pressure so euphoric that you feel dizzy.

every thrust is slow. you fit together perfectly, hot and sweet and meant for each other. he completes you and you complete him, needing the other just the same, missing each other when he pulls back.

his body know yours so well, a language only you two speak. it takes no time for the coil in you to snap, coming undone. you feel like you might lose your mind when you watch him dip his fingers into his mouth to taste you.

his hips start to rock faster. harder. he collides against you over and over, the deliciously lewd sounds filling your bedroom, tangled with his ragged breaths and the squeaking bed.

“so good for me,” he groans, his lips pressed against your temple. “i fucking love you.”

and you tell him you love him, too, you thank him, you moan his name, you feel absolute perfection as he finishes inside of you.

[theorist-fox]

simon and tits anon from the other day here (forehead kiss received and reciprocated mwah)

anyway more simon and boob thoughts-

those milkmaid/bustier dresses that are coming in to fashion? he’s obsessed, goes shopping with you to fill your wardrobe with them for the summer. especially loves the ones with the ties on the top so he can just pull one string loose to busy his mouth while his hands feel how nice your body is in the corset. goes feral when you don’t wear a bra/pasties with them, but will squeeze your boobs any chance he gets before going on with his business.

when he just needs a quick release and you’re not necessarily in the mood for a fuck, just offer him a tit and let him do the rest. and how can you deny him? cock in hand, stroking in an urgent rhythm while sucking at your nipple, his grunts and moans vibrating through you… even better when he finishes, his hand painted white but still suckling away as his heart rate steadies again. sucking on your nipples is his foreplay, main event, and aftercare all in one.

a big fan of laying himself on top of your while you’re stretched on the bed or on the sofa. pushes your (his) shirt up enough to shove his head inside of it too, lips finding your nipple before using you as a pillow. likes how the shirt surrounds him and makes him feel enclosed, there’s no better place than being trapped against you, all warm and cosy. likes when you pet his head over the fabric, fingers twitching when he knows it’s starting to feel a little too good for you. he has also fallen asleep like this, only to wake up and throw a lethal glare at you when you try to pry him off.

CW: smut, simon with an oral fixation and his mouth stuffed full of your tits 🤩

sucking on your nipples is his foreplay, main event, and aftercare all in one.

You're so right.

And he likes it for several reasons, nasty ones and whatnot—one of these, though, is because you might like it even more.

Because Simon loves it when you scream, when you babble nonsensically as he ploughs his dick into you. He loves to hear you moan his name, fist the sheets pleading for mercy you don't truly want, or claw at his back until nails paint him red—lovely addition to the knotted lines, jagged and ugly, left by much crueller hands.

But hell—does he love it when you're quieter, too. 

When he has you straddling his lap, fingers riding the shirt up your chest. When his hands come to cup your breasts, eyes glued to the shivers that rise in waves on your skin. 

When his mouth languidly lands on your breastbone, open wide, tongue tasting where the bone is harder until it reaches the cashmere flesh cradled in his palms.

Looks up at the pinch of your brows when his lips part around your nipple. Cock chubbed when your mouth yields soft moans that are barely audible unless he perks his ears for it. 

The grind of your hips is instinctive when he starts to suckle, the pain in his shoulders delightful when your nails almost draw blood in the mere intent of finding some balance.

Simon could easily cum in his briefs when you start dragging the wetness lining your panties against the stiff cock tenting his jeans. When the knot of your clit catches his swollen head, scratching against the zipper, and the muscles in your neck go limp—mouth pressed to the crown of his head, breath blowing staggered into his hair. 

Sends shivers down his neck, running in pinpricks down to his tailbone.

You can ride him all day baby. He'll get hard and cum back to back, spill all over himself until his stomach hurts from clenching, whines muffled by the fat still filling his mouth.

As long as you keep your chest close and your moans breathy. As long as you keep cumming too—until you've soaked the denim, until you're wet enough for him to finally slide home.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Light On

summary: when you reach out to joaquin waving the white flag, you realize how broken he's been.

pairing: touch starved!joaquin torres x ex!f!reader

contents: exes to lovers, food and alcohol mention, angst, canon typical trauma/trauma responses, get back together fic, kissing

wc: 1,988

an: i combined my idea for touched starved!joaquin with this request about yearning. sorry it took so long anon and i hope you like it <3

danny ramirez characters masterlist

He’s late to the housewarming. Not by much, but enough that he has to squeeze through a half-shut gate and slip past a crowd already buzzing with drinks and music. His shoulders still feel tight from the last mission—three cities, too many close calls, and not enough sleep. He almost didn’t come.

But when he saw your name at the top of the invite sent only to him, group chat, no passive-aggressive message he could say no to you. 

It read simple and gave him a glimmer of hope:

I hope you can come. it’s not a trap. peace offering. 

He doesn’t deserve the invite or your kindness, not after how he’d withdrawn so abruptly 8 months ago. He thought ending things before he could truly disappoint you or worse— scare you with one of his missions was the right thing to do. But now he can’t convince himself that this invite isn’t some sort of chance to at least make things right. Better.

Inside, the lights are warm, soft, glowing off glasses and muted green walls. There’s someone laughing in the kitchen, someone singing too loud on the patio. He catches a glimpse of you through the open door—perched on the porch bench, the setting sun’s rays on your cheeks, telling a story with your hands. 

Joaquin’s heart stutters.

 Just the sight of you makes him feel like it’s been an eternity. He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful you are but clearly he had let the weight of it slip away to protect himself. 

You look up, like you feel him before you even see him. And when your eyes meet, something in his chest aches. That’s all it takes for everything he’s been trying to outrun to come flooding back. 

How safe and understood he felt when the two of you did nothing but lay under the clouds. How warm his heart got at the sound of your laughter. How easy it was until he got into his head about being right for you. 

You smile at him. 

