#~Sweet's headcanons~

[lilislegacy]

i feel like percy is the person that people bring with them when they need to go somewhere or do something potentially dangerous. or more realistically, he’s the one who people’s loved ones tell them to take with. it just makes people feel better knowing percy is there. you know what i mean?

sally has a meeting with someone who sounds a bit weird (and paul can’t go)? paul tells her to bring percy.

paul needs to go to a really sketchy part of town? sally asks him to bring percy

piper got a weird anonymous note and needs to go meet them at a location? annabeth tells her to bring percy

leo has to go get some magic machine part from a really shady dealer? piper tells him to bring percy

frank has to go on an unofficial quest to investigate some shady legion history, and hazel has to stay with camp? hazel tells him to bring percy

and it’s NOT because any of these people can’t take care of themselves. they are all strong and brave and badass, and can handle anything. but for one, percy is intimidating as hell. his “wolf stare” sends literal gangs running the other way. you can avoid conflict before it even happens, because no one is messing with percy. and second, percy just makes you feel safe. his presence is comforting. not only has he been through all the demigod-hero-world-saving shit, and is powerful as hell, but he also grew up in new york city. he can handle pretty much any situation. plus he’s super sweet and funny, and you can always count on him to make you laugh and decrease your anxiety. and he’s always got your back. he takes care of the people he loves.

he’s just the best company. for so many reasons.

when in doubt, bring percy

[xxsabitoxx]

Yuta is sick of you getting injured, so he decides to take matters into his own hands…

Yuta, fucking you with the intent of getting you pregnant so you have to stop being a sorcerer for a long while. All because he can’t stand to see you keep getting injured because of your strenuous curse technique.

Yuta who has you nearly bent in half, hands gripping the back of your knees with such ferocity that you’re sure there will be nail indents left behind.

Yuta who has your knees nearly touching your chest, his full body weight on top of you as his hips piston in and out of your sopping cunt.

Yuta who is babbling nearly incoherently about how this will keep you safe, that you’ll be such a good mommy, that you’ll never have to worry about getting injured ever again.

Yuta, who only whimpers in return when you babble the same sort of nonsense, begging him to make you a mommy.

Yuta, who’s coming inside of you in record time, not daring to pull out after and not even thinking about setting your legs down. Mumbling about how he needs to make sure all of it stays inside.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Virgin! König

Warnings: 18+, Virgin! König, Rough! König, Huge Cock! König, Stomach Bulging, Size Difference, Praise, Unprotected Sex, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

A behemoth pounding a comparatively tiny thing like you was, to the untrained eye, a complete mismatch. Especially when one could so easily spy the bulge in your stomach, the lengths to which your hole was stretched to accommodate his size, and the sheer weight with which his cock pinned you against the mattress. 

But they wouldn’t see the feral gleam in König’s eye, the need to mark you as his plain as day in the pace with which he thrusts, the bulging of his veins along his shaft, and the fervency with which the head of his length sobs, thick globs of pre-cum making his entrance only a scintilla easier as the girth of his cock renders re-entry almost impossible. 

Almost.

You know that telling him to slow down would be pointless now; a plea upon deaf ears. Especially as König all but sees god in his rapidly-approaching orgasm. His pupils are blown wide beneath half-lidded eyes, his lips suffocating as he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to yours. He pants, moaning, groaning, grunting with every exhale. 

He halts, – only for a second – and pulls out before gripping your legs and throwing your knees over his shoulder. He slams back in, hitting a spot deep within you. You can only scream as he resumes his animal pace, slamming into you more times than you can count, reaching a place no other man ever could.

“Doing– s-such a good job, Köni,” you coo between stilted gasps, hands gripping the pillow encasing your head, your crown hitting the headboard. He whimpers at your praise, biting his lip as he looks down at you, gazes upon the battlefield of bruises, bites and welts he’d pressed into your skin. He buries his mouth into the crook of your knee. He bites, suckling, burns the word ‘Mine’ into your skin.

And you can only lay there and take it, every sensibility being thoroughly pounded out of you with each shunt of König’s hips. And to think that this was his first time. Yet, he’s managed to break you down into such a state of fatigued euphoria that you can scarcely believe it. If it hadn’t been for the feverish, feral look in his eye, the sloppy rhythm to which he tries so desperately to abide, and his unwavering need to please you – praising you for taking his cock while almost sobbing amidst the buzz building in his core – you’d have assumed he’d been at this longer far than you have.

It only takes your clenching around him, trying to seize him as his unrelenting pace proves too much for you, that brings this giant to his knees. With your walls bearing down on him, strangling his member between robes of scorching velvet, it takes one final squeeze to wring König for all he’s worth.

He lets go a high-pitched, strangled moan as the knot in his abdomen snaps, a preliminary twitch of his most prominent vein your only warning before he’s flooding you with his semen. He throws his head back, eyes screwing shut as an electric storm sets his very being alight. You can feel his load pumping into you, filling you past full. Some trickles out, viscous and plentiful, in the little space where you and König are joined.

He can’t stop himself from collapsing on top of you as your knees fall from his shoulders. König uses what little remains of his strength to stop himself from crushing you with his gargantuan frame. His head hangs just above your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. You swear you feel his drool dripping onto the pillow, just catching the edge of your marked, burning flesh. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

“Scheiße, (Y/N),” he whispers, his voice thin, his breathing deep.

Whatever reservations he’d had about the temptations of the flesh had been thoroughly eradicated thanks to you. But now, he faced another issue; trying to get a handle on his newfound libido – all without destroying you in the process.

