To them, there is nothing sexier than seeing you in their clothing. Hoodies, T-shirts, old sweatpants, no matter what article of clothing, it doesn't matter. They leave their clothing out purposely just for you to find.
Is it cold outside? Oh, look, their cozy hoodie is on the sofa. Did you not like the new laundry soap? Well, their favorite band t-shirt hasn't been washed yet. Do all of your pants feel itchy? They have plenty of sweatpants for you to wear.
And like a hawk, they study detail of you in their clothing.
You are not foolish. You feel their eyes on you. Sometimes, you slowly tug off a t-shirt just to make them squirm. Other times you ingore wearing their old clothing in favor of your new cloths just to see them pout.
Warnings: omegaverse, male reader, mpreg, fluff, queer
Notes:
Summary:
🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛
(name) sat in his brother's medical office quietly, having felt nauseous as X snuggled into his lap, feathers fluffy while Fang went over his tests "you're...pregnant... Congrats" Fang mumbled and (name) looked at him wide eyed "really?" His voice soft and gentle and Fang nodded with a soft smile "six weeks... Don't do anything risky... Could hurt the baby"
(Name) Moved and huffed his brother while X hopped off his lap, the elder sibling hugging his baby brother and kissing his forehead "Kissy Kissy!" X said in a feminine tone and (name) snorted a laugh "you're gonna be an uncle X!" He said sweetly to his brothers best buddy and Fang huffed a laugh.
"I gotta go tell Unsuur!" (Name) Beamed and ran out, Fang watching with a sense of warmth... He would have to prepare maternity supplies...
(Name) Ran through sandrock in search for his alpha, heart pounding and blood pumping before he saw him by town hall with Justice and the Omega paused, staring at his mate while trying to figure out what to say.
Justice noticed (name) staring at Unsuur with an intense look and the black haired alpha followed his gaze to see (name) fidgeting and excused himself to check on him "what's wrong, sweety?" He asked (name) softly while taking his hands subconsciously, always needing to touch (name) in some way. "I... I have big news" (name) whispered "were going to need to add another heart to our statue" he managed to say and Unsuur looked confused "is there something wrong with it? I picked out good rocks.."
"My darling, I'm pregnant" (name) said before his mate would go and figure out what was wrong with the monument of their love.
"Wait... Really?"
"Yes!" (Name) Said softly and Unsuur froze and processed what he said and (name) grew nervous "Unsuur?"
"I will be the best dad, I promise!" He suddenly said with a determination that made (names) eyes water and yelped when unsuur lifted him up "we must get ready for our pebble" he said seriously and (name) smiled and kissed his cheek.
It wasn’t intentional, Owen knew that much. It was little things, each a drop of rain or a rolling piece of sand that slowly wore away at what little guard he had around his heart. Owen wasn’t trying to keep anyone out, not when he had dreams of his own, but it was a little frightening how easily you slipped in and through the cracks and crevices of his heart, settling there like gold in chipped crockery.
Who knew when your visits became the best part of his day. Dropping in for relief from the sun, for the tail ends of stories or to meet someone for commissions, the reason didn’t matter, especially when you never failed to cut out a slice of your valuable time just to sit and chat with him. Your stories rivaled his own, and your laugh could heal the desert.
Your first rain in Sandrock, stood drenched and grinning ear to ear, was one of his favorite memories. He told you he wanted to tell stories of the rain, but now he wanted to write them about you, splashing in puddles with hair clinging to your cheeks, bright and beautiful and alive.
Owen had heard fairytales, told them too, and you were cut right from the cloth. But maybe he was the damsel you came to rescue, even if he was the bigger one. It certainly felt like you saved him, with how wonderful Sandrock had become since your arrival (and Mi-an’s too, of course, but he was being sentimental).
Who knew when the plan got cooked up. Grace had mentioned how much you seemed to love his sandfish with secret sauce. You always ordered it when you sat down for a meal, and the way your face relaxed at that first bite. . . Owen wondered if learning to paint was hard, or maybe he could commission a camera. Nothing was better than you enjoying his cooking; it was the highest praise he could receive.
So he figured, why not work with that? Crucian carps were rare but not unattainable, especially for you. All his commissions for fish, you did the same day, always presenting them so proudly. If he asked for two, and for you to deliver them on the day the Blue Moon was closed, you wouldn’t suspect anything.
That meant Owen had plenty of time to prep too. He readied ingredients, cleared the kitchen, fitted it with candles and chairs at the island. And in you came, pleased as punch with your catch.