It’s not the same smile as before, but it’s not cold either. Cautious and familiar, but no less warm. Because you’re happy to see Joaquin, but now in the face of him you’re afraid everything you’ve worked for will come crumbling down. 

“Hey,” you say softly, walking inside from the deck toward him with a drink in hand. Your voice is light but not performative as you try to play it cool. “Llegaste.”

He nods. “Yeah. I couldn’t—yeah.”

You don’t hesitate. You step right up to him and wrap up your arms around his middle. It’s causal, natural and despite your past, you don’t even think about the possible impacts. 

The simplicity of it all hits him like a wave.

He stiffens for just a second, like he wasn’t expecting it. Like he’s forgotten what it feels like to be touched gently, without purpose or urgency. Or violence. Then his arms come up slowly, almost uncertainly, and he lets himself hold you—just enough so that it’s not awkward. Not enough for everything he wants.

One of your hands slides up his back once, rubbing tenderly. It’s a tiny gesture but he swears he could cry.

“Estas bien?” you ask, pulling back just enough to look at him.

He nods again, softer this time. “Ahora sí.”

You try not to show that his words affect you, simply giving him the best smile you can before untangling yourself from him. Gesturing for him to follow you, you make your way into the kitchen fishing out a beer and handing it to him. “Here.”

He takes it, fingers brushing yours, and his grip tightens on the bottle like it’s an anchor. “Thanks.”

Later, after a few brief hellos and introductions, you sit beside each other on the porch. He’s barely touched his beer but neither of you have noticed. 

There’s easy conversation on your part, starting with how you found the house and decided it was the one you wanted. You tell him about the chaos in the kitchen earlier tonight, a spilled pitcher of sangria. About the neighbor who brought way too many folding chairs.

He barely says anything, he simply listens. Listens like he’s afraid he’ll miss something if he blinks, like he’ll wake up from a dream. 

He watches the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. The way your knee bounces when you’re excited. The way you don’t flinch being this close to him, how you lean closer. You aren’t afraid to touch him, a nudge of shoulders here, a brush of his knee there when you say something funny.

 It seems like it comes easy to you and god, has he  missed this.

“I miss this,” he says quietly, gaze fixed on the beer bottle in his hands. Then, after a breath: “I miss… you.”

There’s several beats of silence. He doesn’t have the heart to look up at you, to see the surprise on your face.

You look at him, cheeks warm, stomach twisting with anticipation. You hadn’t expected him to say something like that when he was the one that ended things the way he did. 

When you speak again your voice is quiet but firm. “Not here.”

Even then, you touch his knee—just a brush of your fingers—but it feels like a jolt. He follows you without thinking.

You lead him down the back steps, past string lights and potted herbs, to the edge of the backyard. There’s a small pond there, still and starting to glow under the emerging moon. 

You’re a ways away from everyone else. It feels like you're a world away, a veil falling between you and Joaquin and the world. Everything else is muffled, distorted. It’s just the two of you. 

You turn to face him, your eyes guarded. “I miss you too,” you say. “I never stopped wanting this. You were the one that…”

His chest tightens, but before he can reach for you, you add—gentle, but unwavering:

“But, I’m not doing that again. I’m not getting close just to watch you disappear when things get hard. If you want me—really want me—then you have to stay. You have to try.”

He swallows hard, the words sitting heavy between you.

You can see, nearly hear the gears turning in his head. There’s conflict, something soft and something so scared in his eyes as he lets your words sink in. You step forward then, and when your arms wrap around his shoulders, he goes completely still. There’s a breath he doesn’t take. A flicker of disbelief in his eyes. Like your touch might vanish if he moves too fast.

This time you notice.

“Què te pasa? Hmm, baby bird?” You ask tenderly and it breaks something open in him. 

Slowly, shakily, he lets go of the tension. He leans in—into you—and his arms finally wrap around your waist. His hold isn’t tight, but you can feel the starved urgency in his fingertips. 

His face presses into your shoulder, and the sound he makes is quiet, but wrecked. A broken exhale like it’s the first breath he’s taken in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I thought I was doing right by you. Letting you go. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You hold him tighter, and his grip flinches like he’s not used to being held back.

“I know,” you say softly, your hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He shudders under your touch and your heart squeezes again. “I know, baby,” you assure him gently.

You brush your lips against his temple, and he tenses just slightly at the contact—like it overwhelms him. His breath hitches, grip tightening around your hips like he’s afraid to let go now that he’s here in your arms.

“Next time,” you murmur, fingers sliding further into his hair, “you just talk to me.”

He nods into you, arms wrapping so tight around you, holding on like this might all slip away.

You stay like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other, warm and quiet. Until the party noise fades into background hum and there’s only moonlight and the hush of the pond.

Eventually, you both sit in the grass, your shoulders brushing. He finally starts to talk to you, to tell you everything he’s endured. Why he pulled away and what plagues him now; months apart and they’re still the same thing.  

He talked about the missions. The pressure. The exhaustion.

About how he didn’t know the full effect of what it was doing to him until he stepped back into your orbit and felt seen again.

Your fingers drift over his hand as he speaks. When he falters, you gently trace one of the faint scars on his knuckles. He goes completely still at the contact—like even that touch is more kindness than he’s used to.

“You have to take better care of yourself,” you say with a half-smile, nudging him gently. ��Or I’m calling Sam.”

That finally earns a real laugh—small, tired, but real.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” you tease. “I’d guilt him into dragging your ass back here for a proper nap and a shower.”

He nudges your knee with his, smiling. You both fall quiet; it’s comfortable.The pond glows beside them. The world slows down.

And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s on borrowed time.

He just feels… held. Seen and understood. Like he’s home, in a way that matters.

—

Later that night, after most of the guests have left and the house is dim and quiet, he helps you carry in the empty bottles and leftover snacks. The porch lights hum low behind them, and the kitchen smells faintly like lime and basil and whatever candle someone brought as a gift.