This is going to be a long night.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[beforeimdeceased]

ellie hitting it from the back and you're just completely in subspace, taking everything's she's giving you completely blissed out and brainless:))

nsfw! — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

omg the way she’d be fucking you so good you’d only be able to see stars. you’ll actually be drooling and brain dead like a cock drunk dummy lmao. her hand on the back of your neck keeping you steady while she hits your weak spot over and over and over again. you’ve forgotten what it’s like to not have her stuffing your walls. other hand gripping the plump flesh of your ass so hard you’re sure that it’ll leave a bruise. the kind you look at in the mirror that sends memories rushing to your stomach.

speaking of stomachs, she’s fucking you so deep you’re positive she’s blending your guts. turning you into a pleasure smoothie. and you feel like fucking jello because it’s all too much. you’re so gone you can’t even hear her talking to you. “you’re taking me so well. you can barely respond. fuck, can you hear that? you’re so fucking wet for me.”

and then she slows down. slow, hard thrusts. one after the next making you grip the sheets and stuff your face into the mattress. all while’s she’s got the stupidest smirk on her face. (probably thinking about how next time she’s gonna fuck you in front of a mirror and make you watch yourself become her cock slut.)

[buggachat]

does anyone else form their headcanons of marinette and adrien largely on the basis of "they have to be opposite each other"? like, creation and destruction, yin and yang, etc. like Marinette being late all the time and sleeping through her alarms? so she's probably a deep sleeper? So that means, by the laws of my lovesquare headcanons according to my brain, Adrien has to be a light sleeper. Marinette is a chaotic creative person and I can imagine her just having so much STUFF all around and living in organized chaos. so therefore Adrien likes his spaces neat and clear. (also something something creation and clutter vs destruction and emptiness) you know??? ???? ? adrien and marinette headcanons just cant be independent of each other in my brain. they are always intrinsically linked

[wttcsms]

triple trouble, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 1.6k synopsis atsumu steals every reporters' attention as he introduces the media to his triplets during a post-game interview; or, more accurately, his triplets steal all the attention. like father, like sons. content contains domestic fluff, dad!atsumu, atsumu & reader are married and so in love, babies, mention of pregnancy more in this collection!

The flashes of cameras going off, the constant exclamations of “Miya! Miya!” coming from the crowd of journalists and reporters all vying for his attention, the fact that the foldout chairs they use for all these post-game interviews are harder on your ass than falling on asphalt — all of this is being handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

Or, normally all of this would be handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

But right now, the Atsumu Miya struggling to take a seat in the most uncomfortable chair known to man, dyed hair a mess, his usual trademark smirk replaced by furrowed brows and a look of concentration, doesn’t appear to be the godlike adversary on the court. In fact, he looks oddly human. 

The cause of what has humbled this cocky athlete and reduced him to mere mortal man are the three chubby toddlers he’s cradling in his arms. 

All of them are identical, from their chubby cheeks to their little grubby hands. Heads full of thick, dark brown hair (reminiscent of their father’s natural color) poke out from Atsumu’s hold, and the eighteen-month-olds’ eyes are all full of childlike wonder as they watch the crowd, confused as to who all these people are. 

After finally getting settled into his seat, Atsumu addresses the crowd casually, as if he didn’t spend the last two minutes ensuring that his baby boys weren’t going to slip from his arms while he tried to prepare for this interview. Akimitsu is secured in his left arm, Akihiko in the right, leaving poor Akinari to cling onto Atsumu’s neck. 

While athletes have been getting more comfortable with bringing their kids up on stage with them, no one has ever seen a professional athlete haul his three babies with him. 

A fact that one reporter is more than happy to point out.

“Miya, wife put you on babysitting duty?” A male journalist calls out from the crowd. A few chuckles follow, but Atsumu just smiles at the mention of you.

“Nah. It’s not babysittin’ if they’re your damn kids, right? Besides, she deserves a break.” A few appreciative murmurs flutter through the crowd. 

After the initial surprise of seeing identical triplets being carried in the MSBY Black Jackals’ setter’s arms, the reporters are back to business as usual. They’re all professionals — even if hearing Atsumu give them a great quote to use as a hook (“I respect Nakamura as a human bein’ but calling him a setter for a professional league volleyball team is an insult to setters everywhere.”) is followed by him cooing sweet words of affirmation to whichever of his sons happens to be babbling in his ears. 

“Nakamura isn’t a very good player, is he, Akihiko?” No one outside of your family and his teammates have ever heard Atsumu sound so affectionate. His words are practically coated in sugar, and it’s hard to remember that he’s insulting another player in the league whenever he’s practically bumping noses with his toddler son when he says it. 

Akihiko, most likely due to his father’s influence, lets out a stream of enthusiastic gurgles that Atsumu automatically translates to him being in complete agreement with him. 

“Write that down.” He says to the crowd. “Even my baby knows he’s shit at the game.” 

There’s a few more minutes of Atsumu answering the usual post-game questions, but halfway through one of his responses, Akinari loses his grip on Atsumu’s neck and is about to tumble to the floor before Atsumu’s reflexes kick in. You’ve made a joke once that you think Atsumu’s reflexes have become heightened after becoming a father; his athletic instincts have merged with the famous “dad reflexes” all fathers seem to be gifted with. (Atsumu tells reporters that this is why he keeps on becoming a better player; people think his family would hold him back, but once again, family is his greatest blessing.)

“Ya gotta hang onto me, buddy.” Atsumu can’t even pretend to be stern when he tells this to Akinari, who only smiles at him and exclaims something unintelligible. He shifts Akinari to his left arm, relaxes back in his seat, and is even excited to answer a question concerning his play style compared to Tobio Kageyama’s, but as he readjusts the two boys in his arms, Atsumu can’t help but startle at the fact that he has three kids. Not just two. 

Momentarily panicked, he almost wants to ask why the hell no one told him one of his kids jumped ship but then he feels a tug on the bottom hem of his volleyball shorts. 

Peering under the table, Atsumu is greeted with the sight of Akimitsu’s mischievous little face. He’s the oldest of the three and takes after Atsumu the most — meaning, he’s the cutest little nightmare there could ever be. 

“Whatcha doin’ under the table, Mitsu?” Atsumu asks, and Akimitsu gives out a happy, gleeful shriek. He’s clapping his grubby hands together and cheering. 

“Dada found me!” 

“I did find ya, buddy.” Atsumu coos. “Now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap?” 

After wrangling up all his kids once more, Atsumu sighs and looks up at the timer in front of him. 

“I have enough time for one more question.” He tells the crowd.

“Are you excited to get out of here and get back home to the wife?” 