“I’m going to cook these now.” Owen told you, gesturing to the cluttered counter. “Wanna stay for dinner? I’m making your favorite.”
Oh, how your eyes had narrowed. “Oh? Are you buttering me up for something?” Still, you slid easily into the stool opposite of him. Owen grinned, not helping how suspicious he looked. “Did Grace destroy another oven? Want me to clean it? Or make you a new one?”
“No!” Owen protested, but any scolding tone was marred by his laughter. “No, she didn’t. She’s doing a good job! Way better than when she started.”
You just hummed an agreement, arm on the island and head propped on your hand, watching him ready.
And suddenly Owen got nervous. This was it. Time for the show to start. You were everything he wanted and more, so he had to impress you. Show you how good of a cook he was. How good of a partner he’d be. How worth he was, a good business owner, a good cook, a good man. The perfect one for you.
This had to be perfect.
Owen turned towards the stove, hands shaking a bit as he flipped on the nearest burner. The sauce was easy enough to put together, and luckily Owen was broad enough to hide the secret recipe from you. You complained, of course, but didn't get up.
“The only way you’re getting my recipe is if you become family.” Owen teased, face hot from the stove.
“I’ll buy a ring the next time the Mysterious Man comes to town.” You responded easily.
Owen had to turn back to his meal so you didn’t see his goofy grin. He was veering into dangerous territory, thinking of you in a wedding, where you’d marry him. And then you’d move in and maybe even have kids-
Bad! Owen shook his head. Those were thoughts to have later, in private. For now, he was searing the fish, and he had the perfect move to show you.
“And now!” Owen announced, showing you the fish in his pan. You preemptively began to applaud. “Behold!”
Owen flipped the fish into the air. Both sailed up, perfectly seared on one side. But on their downward arc, they parted ways. Owen lunged to catch both in his pan, back slamming into the counter. The cupboards flew open as the earth shook with Owen’s contact with the floor.
“Owen!” You yelped. The thunderous clanging of falling pots and pans drowned you out.
Oh. . . That hurt. A lot.
Owen groaned. A larger copper pot covered his head, casting him into darkness, and for it he was thankful. That was. . . not impressive at all. Not even a little bit. That was sad, actually. Not something an experienced chef would ever do.
And you saw all of it.
So this was a bust. Owen mourns any chance of impressing you, of swooping in with a heart knot after you swoon over his cooking skills. Owen would have to retreat, restrategize, and hopefully lick his own wounds in privacy. He didn't want to avoid you, but after all this, he doubt he could face you again without cringing into a ball of shame.
You had other plans, however, pushing up the pot on his head. The worry in your eyes cut him like knives. “Owen? Are you okay?”
“Heh!” He forced a sheepish smile, face so hot. “Well, uh. . . a little embarrassed, but I’m alright.”
Your lips pursed into a sympathetic pout. Owen had to drag his eyes up from them when you leaned closer, eyeing the bruises that no doubt are blooming across his head.
“Does anything hurt?” You asked.
Owen flapped his hands around. “Oh! You know, just some bruises. I think I smacked my hand on the way down.”
You captured his hand in your own, studying his fingers. Yours bent his, careful and calculating, making sure each worked as they should. He winced when you got to his thumb, and at the confirmation of pain, you swooped in.
A kiss. You kissed his aching thumb, slow and firm, before pulling back with sparkling eyes and a small smile. “Does. . . anything else hurt?”
Owen blinked. What else hurt? He gestured vaguely to his forehead, where a goose egg was forming. “Er, um, my head. . .”
Your hands came up, calloused and warm, cupping his cheeks. Your fingers stroked his beard as your lips ghosted his injury. It took a hesitant moment, but you sunk into the kiss, healing all the pain away.
“Anywhere else?” You whispered, barely pulling away from his face.
Owen immediately jabbed his finger to his lips, chest tight. “Um! Um, my lip’s busted-!”
Owen snatched your face in his hands as you cut him off. It was exhilarating, an explosion of feelings and sparks that lit fires all around. Everything was too warm, too close, too far, too short. By the time you pulled back, thumb stroking his very much not busted lips, Owen thought he could die, and die happy.
“Hm,” you hummed, “looks like I didn’t get it all.”
Owen laughed into your kiss. Was it perfect? No. But it was you. And he liked you way more than perfect.
Summary: Nia grows jealous when someone flirts with you in front of her.
Warnings: SMUT(ish) (I cut it a bit short), possessive/jealous behavior. I think that’s about it.