You’re both barefoot now, toes brushing the tile. He hands you the last bowl and leans against the counter like he doesn’t want to leave.

You sense it immediately, glancing over at him. “You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just… don’t want this to end.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. You step closer, fingers brushing his wrist, and this time he leans into the touch like he needs it to breathe.

“So don’t let it,” you murmur. “Don’t push me away again.”

He swallows. “Would it be too fast if I said I want to see you tomorrow?”

You smile deepens. “Are you asking me on a date, Lieutenant?”

Joaquin grins, soft and sheepish. He finally looks like himself. “Yeah, I am.”

“Well then,” you say, stepping in and tilting your chin up, “you better kiss me goodnight properly.”

You don’t give him time to overthink it. You press your lips to his—soft and warm, lingering just enough to make his breath catch. He kisses you back like he’s still afraid he’ll mess this up, but you thread your fingers through his and holds him close.

When you pull back, he exhales shakily.

You tap your fingers lightly against his chest. “Pick me up at seven. And wear something that says ‘I’ve stopped being emotionally unavailable.’”

He throws his head back with laughter, then groans like that’s going to be a real task. “That narrows my wardrobe down to, like, one shirt.”

Gripping his shirt playfully, you pull him a little closer. “Then wear it.”

Somewhere between getting home and putting his phone on the charger, Joaquin sees the text from Sam. Seems you had followed up on your threat to tell Sam about tonight. 

Sam: I heard you finally stopped being stupid.

Joaquin stares at it for a second before the typing bubble pops up again.

Sam:Bout damn time. You owe me twenty bucks. And a six-pack.

He shakes his head, smiling down at the screen. His reply is simple:

Worth it.

And when he turns off the light and sinks into bed, his heart is full.

let me know if you'd like to be on sfw joaquin torres taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl, @blackwomanchronicles

[littlcdarlin]

Who Will Love A Little Sparrow?

summary: Joel turns sixty.

warnings: girthy age gap (60 & mid 20s), Joel feels guilty about age gap, I cried while writing this, emotional fluff

note: it took one ask to convince me to actually write this lol hope you like it, anon! Title is from the Simon & Garfunkel song

Joel hasn't quite realized he's turning sixty – sure, he knows he looks it, feels it in his cracking joints, aching back and wheezing lungs, sees it in the stares the two of you get walking through Jackson hand in hand, but your company keeps him young. Three and a half decades between you will do that to a man.

He's never liked a big fuss on his birthday; even when he was half his age all the singing and balloons embarrassed him more than anything, so he didn't mention it was coming up during the weeks beforehand. You knew, of course, and so did Tommy, but he figured patrols would keep the two of you busy enough to prevent anything more than an extra kiss from you and a teasing comment from his brother – maybe birthday sex when you were done with your work for the day.

When he wakes up, it's his first thought, though not in excitement, but resignation. Sixty. The number feels like a chasm between the two of you. It makes him feel dirty for having touched you the night before, and he wishes humanity hadn't decided on the decimal numeral system.

You're scheduled for the morning patrol, so he doesn't expect you home before noon, which for the first time in his life feels like a relief. It gives him a couple of hours to bury the guilt about your age somewhere deep and secure, under vague childhood memories and the first thirteen decimals of Pi, where it won't come bubbling up while you're laughing your sunshine-laugh. He doesn't want to dim your spark, not when you seem to just have found it again.

He scuffles downstairs, dragging his feet as if he's turning ninety instead of sixty, just to wallow in his self-pity while nobody is around to see it. If he's lucky, he'll have two more decades, maybe even three, though that kind of hope is practically brazen.

He sighs, making his way over to the kitchen, thinking that if he makes his coffee strong enough, it might make him feel fifty again.

"Happy Birthday."

His head snaps up, and he's staring at you instead of his toes, your youthful face a little blotchy from the excitement.

"Here," you say, and thrust a cupcake in his direction. There is a single purple candle on it, and the frosting isn't draped across the dough in artful swirls the way they did it before the outbreak – still, it's the best cupcake he has ever seen.

"I couldn't fit sixty candles on this thing, so you get one."

Your smile is a little lopsided, a little too understanding, and Joel swallows.

"Thanks," he mutters quietly, staring at the blue part of the flame. "Geez."

"Blow it out," you say, "and make a wish."

He doesn't believe in that, but he obliges because you somehow found him a cupcake in the middle of the apocalypse at the crack of dawn.

"Now," you say, almost business-like, as if the first bullet point of one of your little lists has been crossed off, "I got Tommy and Maria to cover us on patrols today. What do you wanna do first, drink outrageously bitter coffee, or carve a wooden sparrow?"

He stares at you. You must have found the little bird he made during his many sleepless hours – he put it on the very top shelf in the living room where it wouldn't attract attention. It's not that he's embarrassed about it, he's just not sure it's a part of himself he wants to share with the world.

You put the cupcake on the kitchen counter and turn back around, that same knowing smile on your lips.

"I got you something," you say, and Joel frowns.

"You shouldn't trade for–"

"I didn't."

You hand him a small package, wrapped in some old newspaper you decorated with tiny, drawn-on hearts.

"Tommy said you used to wrap presents in colorful paper just to throw it away," you explain, that sense of wonder in your voice, as always when you talk about the before, "I didn't have paint, but I found a pen that works."

Joel stares at the package. He remembers the last birthday present he unwrapped perfectly, can see it catch the morning sunlight on his wrist.

"I–Geez," he just says, again, and starts to carefully peel away the newspaper without creasing your little artwork too much. His thumb traces one of the hearts. There is a hint of red inside the paper, and then he's holding something small.

"Where did you get this?", he asks, voice quiet with awe and something else that seems to thicken his throat.

"I found it in an abandoned raider's lair," you say softly, "I know I should have handed it to Maria, but I thought you could use it for your sparrow. Give him a face, you know, some feathers."