“I’m always happy to come home to [Name]. If there’s a professional league for motherhood, she’s going into the hall of fame. I don’t know how she handles these fools by herself all day.” 

Akihiko takes a tiny, chubby hand and smacks Atsumu in the face. Repeatedly. 

“Home! Home!” His slaps get slightly more aggressive, but Atsumu’s received some serves with his face before, so it doesn’t really phase him. “Home! Mama!” 

“Well, you heard the man.” Atsumu actually gives a genuine smile for the cameras. “We gotta head home.”

You’re applying your moisturizer in the bathroom despite the mirror being fogged up from the hot shower. It’s probably why you don’t anticipate strong arms wrapping themselves around your body, and you gasp before your muscle memory recognizes him. Your body easily relaxes against his, and you’re smiling as you ask your husband, 

“Had a good day today?”

“We took ‘em in two straight sets. Slaughtered the other team to the point where it wasn’t even fair.” He angles his head just right so he can kiss you on the cheek, but you gently slap him away.

“I’m putting on moisturizer right now.”

“Great. My lips are dry.” He goes in for another kiss, and even though you’re giggling, trying to pull away from him, he still plants a peck on your soft skin. “Should I go for seconds, just for good measure?” He teases.

“Hmm, I guess so.” 

“Oh? What’s with the change? Realize how much you can’t live without my touch?” He pulls you in closer to him, your back pressed firmly against his chest. He’s fresh out the shower, stray droplets of water greedily clinging onto his skin. 

“Maybe.” You tilt your head back on the front of his shoulder so that you can see him. “You know your interview is trending on Twitter, right?” 

“Oh, yeah? Bet Nakamura’s pissed.” Atsumu sounds too happy at the concept. 

“No. There’s actually an interesting clip that keeps going around. Someone already used it as an intro for a thirst edit of you.” 

You like it when Atsumu is thinking. There’s an adorable crease in between his furrowed brows, and you can practically see him going through the memory files in his brain, trying to figure out what could possibly be worthy of inspiring an edit of him. 

“You seriously don’t know?” You’re laughing at him, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world. Atsumu doesn’t take kindly to being the butt of a joke, but from the moment he saw you, he knew he’d do anything to stay by your side, even becoming a fucking court jester if that’s what it took. 

You reach for your phone on the counter, taking a few seconds to load up the fan edit you have favorited. 

He’s burying his face in your hair, hiding away as he hears the audio of him going now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap playing on a loop. He groans when you let it replay, uncharacteristically shy as you keep telling him to watch it. 

“The comments are the best part, though, baby!” You haven’t been able to stop giggling at jackingthejackalsoff’s very bold and very true statement of yeah, if i were [name], i’d pop out triplets for him too tf 😭🙏.  

As Atsumu’s hands travel to rest against the growing swell of your belly, you tease him. “So, when the twins are born, do you think you’ll have enough space in your arms to haul all five of our kids, or should we finally use that baby chest carrier Shoyo gifted us?” 

“I can carry all of ‘em and you onto that stage.” He regrets making this smug remark whenever you slightly drop your teasing tone and use what he dubs The Mom Voice on him.

“Oh? If that’s true, then why did it take you so long to realize Akimitsu crawled out of your arms while you were busy calling your opponents scrubs?” 

“Have I ever told you what a wonderful mother you are? And this moisturizer! Wow, I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your skin, baby, but keep it up.” He’s peppering your face with more kisses, hurriedly trying to change the subject, and you gladly let him.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Feelings Thawed

Character; Cater Diamond

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, pining, ice skating (to various degrees of success)

Word Count; 650+

Author's Note; This is a present/thank you to my mutual @i-like-forgs. I hope you enjoy this ice skating scene with Cater, and that you get to skate soon!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The brisk wind bit at your nose, and you pulled up your scarf, trying to keep away the offending wind. Around you it was a winter wonderland, all made possible in the temperate conditions thanks to Cater, who was filming you skating around on the frozen pond’s surface.

“You know,” you hollered, making sure that you caught his attention, “you should join me! It’s fun!” You came to a stop by the pond’s edge, where Cater was standing with a large thermos.

Cater just shot you a wink, handing you the thermos. “This is for you though, silly!” 

He was deflecting, you could tell; behind that bright and cheery smile that he always seemed to wear around others, you knew when there was something off with Cater. You accepted the thermos though, and took a sip of the spicy apple cider, still piping hot.

You gave him a look and pulled lightly on his coat sleeve. “Yes, but it’s more fun with others, come on Cater!” You stepped back onto the ice, and slowly skated near him, waiting with an eager smile.

He looked at you, and then back at the ice, but he stayed standing in the light snow, shooting you that smile. “But I can’t take photos if I’m out there with you!” He scratched at the back of his neck.

Liar. “Cater,” you looped back around and stepped onto the bank, balancing on your skates, “do you not know how to skate?”

Cater’s smile turned sheepish, and his ‘ahahaha, looks like my gig is up’ chuckle made its appearance. He had been found out. “Never got the chance to,” he hid his face slightly in his scarf, either to keep the cold at bay or to hide that his cheeks were turning pink. “So I’d just slow ya down.”

You took his hand into yours, “Well, I could teach you if you wanted. Just a warning though, you’re gonna fall on your butt a lot, might get a few bruises.”

Cater looked down at your entwined hands. Mittens and gloves separated your skin from touching one another, but Cater could swear that he could feel the sensation nonetheless through the layers of fabric.

“You would? Even if I pull you down with me?” 

The last question wasn’t just about the ice skating; Cater didn’t want to force you to do anything that you didn’t want to… and that included being his friend. His heart seemed to whisper stronger emotions though, but he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.

You walked him out to the ice, and the both of you swiftly fell down on the ice, hard. But you just laughed and got right back up again, “Well, we did just fall. There isn’t anything scary about falling down; yes it stings and might leave a gnarly bruise, but in order to move forward we have to fall and get back up. So yes, is what I guess I’m saying.”

Cater looked up at you, the sun illuminating you and the snow glittered behind you. You were holding your hand out again, waiting for him. And Cater took your hand. 