For as long as you’ve know Nia — nearly your entire lives — you’ve been extremely observant, a trait that’s served you well in almost every aspect of your life. The ease with which you can accurately pinpoint what needs fixed or built has given you an edge in your career as a builder, and the way you remember the tiniest details about a person has made making connections, whether professional or personal, that much easier for you.
The only area you seem to be completely oblivious in, though, is romance. Nia would need extra hands to be able to count on her fingers how many times someone’s flirtations have gone over your head. She’s grown comfortable with the consistent unwitting rejections you’ve hit interested potential love interests with over the years. Comfortable, and somewhat possessive — She’s been known to send people away with a glare outside your line of vision before you get the chance to do so yourself.
She knows it’s not right. You’re not hers. Deep down she knows that, but with each passing year of touchy affection, of pet names, of late nights spent cuddling under the stars, of being prioritized above others, of being the sole recipient of quite possibly the brightest smile she’s ever witnessed, it gets harder and harder not to feel like you are.
And it gets harder and harder to watch other people try to take you from her.
It all reaches a tipping point after she moves to Sandrock for good, after she’d been made to think you’d died, after the invasion, after you’d almost been taken from her so many different times in so many different ways that she couldn’t take being so far away from you anymore. You two have a standing arrangement to meet at the Blue Moon every Friday night after she’s done at the Moisture Farm and you’re done with your work for the day — Not that that’s the only day of the week you end together. More often than not, Nia ends up spending the night at your house, in your bed, in your arms.
She enters the Blue Moon tonight just in time to see you sat at the bar where you usually wait for her. This time, though, you’re not waiting alone. Grace stands at the other side of the counter, chatting with you about something Nia’s too far away to hear at the moment.
That initial sight isn’t what bothers Nia. She knows you and Grace are fairly close friends. Not as close as you and Nia, of course, but close. She’s never seen anything that may suggest either you and Grace have romantic feelings for each other.
No, what bothers Nia is the fact that, after Grace spots her over your shoulder, she leans over the counter before directing her attention back toward you. As she approaches, she tries not to gawk at Grace’s cleavage on full display. What’s she playing at here?
“And that’s also why Justice won’t answer the door when I knock after ten p.m. anymore,” comes what is obviously the tail end of the story you’re telling. You look back over your shoulder to see who’s approaching, that bright smile that has always seemed to be reserved solely for Nia spreading across your face at the sight of her. “There you are! I was just telling Grace the goat story.”
Nia can’t help returning your smile as she sits on the stool beside you, though her gaze snaps to focus on Grace’s hand coming to rest on your forearm. You don't pull away. That shouldn't bother her as much as it does. Swallowing, she makes eye contact with you again. “You’re as much a menace to this town as you are a savior,” she giggles.
Your face reddens at her words, the color spreading down your neck, and warmth spreads throughout Nia’s body. She loves making you blush. She likes to pretend it means what she wants it to mean. She wonders how far down past the collar of your shirt it spreads, how hot to the touch your skin must be, what it might feel like against her mouth—
“Everything that’s been accomplished in this town has been a team effort,” you respond, effectively snapping her out of her spiraling train of thought.
Nia opens her mouth to speak again but is beaten to the punch by Grace, who’s now blatantly looking you up and down. Is she, too, wondering how far down that blush goes? “Yeah, but we couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Her roaming gaze settles on your lips. “You’ve got something right… here.” As she speaks, her hand leaves your forearm, thumb brushing against your bottom lip as if she’s brushing something off.
There’s literally nothing there. Grace is clearly just using this as an excuse to touch your lips. Nia can only see red as she glares at Grace who pretends not to feel the way Nia's trying to murder her with her eyes.
She can’t take this anymore, can’t take standing by watching people blatantly throw themselves at you like this. She feels entirely too hot already as she grasps your warm hand — always so warm. She likes to call you her personal heater when she’s not busy being irrationally furious.
Her touch brings your attention to her, furrowed brows only deepening at the sight of her. She’s tired of hiding how this makes her feel, and the look on her face must convey it quite clearly if your confused expression is anything to go by.
“What’s goin—nnmph—!” Your question is swiftly interrupted by Nia’s lips against yours, her hand curled into a fist around the collar of the shirt she’d used to tug you into her. She pulls away before you can do it yourself, smoothing out your collar and clearing her throat.
“Can we go h— to your house? Can we go to your house?” She asks, relief flooding her as she watches Grace wordlessly straighten up and head back to the kitchen.
“I— Yes, absolutely,” you stammer, immediately standing up. Instead of pulling your hand out of her grasp, you hold onto it as you lead her out of the saloon.