Joel traces the little cross on the Swiss army knife, and feels his chest tighten.

"Don't tell on me," you say teasingly, but with a hint of self-consciousness at his lack of a response. Joel swallows, and drags his eyes away from his present and to your face.

"Thank you," he says quietly, unsure of how to voice the thoughts rushing through his head, "I– thank you.

"Yeah," you say gently, "'course."

You accept his gratitude, understand what he means by it. You don't make a fuss with your un-swirly cupcake and single candle and no singing. All of a sudden, Joel feels his eyes prick and burn, and he rubs them quickly, wipes away the wetness. You touch his shoulder, make him look at you, and he clenches his jaw in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mutters, "you just...know me so well."

There it is, your sunshine-smile, and you press a kiss to his naked chest, as high as you can reach.

"Sixty isn't that old, Joel. Don't even think about using it as an excuse to stop chopping firewood."

He chuckles and cups your face in one of his massive palms.

"No ma'am."

[therealmilfdennys]

Pope gives me switch vibes

I feel like Pope practices causal dominance outside the bedroom as part of a tough older brother thing he has going on, and that naturally translates into the bedroom, especially early relationships. And even later, he'll switch back into this. It has to be tough and take care of you mode, which can be something simple as ordering your food or fucking you in his car cause you couldn't wait to get home first

But as soon as you get him to open up and drop the "act" and let him know that he can be taken care of for once, it's game over. He whimpers and moans in your ear, especially happy when you call him a good boy, still trying to take care of you, but he slowly gets used to the fact that you both take care of each other

Also, man is a boob guy. Big small, perky not perky doesn't matter. He likes boobs final

oughhoughh...anon you get me...

nsfw under the cut!

cw: emotionally repressed male, slight femdom, canon typical violence, uhhh crying, my usual shit 🩷

Pope, in canon, likes to bottom.

We see it with Amy, mostly, but some with Angela too. He does well with instruction, he LITERALLY puts Amy on top of him when they finally have sex. The only times we see him dominant are with women that he doesn't know well.

I don't think he ever expects you to WANT to touch him like that, tbh. He isn't exactly insecure about it or anything, he just..literally doesn't think you'd want to. You have to initiate anything intimate at first.

I do believe he'd try to be the one with the most control the first couple of times you guys go at it. He's too paranoid, needs to know you aren't doing this to get something out of him. He doesn't trust tender affection that's freely given. He doesn't trust the fact that when you go down on him the first time, you don't expect him to return the favor.

But when you finally, FINALLY get him to relax? When you get it through his skull that you want him just as much as he wants you? Oh baby all bets are off.

He's whining into your mouth while you jerk him off, hiding his face against your neck while you ride him slow on the couch. He likes it when you pull at his hair, is ashmed to admit he likes it more when your fingers dig into the bruises and scrapes that cover him after a rough job.

Something about you seeing the damage done to him, and not flinching away? Not cringing and avoiding it? Accepting it as a part of who he is, accepting Him. Nothing makes him harder.

I really need to make like..a kink list for this guy because there's so much to work with there.

But yeah! You hit the nail on the head! He's casually dominant outside of the bedroom, because that's just how he Is. Controlled and ten steps ahead, knowing what you need/want before you even do. But in the bedroom? He lets himself be weak. Or at least as weak as a man like him can get. He lets you gentle him into a soft, warm sort of bliss where he feels safe and more importantly seen for once in his godforsaken life. And yeah he's gonna cry about it. All teary eyed and wobbly lipped. Don't mention it or he'll probably implode.

Kiss him and let him hide his face between your tits for a while and he's yours for life.

(i also think he maybe has a breeding kink but idk if yall cool with that or not lol)

[hoiststowline]

may i please shamefully beg you for more First Aid from IDW MTMTE... im starving there's only 11 fics of him on ao3... (planning to change that as soon as i get more free time.) but yeah... fluff angst suggestive WTV i just want crumbs like a lonely mourning dove pigeon... 😓

-🤸 anon

_first aid x reader

[a/n: hell yeah!! here's somethin' a lil suggestive. thanks 🤸anon, and i am so very sorry it took so long! enjoy!]

a thought momentarily passes you by that in this situation, he was wordlessly trying to prove you wrong, of all things. a servo moves somewhere above your head, grabbing fistfuls of dirt and grass to keep his balance steady. as fast as the notion arrives, it leaves your mind, realizing that your proposition meant concluding the evening. now, the focus veers to the quiet of the moment, the way he holds himself here, rooted in the idea of making you happy. his servo shifts, grasping at the earth to steady himself once more, and briefly you wonder if he's doing it for you, or if it's just the only way to stay in this space between you before it's ceased.

at least until the next time you are reunited.

you now find you can hardly move, first aid expertly straddling your waist but never placing any weight on top of you, more so looming overhead before diving forward. his other hand has enveloped your stomach, thumb making sweeping motions so gentle that they hardly ruffle your shirt. there’s a rosy twinge to your cheeks, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so as to stifle the round of laughter that bubbles upward. 

“Are you sure?” you had asked, looking over his way when he had proposed extending the evening a little longer. 

in return, he sends a perplexed expression, not expecting that as a rejoinder. “Of course I’m sure. Why do you ask?”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, you look a little…tired.” 

you had tried to deliver it in the utmost sincerest way, looking out for his well being when sometimes he neglected it himself. knowing that first aid had a strenuous and long week, you had prompted some alone time after a short drive to an area you were both well acquainted with.

the area was secluded. an unkept and weeded stretch of dirt, miles off from the main road and ways away from prying eyes. the two of you could finally have some peace and quiet, catching up with each other along the shoreline of a small pond. 