It took him a while to get the hang of it, and he fell down quite a bit, but every time he fell down you helped him back up. And by the time that the sun was setting in the west, the both of you were cold, and both were going to wake up tomorrow with some bruises. It was fun though, which is all that mattered… but that whisper in Cater’s heart was by now singing, and maybe he would listen to it, but for now, he was happy with how the way things were, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, especially with how much you had smiled today. Your smile and knowing that you had fun with him was enough.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tags; @eynnwwyjth, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @silvers-numberonefan, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

[lucabyte]

Taking pride in One's own appearance.

[yourbestbuddie]

Headcanon that cas does not understand human pet-names in the slightest. Sure he knows about ‘darling’, ‘honey’, ‘sugar’, but he doesn’t understand why those words are chosen specifically. One day, Dean and Cas are in the kitchen, Dean’s making dinner and Cas is watching him, and Dean’s like, “Hey Cas, can you pass me the rice?” And Cas, wanting to impress Dean with his knowledge of human interaction/emotion, responds with “of course, Milk.”

[slytherinsprincesss]

**MC staring longingly at Sebastian across the room being idiotic**

Poppy: So why aren’t you and Sebastian dating again?

MC: Because I’d destroy him…

Ominis: Trust me, he’d definitely be into that.

[mikayesha]

Headcanons?

[caitmayart]

Listen - sometimes I’m a professional. 

Other times…. I‘m self indulgent.

I was feeling VERY self indulgent tonight.

[chuluoyi]

I think about satoru having to help pregnant! reader get up when their belly gets too big because they got stuck sitting on the floor or something, like a turtle flipped on its shell 😭

“satoru! help me get up!”

you’re hissing at him from your pitiful spot on the ground. it was a bad idea to put yourself on the floor just because you want to tie your shoelaces. now not only do you fail to tie them, you can’t even get up.

meanwhile satoru is having the time of his life snickering at the sight of you—so incredibly plush and round, all because he put that baby inside you. he shouldn’t take pleasure in seeing you wiggling and helpless like this, but who is he kidding? he just does.

“look at you, so ready to pop—”

“satoru! i swear, if you don’t help me this instant—!”

“yeah yeah~”

he crouches down to help you until he notices your failed shoelaces. “you’re just like a kid, heh,” he remarked, chuckling, and proceeded to tie them.

his eyes. his eyelashes. the way they crinkle. somehow the sight of him tying your shoelaces makes your face feel hot. why? it’s such a simple gesture, but your heart warms regardless.

“now done. let’s get the little mama up, shall we?”

“—! don’t call me that!”

“but you’re so little and my baby is really filling you full~”

“….i don’t like what you’re getting at🙄 but i sure can’t wait for this to be over…”

“oh~ want me to pop you then?”

…and you curse his name when you wake up to contractions the day after, right after he took you out the night before.

[beforeimdeceased]

I would love an ellie x reader x abby fic, something super smutty, but modern day. I don’t mind unique details, I will give your free reign on those I just want something powerbottom abby x masc top ellie.

click me!

um okay. so this is actually so unnecessarily long like why did i do that also it’s terrible please don’t beat me up okay :( it’s um definitely something guys if u hate it i’ll delete it I SWEAR I SWEAR

inexperienced!lesbian (me asf) reader x ellabs, reader orgasm, lowkey mean ellabs but ignore that, i didn’t even do the request properly everyone throw tomatoes at me :(

2k words!

nsfw!

‧₊˚ 🎐✩ 🫧 ₊˚⊹♡

The time on your phone flashed 11pm, and underneath it was a flash flood weather warning. You had been watching the news closely and carefully, but even they didn’t predict this.

“I thought they said it would clear up around 10.” Ellie joins you on the couch, a bag of fruit gummies in her hand. You nod, but don’t take your eyes off of your phone. “That’s what i thought too. I don’t know, maybe I can make it home before it gets too bad.”

Just as the words leave your mouth, Abby walks back into the living room. She rips a piece of paper towel off of the stand in the kitchen, drying her hands. “Or you could spend the night here and not end up swimming home.”

Ellie snort laughs but you bite your lip. “I don’t want to intrude. Suddenly having someone else in your private space for longer than planned? Sounds overstimulating.”

Abby joins the both of you in the living room, a bottle of water in hand. She plops herself down on the loveseat, manspreading and leaning back. You feel a knot twist in your stomach. “I don’t mind having you here for longer. Els?”

Ellie tosses a gummy in her mouth before responding. “You’re a pleasure to be around.”

Abby and Ellie wanted to ease your nerves a bit, and proposed a game of two truths and a lie. Fairly simple, you tell a person two truths and one lie about yourself and they have to guess the lie. A half hour had passed and you felt yourself loosening up around them. Laughing at how ridiculous they were being.

“No, i swear it’s the truth. I shook hands with him and everything.” Ellie holds her hands up innocently, insisting she didn’t lie.

Abby shakes her head, bringing a hand up to rub her temples. “Ellie, you did not meet a robot at the grocery store. That man was probably lying to you for fun, or some social experiment.”

You giggle, watching as Ellie put a gummy to her tongue to wet it, then throws it at Abby. “Youre a jerk.”

Suddenly, Abby has lifted herself from her seat and is tickling Ellie’s sides. All of you have burst into laughter, tears rolling down your cheeks at their dynamic.

After Abby’s satisfied with herself, she lets up on Ellie, joining you both on the couch. “Okay, your turn.” Abby looks over at you, placing one of Ellie’s gummies in her mouth.

You take a moment to think of something clever, biting your lip. “Hm.”

“Okay I got it!” You exclaim.

The girls grant you their undivided attention, anticipating your answers. “Okay, so. I’m bilingual. I’m allergic to certain coins and, i’ve never been kissed.”

The two look over at each other, confusion all over their faces. “Fuck.” Ellie leans back. “I’m gonna have to say you’re lying about the coins.”

Abby shakes her head, shooting Ellie a side eye. “Seriously? The last one is obviously a lie, I mean look at her.” You feel yourself growing shy at her statement. “You guys sure about your answers?” You smile, raising your eyebrows.