Her heart hammers in her chest as she walks with you to your house, hand-in-hand. Is it a good sign that you’re still holding hands? It’s too late now to take it back; all she can think about is the way your lips felt against hers — soft, pliant, delicious. She needs to feel it again.
The second your front door shuts behind Nia, the second you turn to face her, she slides her hands up your arms, up your shoulders, up your neck, finally coming to rest on either side of your face. You look down at her with what looks like awe. Awe, and a hunger she’s never seen from you before. It lights her on fire, her fingers threading through your hair. Maybe she’s misreading this, but… it’s too late to go back. Being bold got her this far; maybe being bold is what you want from her.
“Sit on the couch,” comes out more like a request than the order she means it to be. However bold she be, she’s not sure what any of this means. Does the fact that you haven’t rejected her advances so far mean you feel the same way for her that she does for you? Or is the other shoe about to drop?
You pull away from her, and for a moment Nia’s so sure you’re going to ask her what the hell she’s doing. You don’t. Instead, you do exactly as she asked; you sit on the couch and lean back, legs slightly spread. You’re watching her expectantly now and the sight of you clearly waiting for her to straddle your lap is enough to make her cunt begin to throb.
You want this. You want her. Your eyes, dark and slightly widened with obvious need, make it so clear to her that she's not misreading anything.
Slowly, she makes her way toward you. Your gaze is more intense than she’s used to as it takes its time tracing her body. The couch cushion dips underneath the weight of her knees as she climbs onto your lap; up this close, she can see the heavy rise and fall of your chest.
Warm hands come to rest on Nia’s thighs, causing her to inhale a sharp, shaky breath. Her hands come to rest on your shoulders as yours travel up her thighs, her skirt riding up with them.
“What brought this on?” Your words are breathless, a soft moan escaping your throat afterward at the feeling of your best friend beginning to roll her hips into your lap.
“Are you complaining? I could stop, if that’s the case,” Nia teases. She was unsure before, but now she can see, hear, feel how much you want this. She’s so confident in it that she stops grinding and starts to move off of your lap, but before she can, your hands grab her by the ass to pull her back down.
“No — Please don’t stop,” you plead.
And how is she supposed to say no to that? Your hands on her ass cheeks keep their firm grip even as she begins to rock into you again. “I love making you beg,” she breathes. This is the first time she's made it happen in this context, but if there's on recurring theme in your friendship, it's Nia's fondness for the way the word 'please' passes your lips. Your only response to her words is a low groan, and then a second, louder one as Nia’s hand tugs your head back by your hair. “Nobody’s allowed to make you feel like this but me. Nobody’s allowed to touch you like this but me.” She lowers her head to rest her forehead against yours, panting, her rocking hips picking up speed as her eyes flutter shut. You roll yours up into hers, matching her pace perfectly. “Nobody’s allowed to touch this mouth but me.”
To punctuate her sentence, she presses her lips to yours with a filthy moan. You return the kiss, parting your lips to welcome her prodding tongue into your mouth. You moan around her tongue and she’s pretty sure she could cum right now from kissing and dry humping alone as long as you keep making such pretty sounds for her.
It’s you who pulls away first, struggling to catch your breath enough to speak. “I’m yours to touch,” you agree, nails digging delightfully painfully into Nia’s ass. She sucks in a shaky breath and your head dips to begin trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the blonde’s jawline, down her neck, continuing to speak between kisses. “Yours to kiss.” Your breath is hot against Nia’s neck. The rolling of her hips grows more urgent, more aggressive, and yours are quick to match it. Your next words come out sounding breathless and utterly wrecked with need. “Yours. All yours.”
The combination of your words and your mouth on her neck are doing absolutely nothing to quell Nia’s possessive urges, but she's beginning to think that that's exactly what you want. With another tug on your hair, she pulls your head back, baring your throat to her as she leans down to begin sucking what she’s going to make sure is a very visible mark on your neck. The action pulls another moan from your throat and the sound vibrates against Nia’s mouth.
“Nia…”
She’s never heard you sound quite like this before, so full of longing. It’s addicting. She needs more. “Again. Say my name again,” she breathes against your neck, and this time her words come out as the demand they’re meant to.
“Nia,” you repeat, louder this time, a little higher pitched than before.
Nia’s hands rush to the buttons on your shirt, urgently unfastening each one as she nips at your jawline and relishes in the way it makes your breath hitch. You’re so responsive to her touch, pushing your chest into her hands as they slip underneath your newly-unbuttoned shirt. So eager for her, so obedient. What else will you do for her? She plans on finding out tonight.