“Tired?” responded with a hint of exaggeration, he bends forward from his position beside you. “Do I look tired to you?” 

teasing, you decided to push his buttons a little more. “A little bit, yeah.” 

it’s amusing, watching as he feigns offence, steadily moving closer until he’s right on top of you. his touch is slightly cold, emitting a squeal of laughter as he runs his digit up your sides, yourself landing gently on your back with a short gasp of surprise. first aid observes your body language, adoring how you begin to reel back your previous goading with some giggles inbetween.

“I didn’t-” but you’re still laughing, unable to gather the right string words. 

“Didn’t what?” he mumbles, servo settling permanently up your thigh as his palm engulfs your torso.

you can’t see his face, but you’re trying to ignore the sound of his mouthplate retracting as he leaves a trail of kisses across your shoulder. the hand holding him up above you retreats lower, now resting against your left arm but still atop the grass. 

a shiver runs the length of your spine, squirming when he ex-vents a puff of hot air against the exposed skin. 

“I’m not tired.” first aid insists, knees sinking to some degree into the dirt as he shifts his weight. “Take it back.”

before you can even think about withdrawing your jests, his mouth moves over and up, awkward somewhat due to the size difference but benign and calculated all the same. 

“I meant-” another kiss, one that moves up the length of your neck. “I thought maybe-” 

thinking he had you distracted, first aid pulls back a bit to readjust himself when you catch his chin in two hands, going rigid at your warm touch. 

“You could use some rest.” you finish, sending him a smile that could melt him right where he was sitting. 

“So maybe I could.” first aid concedes, dipping downward once more as your fingers rise to his cheeks. “But I can push it off for a little while longer.”

his movement slows as your fingers find their place, first aid completely enamored and enraptured by your compassionate nature. he wants this moment to last forever, unable to immediately yield to your desires, subconsciously aware you are likely very correct. sleepy exchanges were more common with him than he’d ever care to admit. 

“I’m not quite ready for this to be over.”

[graytodd]

Hiii! I'm a bit in love with your dickjay tbh it's just sooo goooood!!

I wanted to ask you: what do you think about long haired Dick Grayson? Nightwing with like.. an undercut, waist length pitch black hair that jason likes to pull during fun times braid in different styles. Opinions?

Aww anon thanks for your words, so kind and sweet of you ✨☺️

Oh in my opinion Dick can pull any look, he's too handsome! and with long hair? yes. And an undercut?? yes.yes.

I'm thinking of dickjay having a movie night, Dick sitting on the floor resting his head against Jason's thigh and brushing lazily his fingers around Jason's calf, meanwhile Jason's playing with Dick's long black strands, somehow as self-soothing behavior especially when Jason's nervous/anxious, maybe it just started like that ~ Jason enjoys buying Dick clips and hair ties, wash his hair when Dick's too tired/injured, and when Dick works out Jason ties Dick's hair in a top-knot with the undercut showing mmm Jason also loves running his fingers through Dick's hair when they kiss, and when they have sex Jason pulls on Dick's hair to give him a better view of his man as Dick does his thing ❤️‍🔥

[unlimitedlust]

Video Games - Dad!Bill Skarsgard x Reader

(The images above do not belong to me, all credits belong to their owner)

Author’s note:

Hello darlings, this story was requested by an Anon, I loved the idea of creating a dad!Bill scenario because he gives off such a big and loving dad vibes, so here you go.

Masterlist

The request:

And for the Anon who requested it, I tried to keep your concept, I hope it lives up to your expectations!

Spoiler: this story will have a part 2 in the future, stay tuned!

Disclaimers: No disclaimers! Fluffy content only!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

Bill Skarsgard is a real person, but nothing in this story is, it was all made up in my head.

I hope you enjoy this story, requests with Bill are always open so if you have any ideas I’m all ears!

Please feel free to leave a comment, like and/or reblog the story, I really appreciate it and your feedback is what gives me the fuel to keep writing ❤️❤️❤️

End of Author’s Note

The sun was high up in the sky when Y/N and her toddler, Leo, arrived in Malibu Beach. The breeze carried the scent of sea, salt and sunscreen, gulls cried overhead, their wings cutting across a sky so blue it looked like a canvas.

“Can I go run in the sand, mommy? Can I?” Leo asked, his voice bubbling with the kind of joy only a three-year-old could muster at eight in the morning.

Y/N smiled, crouching down to apply him some sunscreen. “Alright, but stay close to mommy, okay?”

The moment she finished, Leo was off, charging into the warm, golden sand like it was a new planet. He ran in wide circles, laughing, arms stretched like airplane wings. Y/N couldn’t stop watching him, this perfect little boy they’d made, who somehow carried both her gentleness and Bill’s spark in his tiny frame.

She slipped off her sandals and wandered after Leo, letting the cool tide wash over her toes and the breeze sweep through her hair. Bill should be somewhere nearby, since the location wasn’t far from where his personal assistant had secretly informed her he’d be during his takes that day.

Secretly because she hadn’t told Bill they’d be visiting him. There was something kind of magic about the idea of showing up unannounced, of giving him a small taste of home when he least expected it. Especially considering that Bill was away for almost a month for this new project.

“Mommy, look!” Leo was holding up a seashell like it was a treasure, beaming.

She laughed and walked over, scooping him into her arms. “You think daddy would like this?”

Leo nodded solemnly. “We can give it to him when we see him.”

Y/N kissed the top of his head and held his free hand, heart already swelling at the thought.

“Yes,” she said quietly and checked the time on her phone. According to his assistant, he should have a small break in a few minutes, long enough for them to reach the set location on foot. “Let’s go surprise daddy.”

They followed the curve of the shoreline, the set slowly coming into view. From a distance, Y/N could already see the crew gathered around large reflector panels and cables, the haze of cameras pointed toward a man walking barefoot through the shallows.

Leo spotted him first.

“Daddy!” he whispered, eyes wide with excitement.

Y/N’s heart stuttered. She gently tightened her hold on his hand.

“Wait, sweetheart,” she said softly, crouching beside him. “Daddy’s still working, remember? We have to be quiet until he’s done, okay? We’ll say hi as soon as he's done.”