They both nod, creepily at the same time, and it makes you laugh before your reveal. “I’m not bilingual! English is the only language i speak fluently, but i have been taking some Swedish lessons.”

Ellie bobs her head. “Shit, that’s cool. So wait, what coins are you allergic to?”

You don’t even get the chance to answer before Abby chimes up. “Wait, you’ve never been kissed?” She stares at you, bewildered. “Seriously?”

You nod. “I’m pretty inexperienced. I ofcourse, don’t like men, and I came out pretty late so…” You trail.

You can actually see the devious gears turn in Ellie’s mind. She looks over at Abby and it’s as if they’re communicating with their minds. You wonder for a moment if people truly do have powers, because it seems they came to a very silent agreement just now.

“Abby’s a wonderful kisser.” Ellie blurts out, smiling at the blonde. “And a pretty damn good teacher.”

Maybe they didn’t agree on everything, because after that statement Abby shot Ellie a look that could kill. Ellie just laughed it off, lovingly tapping her shoulder.

“Oh.” You whisper nervously, unsure how to respond. Truthfully, you had been admiring the two of them ever since you’d met them. You were so eager to visit their apartment tonight, making sure to spray on your best perfume. Wearing a cute new outfit that was casual but not loungey. Planning it on a day where you knew the weather would be bad, all with the hope that you’d get to spend the night.

You were also nervous, and inexperienced in this department. What if you fucked it all up?

“I’m sorry if we’ve made you uncomfortable.” Abby chimes up, noticing your body language. You were fiddling with your hands, avoiding their gaze. “I’ll make Ellie sleep in the old doghouse outside if that’d make you feel better.”

You giggle as Ellie hits Abby’s shoulder. “Hey, not out in the rain. Maybe in the closet in the hallway.”

“Oh, you’re going back in the closet?” Abby laughs which causes Ellie to roll her eyes. You watch them stick their tongues out at each other and feel warmth in their friendship.

“You guys didn’t make me uncomfortable. I just didn’t know what to say.” You blurt. The two of them stop goofing and look over at you. Ellie’s got a smug face. “Do you want Abby to teach you how to kiss?”

Butterflies, a swarm of them, rush to your stomach. You try not to look her up and down but your eyes betray you. Soaking in Abby’s tall muscular figure. The way her legs are spread open and wide like she’s daring you to sit in between them. Her blue eyes burning holes into your skin. Anticipating your answer. You bite your lip. “Yes.”

Abby remains composed, but Ellie’s enjoying herself way too much. Moving to the loveseat so that you and Abby can have the couch to yourselves. She looks at both of you, then at you, then at Abby, then at you again. “Wait, do you want me to go-?“

“No.” You say, a little faster than you mean to. “I mean, you don’t have to leave, if you don’t want to.”

Abbys only focused on you now. Eyeing you up and down as you scoot closer to her. “Here, get comfortable. Straddle me.”

You know Ellie’s looking. You can feel her piercing eyes on your spine. Watching your every move, examining you from behind. “Straddle?” You ask, a bit unsure. You’d read the word in a couple books, but never looked up the definition. You realized that was damning you now. Fucking up this very moment.

“Sit on my lap, facing me.” Abby guides you. “Put your legs outside my legs.”

So this was the tummy turning move you’d seen in porn. It felt as good as you’d imagined it would. Your hands latch onto Abby’s shoulders, looking into her pretty blue eyes.

“You okay?” She asks, hands gripping onto your waist to steady you. Her fingers are brushing against the skin underneath the hem of your shirt and the contact is driving you crazy. You just nod, too afraid to open your mouth, knowing your words will spill out. You’re everything but composed right now.

“Okay. Just let me know if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” She smiles.

You nod again, and establish an understanding. She moves a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in, and places a soft peck on your lips. Truthfully, it wasn’t all that exciting but it sent jolts and waves of pleasure through your body. Your first kiss. She pulls away and smiles at you. “How was that?”

“Great- good. Grood.” You stammer. She chuckles a bit and you feel hot with embarrassment. “I meant to say- Fuck i don’t even know.”

She rubs at your sides, licking her lips and looking at you with low eyes. “Don’t worry about it, alright? You ready for more?”

“Yeah.” you breathe, head growing fuzzy from her touch. Her fucking touch, fuck. Gentle, but firm. Guiding you so carefully. So kindly.

“Okay. Open your mouth a little bit.” She whispers inches away from your face. “Yeah, just like that.”

You feel like you’re about to melt, a moan stuck in your throat, swallowed by the blonde. Her lips meshing with yours, guiding the kiss. The hand on your hip gripping tighter. She thrusts a bit, attempting to pull you in closer, and you whine into her mouth. This causes her to dig her nails into your skin, scratching at the tender surface.

By now, you’d forgotten Ellie was still in the room. You’d forgotten where you were, actually. Completely lost in a state of bliss. Her tongue on yours, teeth nibbling at your lip, touch making you weak.

She pulls away for air, and you remain leaning forward. Missing her lips on yours.

“Someone’s eager.” She teases. You bite your lip, scratching your nails on her scalp. “Sorry.” you breathe in a low voice. She shakes her head, tutting and rubbing your cheek. “Don’t apologize, it’s cute.”

Abby calls Ellie over, and you can feel her dip into the couch next to you both. Her cheeks are a flushed red and her eyes look fixated on you.

“Where are you the most sensitive?” Abby asks, shooting a small smile to Ellie.

“Why don’t we let me find out? Is that okay?” Ellie asks. You nod, breath growing heavy. There’s no fucking way this is real, you’re dreaming. You have to be. These two are working together to get you worked up.

You can sense Ellie behind you before you feel her hand slide under your neck. Fingertips on your chin, leaning your head to the side. She places a kiss behind your ear and it makes you shudder. “Fuck.”

They both laugh. This evil, menacing, condescending laugh and it’s making your thighs clench on Abby’s legs. “Ellie, you’re teasing the poor thing. She can’t handle it.” Abby places her hands on your thighs, spreading them apart as they were before.

“She can handle anything we give her, right?” Ellie’s moving her lips further down now. Trailing hot wet kisses down your neck, hands sliding up to grab your breasts through your shirt. You throw your head back, a soft whine escaping your lips.