__________________________________________
You wake to the faint sound of birds chirping outside, and at first you’re confused. Bleary eyes blink open, slowly adjusting to the light of your living room, and it’s then that your memory of the night before returns to you.
Nia. You can feel the weight of her on top of you, the steady rise and fall of her chest — her bare chest — against your own. Slowly and carefully, you manage to extract yourself from her embrace without waking her. She’s always been such a heavy sleeper, but still, you try to remain quiet as you gather the items of clothing scattered on the floor to wash.
“Hey, you,” comes Nia’s voice from behind you, heavy with sleep.
You look over your shoulder at her before softly depositing the bundle of clothes onto the floor for now. Fully settling onto your knees, you turn and lean against the couch with a smile — bright, loving, maybe a little mischievous. Slowly, you reach up to gently brush some hair out of Nia’s face. “Good morning.”
Nia’s eyes trace every inch of your face as if seeing it for the first time, and eventually her gaze lowers, darkening upon spotting the various hickeys she’d left on your lower neck and shoulders. You’re lucky you still have that scarf she knitted for you.
“So last night…” she trails off, eyes meeting yours again, a hint of hopeful uncertainty within them.
You wince. “Yeah, I know. I’m so sorry,” you start. You notice the way Nia tenses and reach out to grasp her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’ll have a talk with Grace. I don’t know what got into her last night; she knows we’re together, and I was so sure she was into Logan anyway. There must’ve been some kind of miscommunication or something. I’ll set it straight, I promise.”
You wait for Nia to relax or at least say something, but instead she just stares at you in confusion. “Wait, what?” She asks.
“What?” You furrow your brows.
Nia props herself up on one elbow. “Since when have we been together?”
Your eyes switch focus between hers as you straighten up a little. You’re so confused. “Since, like, forever?” Your tone makes it clear that you feel this should be obvious. The look on Nia’s face makes it clear she disagrees. “Nia, we hold hands everywhere we go. We do everything together. You practically live in my house with how often you’re here. We sleep in the same bed, we cuddle, we reject other people’s advances for each other, we talk about our future plans of growing old together in this house with your garden out back by my workshop. Hell, I’ve kissed you before!”
“It was just for a second; I thought it was a friend kiss!” She protests, face more than a little red with embarrassment. “I thought… But wait, last night was the first time we’ve really kissed, let alone had sex. What did you think was happening there?”
“I just thought you wanted to take things super slow,” you reason with a shrug.
Nia just looks at you for a moment, taking in, for the first time, the reality of everything. She’s been pining for years over someone who’d thought all this time that they were together already, and you’d been content to take it all at her pace the entire time. Squeezing your hand, she pulls until you get the hint that she wants you up on the couch with her.
“Sweet girl.” Her voice is soft and fond, her hands coming to rest on either side of your face as you settle into the couch beside her. “My sweet girl.” She pulls you down into a slow, tender kiss, vastly different to the hurried, desperate kisses you’d shared the night before — but just as perfect. Breaking the kiss, she remains close enough for you to feel her breath on your lips as she speaks. “We have to work on your communication, though, because if I’d known I could just jump your bones like that any time I wanted, I would’ve.”
You laugh at that, slipping your knee between her thighs, your smile widening at the soft gasp it pulls from Nia’s throat. “Duly noted,” is the last thing you say before you press your lips to hers.
Later, when you walk into the Blue Moon Saloon with Nia’s scarf wrapped tightly around your bruised neck, Grace looks up from her notepad and smirks when she meets your eyes. “You’re welcome.”
These are some assorted love language headcanons I think Arvio would have and some that he would appreciate receiving.
I plan on creating Love Languages headcanons for all the datable characters in the video game, as well as other headcanons
Disclaimer: The author has never actually dated Arvio
Showing
These are some of the ways Arvio shows his love language towards the Builder.
Quality Time
- To him, any time spent with Arvio is quality time.
- But, he especially loves going on dates with Builder.
- After coming home from work, he looks forward to unwinding with Builder at his side.
- He would talk about his day and listen to Builder telling him about theirs.
- Relax time can happen anywhere: on the couch, in bed, or outdoors. As long as he's with Builder, he's fine.
Words of Affirmation
- He has a ton of sweet names for Builder, a lot.
- Builder should get used to being called: "My Love," "Honey," "My Jewel," "The Love of My Life," and more!