Leo nodded like his mom had just given him the most important mission in the world, bouncing on his toes, barely able to contain the joy thrumming through him. His tiny fingers squeezed hers tighter while he clutched the small seashell in his other hand, his whole body tilting toward the set, trying to make her walk faster.

They took slow, quiet steps across the sand, staying just behind the edge of the crew’s camp. No one had noticed them yet.

Bill stood at the center of it all, barefoot in the tide, soaked to the knees. The camera was rolling. In his character, Bill moved with intention, a quiet intensity in his expression as he shot the scene, delivering what seemed to be a serious line to the actor beside him.

Y/N held her breath, watching him through the lens of something deeper than just pride. He was so in it, so transformed, and yet still entirely him. The man who left her flowers and notes in her coffee cup. The father who stayed up rocking Leo through sleepless nights when he was a baby. The love of her life.

She could feel Leo’s excitement rising beside her, his small body trembling in anticipation, but he stayed quiet, watching, waiting, hand glued to hers.

Then finally the director called: “Cut!”

The moment the word left his mouth, Leo couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Daddy!”

His voice rang out over the sand like a bell, bright and high and impossible to miss.

Bill turned instinctively, scanning the set until his eyes landed on them. For a second, he didn’t move.

Seeing Y/N standing there, under the golden morning light, hair fluttering in the breeze and the soft pink fabric of her sundress dancing around her legs, looked like something out of a dream, heartwarming and terrifyingly beautiful.

And storming off from her side came Leo, his shining green eyes radiant as he sprinted towards him.

Bill’s face cracked into the brightest and most stunned smile.

“Leo?” he breathed, already stepping forward to meet his boy.

The crew turned to look, whispers rippling through them. Everyone knew Bill was married, that was sort of public record, but no one here had ever seen his family. He kept that part of his life under lock and key. Quiet and untouched, away from the spotlights.

And yet here they were.

“Daddy!”

Bill met him halfway, scooping the boy into his arms and lifting him high into the sky before pulling him close, pressing kisses to his cheek and temple, only to then bury his face into the warm crook of Leo’s neck, taking in the familiar scent of baby shampoo that brought him so much peace.

“I missed you so much, buddy,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

Y/N approached slowly, a smile tugging at her lips, heart pounding hard in her chest. When Bill looked up and their eyes met, it was as if the whole world stopped.

Even after all those years together and all the memories made, in that moment it still felt like the first time, that same sudden rush, the flutter in her chest and butterflies in her stomach. Just one look and she knew she was his forever.

Bill reached out and pulled her in with his free arm, burying his face in her neck for one long, grounding moment, before giving her a soft kiss on her lips. “You’re really here.”

“Surprise,” she whispered.

Leo squished between them, giggling at being caught in the middle of something so big and soft and warm.

The director walked towards them, a curious expression on his face, but whatever reprimand of outsiders getting into the set he might’ve had, dissolved as soon as he saw the scene in front of him.

He gave a crooked smile and said, “Let’s take five.”

As Bill held Leo close, the little boy wriggled slightly, then pulled back just enough to reveal the small seashell still clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes were bright with pride as he held it out. “Daddy,” he said, serious and beaming all at once, “I brought you a present.”

Bill blinked and looked down at the tiny treasure resting in his son’s palm, tiny and white with faint pink spirals. “You found this for me?” he asked, as if it were a priceless gem.

Leo nodded proudly. “It’s special. I found it with mommy.”

Bill took it with reverence, turning it between his fingers. “It’s perfect, I love it. Thank you, buddy.”

Y/N smiled, heart full as she watched them. The little things always got her, the way Bill crouched lower so Leo could stand on his own, the tenderness in his hands, the way he looked at their son like he still couldn’t believe they’d made something so incredible together.

They wandered a bit down the beach until they found a quieter spot, away from the cameras and crew. Bill laid a towel on the sand for Y/N, then sat beside her, tugging her gently into his side as Leo ran in chaotic zigzags in front of them, chasing seagulls and splashing at the edge of the water.

For a long, quiet moment, they just sat there, Y/N resting her head on Bill’s shoulder, his arm around her, the shell still clutched in his hand.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” Bill said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She smiled against his shoulder. “You’ve been working so hard. We just wanted to remind you what’s waiting for you when you come home.”

His fingers found hers, lacing them together. “You’re my whole world, you know that?”

“We know,” she whispered.

Leo shrieked with laughter as a wave chased him back toward them, his small footprints scattered across the wet sand.

Bill watched him with that stunned kind of wonder he always had when he looked at their son, like every time was the first time and everything was a new discovery.

Then, he turned to Y/N and pulled her in for another kiss, this one slower and deeper. His tongue dancing against hers in their own rhythm, like a song only they knew.

And in that very moment, with the sun warming their skin, the sound of the ocean in their ears, and their son’s laughter ringing through the air, there was no script, no spotlight, no audience.

Just the three of them. And it was everything.

[r4fe-cam3ron]

request for sam of warfare : how about reader and sam having a movie night together since he came back home? being all cuddly and kissy ; pure fluff ☺️

an; same as the gator request — i’m not for sure if these are two different anon’s or not, but they’re similar so i’ll put them together! i hope that’s okay — if it’s two different anon’s! thank you for requesting and being patient! 💌 w; if anyone doesn’t like the character — sam lol, ooc (obviously), mentions of boot camp and whatnot, doesn’t follow the movie.

laundry is folded and placed away, the apartment is cleaned and wiped down, the sound of sam cooke plays on the record, a candle is burning and leaving a lingering smell of cinnamon that always tended to follow sam around when he needed to leave for work.

he’s home early, earlier than usual — a genuine surprise to him and the boys. but thankfully, he gets to surprise you.

sneaking his way into the shared bedroom, he slips his boots off, hopping quietly on one foot as his tongue pokes out and presses against his top lip as he tries to stay silent and not fall.