“She’s so sensitive because she’s never been touched. Bet we can make her come without ever having to take her clothes off.” Abby’s hands begin sliding up and down your inner thighs. You feel a wetness pool in your underwear. “You’re probably right Abs. She’s already so worked up and we’ve barely done anything.”

Are they…mocking you? They’re fucking mocking you.

Ellie hums against your neck, hands slipping down to your leg, making you straddle Abby’s thigh. Abby places her hands back on your waist, hiking up your leg and making you grind against her.

You whine, head falling back against Ellie’s shoulder, but she offers no comfort or sanctuary. Hands kneading your tits while she leaves wet kisses on your jaw. “She’s probably soaked right now.” Ellie breathes.

Abby nods, admiring the way you give into their touch. So willing to be their fucktoy. She looks down at your crotch and hums. “She’s got a wet spot on her pants.”

“Such a shame. They look brand new. Now you’ve made a mess of yourself.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but you’re close now. The way your slick has covered your panties and is spreading all over your clit, Abby’s hands on your waist grinding you against her, Ellie’s mouth on you. Her hands on you. The way they’re talking about you like you’re not even there.

“I’m gonna-“ Can barely leave you lips before your climax hits you. You shake, dig your nails into Abby’s shoulder. Cry out an “Oh god, fuck!” and roll your eyes back as they help you ride your high.

Your body goes limp while you try to catch your breath. Everything is sensitive and you feel like you’d just seen stars.

“You did so good, baby.” Abby leans in to kiss you, and then Ellie behind you. “Ready for round two?”

Round what?

[rubiehart]

jj thinking you look the prettiest when your stomach’s all big and swollen with his baby, laying out on the bow of the boat on a towel he’d lay down for you, sunglasses perched on your nose and bikini hugging your body perfectly, specifically showcasing your tits that seemed to be getting bigger every month into your pregnancy, which jj wasn’t complaining about.

he’s at your side whenever you call his name, “everythin’ okay mama?” ,giving you sips of lemonade or water whenever you ask, comin’ over every half an hour or so to make sure you’re all lathered up in sunscreen “gotta make sure my babies aren’t cookin’.” indicating to you and the child you were growing making you giggle and throw an arm over your eyes as he rubs the sunscreen into your plush thighs and up all over your stomach, just bein’ all gentle with you.

big smile on his face cuz he knows he’s gonna love this baby more than he’s loved anyone or anything before (not including you of course!!)

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 11

Warning: MDNI!! Explicit sexual content in this chapter. Details below cut.

Contents: smut, showering together, penetrative (vaginal) sex.

He holds you back with a playful grasp on your hips, but you manage to wrangle him into the bathroom. Every touch on your skin is an alluring little reminder of what awaits you, his fingers lingering, intimate. The resistance he puts up, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and wrapping small lengths of your hair around his fingers, bringing them to his lips, has you fighting every instinct to give in to his advances.

You have never felt attraction for anyone like this before, something you are gradually coming to terms with. It's almost as if there is some gravitational force he exerts over you, the gentle, bruising weight of his presence inside you, around you, something you want to hold so desperately against yourself that you feel an almost physical pain.

The water of the shower is warm and soothing against your aching muscles, the echo of your first orgasm still reverberating through you, the soft trilling through a tuning fork, readying itself for the strike that follows. Kento doesn't join you immediately. You brush damp hair away from you brow and glance back at him, and he is leaning against the shower door, taking you in, his gaze warm and unguarded. There it is; that look that you somehow cannot believe is directed at you, that kindling that leaves your lungs questioning their function.

You reach out to him, fingers stroking down his bare chest, leaving a damp trail of invitation. He feels powerful, weighted with possibility beneath your touch. His gaze clouds slightly, and he steps in, still nude. He has nothing to hide, not from you.

Nudging you slightly until you turn away from him, he embraces you from behind. The sheer strength lying latent in those arms of his, so vital, so filled with living possibility, makes you shudder slightly. You want him to embrace you like this on every day of your future lives, to use your shoulder as a support for his questing chin, to offer him the curve of your spine to rest his tired body against.

You can feel it in the growing firmness against your inner thigh, rising. He pushes you gently away from him, grasping your bar of moisturizing soap. Facing the wall, you feel rather than hear the movements he makes over the soft patter of the warm water on your skin, the slick sounds of soap being lathered over his hands.

He isn't tired now.

His grasp is sudden, firm across your stomach, caressing with strong, deliberate strokes in ways that make your body edge towards him and your breath catch in your throat. He spreads the lather across your torso, and you can feel the hum of approval in his chest as you lean back, surrendering to his attentions.

He moves upward first, covering every inch of your skin he can reach, slipping slowly over the flesh of your breasts, cupping and smoothing until he reaches the peaks of your nipples with a soft pinch. Tracing up along your sternum, he takes the soap to your neck. You tilt your head back as his fingers scrape along your collarbone, wrapping gently around your throat, breath hot in your ear. There is something there, a written  message against your skin, fingers tightening briefly, then releasing you.

He wants more. He is now comfortable enough expressing his desire to let you know this; that he wants you pliant, slightly submissive to him, worshipping you as he takes charge.

You can give that to him. Gladly.

You trace over his knuckles lightly, showing him that you're enjoying his attentions, then apply slight pressure. You want him lower, to give the same attention to all of you. He complies with a low murmur of assent, hands now bracing on your hips, squeezing the ample flesh there appreciatively, before moving lower. The power of his grasp as his fingers dig slightly into the flesh of your buttocks has you gasping, bracing your hands on the walls of the shower.

Th soft moan that leaves you at these attentions is enough to spur him on to the final stage of your cleaning, fingers gently tracing the outline of your labia before stroking slowly over, taking his time, spreading water over the already dewy arousal that has been building to slippery slickness down there.

He pays the same dedicated attention here as he does everywhere else, massaging, capturing your flesh in the comforting prison of his palms, pausing in between to replenish the lather he spreads over you. He kneels behind you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed, quickly forgotten as his soft, damp hair presses again the back of your thigh, breath ghosting heatedly over your sex as he strokes down each leg, committing their shape to memory.