inching closer towards the freshly made bed, he drops himself onto the sheets and crosses his ankle over the other, placing his hands behind his buzzed head.

he can hear you humming the song that plays, the door that leads to the bathroom is slightly ajar. he smiles to himself, wiggling his toes a bit.

the water goes silent and the sound of the shower curtains catches his attention. he has a lot of patience — so he waits quietly.

soon, your stepping out in one of his tops. hair wet and falling over your shoulder as you scrunch it with a towel. your feet is covered with some fuzzy socks, legs shiny with lotion.

you stop when you finally notice him, jaw dropping. “sam?” you drop the towel quickly and crawl up the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck. he laughs, leaning his head against your stomach as his own arms wrap around your thighs. “god, i missed you.”

you lean down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, smiling at the ticklish feeling, pulling away. your hands slide towards his jaw, tilting his head back, frowning slightly. “you have a black eye.”

“play fighting,” he shrugs, one of his hands now rubbing up and down the back of your thigh softly. “i’m okay. were you okay while i was gone?”

you nod, tracing over the bruise. “just missed you a lot. but other than that, i was okay.”

he smiles and nods. “you’re a strong girl,” he pats the back of your thighs softly. “alright. go order something — your choice. i’m gonna change and then we’ll watch a movie.”

“sir, yes, sir.” you mock salute him. rolling his eyes, he stands from the bed.

“dork.” he says lovingly as he shakes his head.

—

it’s drawing closer towards three in the morning, yet you don’t want to peel your body away from him. it’s comforting knowing he’s here, the heavy weight of his body resting atop of yours with his head resting on your chest as your fingers scratch at his scalp, pressing the occasional kisses to his forehead.

“we need to go lie down or our back will start hurting.” his voice is rough, hoarse, heavy with sleepiness.

you let out a small huff, lifting your leg slightly and leaning it against his side. “we are layin’ down.” you whisper.

“on a mattress,” your lips pull into a pout as you peek down at him, watching as he turns his head and rests his chin on your chest. “come on, sweetheart. we gotta go. you’re gonna start complain’ about how we didn’t sleep in bed if we don’t.” he lifts up, holding out his hand.

sighing, you allow him to pull you from the couch, your arms quickly finding their way back around his neck as you lean into him. his back is warm, soft.

“i’m glad you’re home.” you whisper.

his eyes find yours in the dim lighting, the streetlight providing just enough light to highlight your face — his heart skipping a beat at the loving look you give him, despite your eyes being heavy.

his hands cradle your jaw softly, nudging the tip of his nose against yours as his thumbs trace against your cheek. “i’m glad i’m home too.”

he doesn’t mean inside the four walls of your tiny shoe box apartment.

he meant home. he meant you — in your arms.

[seraphdreams]

Okay, but like, Yuuta feeling bad that he didn't pull out in time but the reader is so cock-drunk that she's just begging for him to do it again...

this is what i wake up to…. oh dear m dizzy !!!

one thing about yuuta is, he never wears condoms. not because he doesn’t want to, in fact he freaks out when he’s not wearing one, but because they’re somehow always out of reach when they’re needed :( and when your pussy is clinging to him so tight, milking him for all he has, he can’t just pull out !! it’s a battle within him — does he cum in you, does he not? by the time he finally figures it out it’s too late :( he’s made a mess of your cunny, creamy white seeping out of your overstimulated hole n all at the base of his cock . .

the way he’s so fast to voice his sincerities, “m sorry, so so sorry.” he’s got his head rested in the crook of your neck, his way of hanging his head low in shame :( but when you feebly grab onto his wrist, tugging him so gently to tell him “please cum in me again, yu-yu.” … there’s a noticeable sparkle in his eyes !! only issue for you though, is now that you’ve given him the clearance, he won’t be able to stop :(

[ysaefinn]

tis me kitty anon

mommy! suguru and reader who is just an absolute menace. orange cat coded reader. just a lot of oh? you want me to sleep? no >:3333 eat something??? what? never heard of her. don’t- don’t touch that???? whaaaat i would neverrrr. *touch. touchtouchtouch-* reader just making suguru work doubletime for the giggles, reader who is worse on purpose because it is funny.

MY KITTY ANON HELLO!!!!! <333

It's honestly crazy how the nonnies are made for suguru lmaoo, I'm honestly yet to get an ask describing a reader who wouldn't be adored by suguru (although that could be thanks to his range)

Suguru would absolutely thrive with someone like this, you get to be yourself without feeling any shame and he gets to be the mother he was always destined to be ♡ win win situation. The only suguru i see getting sliiiightly irritated is teen!suguru since I believe he becomes more patient the older he gets (hence why dilf!suguru is the number 1 brat enjoyer lmao) but it's really just out of worry because what if your behavior lands you in trouble someday? He's so much fussier and protective, It keeps him up at night lol, but he eventually gets used to it and starts seeing you more fondly and becomes more indulgent <33

[httpiastri]

Pepe is definitely the never go to bed angry type of partner

okay you really just thought "let's go send jack an ask that will instantly kill her"???? because well it worked

[habitual-creatures]

YEP- I DON'T PLAN ON LEAVING ANYMORE!

- 💜 anon

(Matching their energy!! Very happy to see them)

YAY!! M' GONNA SQUEEZE YA!!!

YOU'RE NOT GETTIN' AWAY, Z!!!

GONNA GOBBLE YA UP!

[sollucets]

I kinda want to ask you to write all touch prompts for akk and aye but because that is unreasonable and way too greedy, how about 26, 27 and maybe 33? thank you so so much! And congratulations on your followers!!!!

you know, i'd write them all too if i had the fuckin Time [sobs] thank you very much nonny

26 (kissing the top of their head) + 27 (pulling them closer) + 33 (tasting their smile) from this list for my lil event; right around 1k of height difference & nickname shenanigans and talking around another bigger issue!!!! set in the summer after ourskyy, rated t for 'tall'

💜

“Hand me that plate, Shortstop.” 

Akk does, but not without making sure to splash Aye with the water running off of it. “We’ve been over this." They have, although it's been a while since Aye had first tried it in the tent. "That’s your name.” 

With a little yelp, Aye snatches the plate from his hand and sets to drying it with slightly more force than strictly necessary. The water drops stand out against the gray material of his t-shirt. “Why can’t we switch?” 

“Do you not have eyes?” Akk takes another bowl out of Aye’s mom’s sink and starts washing it with a little grin. “Grow a bit taller and we can talk.”

He expects Aye to fire back with a water attack of his own, or an insult, so when neither comes he turns to look at his boyfriend in faint surprise. Aye is giving the plate an undeservedly contemplative look, lips pursed. It’s very cute. Akk splashes him again. 

“Akk,” snaps Aye, his nose going all scrunched the way it does when he’s actually annoyed. 

“Aye,” Akk answers, grin reaching all the way up to his eyes. 

Aye stares for a long second, then softens all at once, mouth curving up in turn. He still elbows Akk in retribution before picking up his next dish, though. “So if I was taller than you, we could switch? I could be your Bigfoot.”

“If you were taller than me, I would’ve come up with a different nickname in the first place.”

“But I wouldn’t have,” Aye says decisively. “You’d have been Shortstop to me.”

Akk shoots him a sidelong look, dubious. “It's annoying, so yes, probably. In a hypothetical parallel universe where you’re taller. Why are you suddenly so obsessed with this? Don’t you call me enough things already?” 

“Do you not like it, darling?” asks Aye, all coy and playful, and it devolves from there. He doesn’t bring up the height thing again that day. 

But apparently he didn’t actually forget, because in the time following that initial conversation Aye starts taking every possible opportunity to be taller than Akk. 

It starts small, like Aye insisting Akk sit on the ground while he’s on the couch so he can reach his hair to dry it, calling him Shortstop in a tone of such overdone honeyed affection that all he can do is laugh. Or like Aye crawling into Akk’s lap so he has a height advantage when they kiss, and Akk making sure he doesn't get a chance to use any nickname at all.

Then it escalates, as things frequently do with them. Aye sits on top of the couch backrest at Akk’s house instead of on it, buys a pair of shoes with these ridiculous heel boosts, sits on Akk's desk while Akk writes his admission essays. At one point, very memorably, he gets on a table at a party they’d attended with Kan and refuses to come down until Akk has to drag him. 

Akk doesn’t mind as much as he’s pretending he does, which is something he’s found works for them with these things. It makes Aye happy to see him annoyed, so if he gets what he wants and the behavior isn’t actually that annoying, it’s a win for both of them. And it is funny, honestly, and frequently ends with Aye hanging off of him somehow. 

Still, though, after nearly two months of their summer together being intermittently marked by Aye’s new favorite running joke, something starts to nibble at the corner of Akk’s mind. It’s late summer now, and they’re running up closer to the thing they’ve barely managed to talk about: Aye’s impending departure, and his own entry into a northern university. And— well. He can’t manage that, but he might be able to manage this.

So the next time Aye makes a point of standing two stairs up in his own home to talk to Akk, he turns and looks up at him and asks, point-blank, “Does it bother you that I’m taller?” 

Aye blinks once, twice, then laughs a little. After a second, he seems to realize that Akk is honestly asking and tilts his head with an expression of mild bemusement. “No, baby. I like it, you give great hugs and have great legs. Why?”

Akk makes a sputtering noise and tries not to get derailed thinking about Aye’s feelings about his legs, which he did already know about for— various reasons. Instead, he pointedly jerks his chin at Aye, noticeably needing to tilt his head up to do so. 

“I'm just messing with you,” Aye says, reaching a hand out with a little smile. “I thought you knew.” 

“I do,” says Akk, and lets Aye take his hand and pull him one step up the stairs. It doesn’t equalize their heights; Aye’s still just a little taller like this. “But... it’s been going on a long time.”

“Yeah, I guess it has,” says Aye a little thoughtfully. “I just like seeing—” 

“—My angry face. I know.” 

Aye outright giggles at that, gently intertwining his fingers with Akk’s. “If you know, then why are you worrying about it?” 

Akk can feel his resolve failing already. He sighs. 

“I guess,” says Aye thoughtfully after a moment, “I do also like it when we… switch.” He wiggles his eyebrows and continues talking over Akk’s incoherent noise in response. “So it’s fun for me, to try and turn the little nickname thing on its head. Not that you’re cooperating.” 

“You wouldn’t like it if I cooperated,” Akk says, half-sure, and tries mostly unsuccessfully to glare up at Aye. 

“Oh, but I do,” Aye says, tugging him even closer by their twined hands and putting his other one on the back of Akk’s neck, pushing his head down enough to press a kiss to the top of it. “Just not right away. I like getting you to admit things."

There's an odd-- hesitation there, a long moment of silence. Akk looks back up, their faces close enough to kiss properly now, and sees Aye looking away from him, eyes big and preoccupied. 

“What?” Akk prompts, and when he doesn’t get an answer, adds, “Bigfoot?” 

Aye’s gaze snaps back to him, suddenly focused and intent and sparkling, and he grins. “Yeah,” he says, slowly like he’s savoring the confirmation, “That’s nice.” 

Akk leans up a little further and kisses that smile, gently and then less so when the fingers on the back of his neck tighten and pull him closer. He leans into it with a sigh and tries not to think about other things Aye might like him to admit, and instead thinks about how — it is nice, sometimes, to be the smaller one. 

[thedeadedhooman]

you prefer waffles to pancakes

WAFFLES YESS

[kiisuuumii]

post it anyway. also expect those five paragraphs!

posted it !!! (literally sobbing rn)