Your breathing is ragged now, but you maintain your position, just the way he wants. Something about your obedience in this small matter seems to be riling him up, quickening his own breath. He stands, turning you around to face him, finally, making sure that the warm spray catches you everywhere. You reach for the soap, to return the favour, but he stops you. He whispers against your lips, barely audible in here, in this cocoon of steamed glass and flesh on flesh.

"Don't worry about me. You have work tomorrow. I don't."

"Are you sure?"

"I can clean myself up any time. And besides ... I  want to take you again."

He pauses, and this is the first time he has spoken his desire with such directness, such possession, his eyes trained on yours with such need that you feel consumed by him. Leaving him tomorrow morning will be the hardest trial you've faced yet.

When he kisses you, all thoughts of tomorrow fly from your mind, scattering like wheat from a thresher. You are vaguely aware of his hands pushing open the shower door, of the care he takes such that you do not slip in spite of how close he holds you, the fact that he bats the towel away from your hand and seizes you even closer, engraving his answer on the shell of your ear with such startlingly primal need.

"Darling ... please. Want to feel you wet all over, like this."

He lifts you slightly, the damp wicks of hair on his chest grazing your nipples, wet hands catching and slipping on your thighs and buttocks, electricity building like charged static between your bodies. His mouth is so hungry, so sweet, so hot, and he is kissing you like he did that time in your office. But now, there are no clothes separating your entwined forms, no propriety that stops the way his hardened cock presses and slides with the urgency to mate against your folds, no desk preventing your precipitous journey from bathroom to the bed, guided by his reinforced strength.

He only pauses to tug the towel he's somehow maintained hold of beneath you, preventing the sheets from absorbing the dampness of your still wet bodies, and then he is on you. Your body is responding to him as if the rawness of your first orgasm had never existed, thrumming with the delight of fresh arousal, the need to be filled, grasped, taken apart, fucked until you can't take any more by this man you wanted above anything or anyone else in the world.

There is a moment of crushing intimacy, when his body is pressed so completely against yours that you can't imagine being apart from him again, fingernails drawing agonizing lines against each other's skin, and then something seems to click in his mind and he pushes himself up and away, a startled realization building behind the lustful haziness that has overtaken him.

"I ... wait. We need protection."

The tension releases from your frame in a breathless sound of protest, as he draws back hastily with a somewhat tortured expression.

"Kento ... please tell me you brought ... "

"Yes, my love, I did, just - "

You raise yourself slightly, watching the taut lines of his incredible backside flex as he marches over to the hallway where he'd dropped his jacket somewhere on the way to the bedroom. He snatches it up, and a quick rifle through an inner pocket produces the gleaming wrapping of what he's been searching for.

You cock an eyebrow at him.

"Just one?"

He glances up at you, and you watch with delight as that same subtle reveal of mischief in his natural stoic expression is echoed by the unfolding of a whole row of condoms, maybe six in total, as they tumble downwards in a joined section from the first.

"Of course not. Do I ever come unprepared?"

You purse your lips, shoulders shaking with laughter as he detaches one with a flourish and makes his way back to you, carefully removing the wrapper. When he reaches you, you sit up quickly, wrapping your fingers round his wrist, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, reminding him that you are also here to please him.

He takes a shuddering breath, silky, hardened flesh twitching in your palm as you unroll the condom over his length, stroking him with a gentle roll of your fist. His hand slips behind your neck, large palm rising until his fingers are entangled in your damp hair, tugging with eager, but gentle insistence. You allow yourself to be pulled back against the towel, moaning slightly as he covers your body with his, the slick coolness of the condom warming against your folds as he rubs, hard and intentional, against you.

He is panting again, losing himself in the sensation of you, taking control of your body further as he presses you into the mattress. You bless the instinct he has for pure sensuality as his skin, still damp from the shower, slides against yours, bringing you to the height of sensitivity.

Your legs open for him further, and he grunts, adjusting your position so that he can kiss you with messy fervour, rocking his hips against yours, drawing small cries and gasps from your lips. Your fingers are drawing lines of fire against his shoulders, begging him for more, and he complies. You are both operating on pure desire, fueled by an incredible need that blazes under your skin and out, over the shifting, press of hard and soft, wet and tacky, teeth and tongue.

He pauses, breathing hard, his hair tickling your forehead, and then, with agonizing slowness, presses his tip into your entrance. Your mouth opens in pained delight, body tensing reflexively, then relaxing. He is watching you with those beautiful hazel eyes, adoring, even now, misty with uncontrolled lust. He watches as he pushes further, as your head snaps back, a mix of scream and groan escaping your throat as he fills you, stretches you, feels you fluttering around his steely length in that contradictory mix of resistance and eagerness.

He is whispering soft, sweet nothings of encouragement and praise, shifting his hips, reaching down to grip your inner thigh and hold you open for him.

"Th - that's it, sweet love. Like that. Take me - oh. Oh fu - yes. So sweet. So tight. Let me - "

Your mind is barely functioning as he presses himself in, but there is enough coherent thought left to match the effort he is putting in to keep you with him, connected and focused on him.

"Oh God, sweet - fucking - ah. Angel, you're doing so well, I - "

"Y - yes, Kento, need you, need you so - please. Inside me."

"Right th - ah! Ahh, please. Oh God, like that. Want you ... want you, Kento. Stretch me like that - "

He is a large man, no doubt, and you can feel the full extent of that when the light scattering of hair around his base lightly brushes against your sensitive lips, cock bottoming out inside you, flesh bending and flexing hard against the yield of your soft walls. You are so wet that the slide of his entry pushes some of your slick out, and you feel it trickling down the side of you. He does too, and an explosive groan leaves him, his hips bucking forward in a way that makes you yelp and press your palm against his abdomen.

He isn't hurting you; you're much too wet for that, but he is slightly overwhelming, not just in sensation, but the idea behind this, that it is him, Kento, this deep inside you, his arousal keeping you stretched and open like this, his desire for you pressing you down into the bed under his powerful body. Panting, you meet his gaze, your own face flushed and drunk on passion, lip caught between your teeth, sweat now gleaming between the rapid rising and falling of your peaked, hardened nipples.

For the first time, you see Kento really and truly lose his restraint and control, even after everything you have already done with him.

He makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a rough grunt, hands closing like a vice on either side of your waist as he tugs you towards him, and then up, your back arching off the mattress under his guidance. He begins a slow, but punishing pace, drawing back and plunging back in, taking his pleasure, filling your mind with a white static haze that lifts and brushes against the edge of your awareness like a soft, lace curtain, blowing inward against you with every thrust. His movements inside you are a contrast to the uncontrolled manner with which his hands explore your body, greedy, desirous, taking everything he can.

And you'll give it to him.

As overwhelming as he is, you learn his body, his movements. You brace your hands on his shoulders, and he's strong enough to take your full weight, even as you all but hang from him. The arch of your back becomes a sinuous wave, rolling upwards to meet the press of his hips, his lips whispering the litany of a prayer into the curve of your throat before you undulate away from him, then back. It is a cycle of catch and release, the slick sounds between your bodies growing, sweat and the remaining dampness from the shower glistening on your skin and his.

His hands slide beneath your buttocks, fingers digging into your flesh, his grunts evolving to fully fledged groans and huffs. Neither of you is capable of coherent speech now, your movement reduced to that most basic and primal need, to be closer, closer, closer, deeper inside the very fabric of each other. Your eyes flutter open briefly, taking in his face between the dark lines of your lashes. Dampness is building at the corners of your eyes, but not enough to blur out the sight of him, the sinew standing out on his neck, the pureness, keen as a knife edge, of the ecstasy in his expression.

And at that moment, his eyes open, and you fall head first into the honey of that gaze of his.

Your perfect rhythm stutters, and you know it can't sustain itself forever, as much as you want it to. You can feel it in that wild stab of bone-deep pleasure, the heat building in your abdomen, the ache of your trembling thighs.

He pulls you towards him, moving backwards and you cry out as he presses somewhere new, deeper, in this sitting position. Your fingers scramble for purchase on his shoulders, and he soothes you with soft, wordless whispers as his pace slows, still buried inside you. You release him, hands flying behind you to find leverage on his thighs, lifting naturally off him until only the tip of him remains inside. You glance down at him, body quivering, the stretch and burn of him reduced down to the most beautiful fullness.

He looks at you as if you have brought the stars down into the bedroom, revolving around you both in an endless stream, and you know. You know then, that the sight of him, the feel of him, will be with you forever, as you will be with him. That he is committing this sight to memory, so that it will sustain him when you are not there, when distance, violence, the implosion of your world by forces beyond your control are all that remains. But so will you.

And you take the reigns he hands you now.

You bring your body down again, filling yourself with him. His hold on you is more supportive than guiding, and you bury him to the base, lips touching his briefly. You're close enough now to feel the deep, rumbling groan that bursts from him as you roll your hips, allowing his cock to slip out almost fully, before the return of your circular motion takes him back in. The stretch is even greater now, but you're riding him through it, using the muscles of your lower back to lift, swivel, release and again, and again, and again.

His moans become delirious, his arms looping behind you to pull you against him, so that every new movement of your body has your nipples brushing against the hard planes of his chest. The water of the shower has dried on the both of you, leaving new moisture in its wake. The slippery heat of you makes the most obscene noises as you take him, your cries building, building, like the billowing cloud of a dust storm against the horizon of your bedroom walls, a promise of blinding finality.

The world shifts, and you think for a moment that the pleasure has made you pass out, but then your back hits the mattress and he is above you again, snatching complete control away from you. And now his hands are beneath and behind your knees, lifting, and your cries are fevered, uncontrollable, as he drives into you once more. The hard drag of his sculpted abdomen against your pubic bone is pushing you steadily over the edge, your clit stimulated to an unbelievable peak of raw pleasure. Your fingers clutch helplessly at his chest before dropping, slipping around and behind him, dragging him further into you even as you scream for him to stop, no please, can't take any more, can't feel this, too much, its so good, love, love, love you, and -

The storm hits, and your body shakes like a leaf in a gale force wind, each shuddering wave catching you so hard that you can barely breathe, think, see, but you can feel. It's as if the synapse of every nerve has collectively fired an overload into the next, volley upon volley crashing through you as he calls your name, desperate, loving, pleading. You're unable to answer him, but your arms do the work for you, crushing him against you, fingers tangling in his soft, soft hair as you hiccup into his ear, dampness sliding down your cheeks.

The vice grip you have on him brings him down with you, and he roars in your grasp, powerful thighs trembling as his feet dig into the mattress. His chest is heaving against you, face twisted in such complete, unguarded bliss that you can't help the dizzy smile that breaks across your face. Something warm is building inside you, the tip of the condom swelling slightly. Kento plants his arms on either side of you, forehead resting against yours, the hot dampness of his exhalations spreading over your cheeks.

Is this what it feels like, you wonder, as he slumps slightly against you, careful even now not to place his full weight on you.

It is like this, that it happens? That the slide of his rough palm against your cheek, stroking away the moisture, becomes indispensable to you? That the heat of him, the heavy warmth of his body against yours, now so familiar, becomes an indelible mark on the canvas of your life?

It is perhaps here, in the glide of your hands across the broad expanse of his back, soothing the angry lines you've drawn there earlier? Is this how intimacy is born, and remains until we draw our last breaths, remembered forever in the rhythm of hushed, synced breathing, the secret veil that covers your tangled limbs.

This is how Kento becomes your lover, and you his. This is how he lays claim to your body, through every touch of his lips and hands, every stroke of his flesh inside yours. This is how you stay with him, until the small hours of the dawn, breathing in his scent, cradling his head against your stomach, whispering about a future neither of you can be sure about, but desire above all else.

This is how he kisses you, when the sun rises, burnishing his hair and eyelids with a patina of russet gold. The light pours through your fingers, spilling out across the forest-flecked tapestry of his soft, soft gaze and you are richer, in that moment, than anyone on earth.