- He'll greet Builder with these names after not seeing them for a while, and even if people are in earshot, he's not shy about it, after all, Builder is his Jewel.
- When it's Builders turn to do the cooking, he'll compliment the smell of the food even before tasting it. And, even if Builder is not a good cook, he still appreciates the attempt.
- Overall, he's the type to cheer on his partner.
- This is especially adamant at *Showdow at High Noon*! He is apologetic about being your number one supporter...and the loudest.
Physical Touch
- Did Builder have a stressful day at their workshop? Muscles sore? Body exhausted? Well, Arvio is here to relieve Builder's stress! Get ready for a full-body massage for the price of being his partner! Soothing words of affirmation, free of charge and exclusive to you!
- He is a handsy partner.
- On dates, hand-holding is a must, with interlocking fingers. He sometimes rubs his thumb on Builder's hand while holding hands.
- This is not exclusive to dates, it could be on the couch, in bed, or outside on the lawn. Builder's hands aren't safe from Arvio.
- When Builder is at their workshop, something Arvio does is hug them from behind while they are stressed with a task and need a break. A soft and warm hug from Arvio is just the remedy. He would also nuzzle his face in the crook of Builder's neck and pepper it with kisses. Sometimes he even gently lifts Builder up to tease them.
Receiving
Arvio shows his love in many ways, but what are some of the ways Arvio receives it? Here are some headcanons about the best ways to show Arvio you love him.
Acts of Service
- He appreciates when Builder checks in on him, and not just about the vague questions. E.g., "Did you eat?" "What did you have?"
- He also appreciates when Builder offers to deliver a package for him. Most of the time, he will decline, but he is still thankful and cherishes the fact that his partner is someone who offers to help.
- House chores are split evenly between the Builder and Arvio. But there are times when he is too exhausted to do them. Still, he will try, though Builder would offer to do them for him. Much like the above point, he would kindly decline but would eventually succumb to the Builder's offer to do them for him. He appreciates it and would promise to make it up to Builder. That promise is never broken!
Physical Touch
- Arvio loves when Builder touches him or has Builder close to him. E.g., hugs, cuddles, playing with his soft hair, a simple forehead kiss, a quick peck on the lips, and more.
- At Blue Moon Saloon, he would urge the builder to dance. It doesn't matter if people are watching or not, if he wants to dance with Builder, then he wants to dance with Builder.
Warnings: None, gender neutral so everyone can enjoy
Other: I promise I'll get back on kinktober as soon as my medicine increase kicks in. I also post these on my AO3! Requests are open!
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Oh man… He’s not bad at aftercare… I promise, he isn’t. He’s just not that well adept at it. Not to say he doesn’t care about you afterwards, he just isn’t one to stick around and cuddle up most of the time.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His: Any part of his body that’s muscular honestly with more of a fondest towards his biceps and abdomen.
His partner’s: Arms, chest, ass in that order. He doesn’t care if you’re not as well defined as he is, if you’re flat chested or not, or if your ass is massive, he just really fucking loves you lol
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He is (based on research from 2010 I think) at his “peak” for semen volume so he’s busting good loads bahaha. He doesn’t have the thickest or biggest loads though, I think he’s pretty average to the bigger side of average!
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He really wants to be watched while fucking you. It makes him harder than anything else to imagine someone jerking off to rubbing their clit while watching you two together.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He’s pretty experienced sexually, not so much when it comes to deeper, real romance. He knows what he’s doing sexually and appearance wise.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Full nelson 100%, no debate about it, sorry lol. He also loves the irish garden, watching your ass is an experience he loves so much!
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Unintentionally goofy and humorous haha
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Ugh, I’m stuck between him being super well trimmed or being fully waxed. His pubes, if you see them, are darker than his head hair. His hair is very thick even when it’s well groomed.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Like I said, he’s very good at appearing romantic during the moment. It feels hollow the first few times, especially when he’s fucking you in missionary, but as he gets closer and closer to you then he becomes more actually romantic. Ofc, how romantic can you be in full nelson or irish garden bahaha
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Mans loves masturbation. Grinding on a pillow, typical jerking off, using your underwear, he doesn’t care. His sex drive and stamina are both extremely high.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Exhibitionism as mentioned before, he also loves being praised, as well as a big power play kink!
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Anywhere he can manage to get you alone, he’s not too picky. While he definitely prefers his favorite positions, he’ll settle for a quickie where you’re pinned against the wall or bouncing on that thang9+
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
SWEAT, HARD WORK, PERSEVERANCE. Seeing you work hard and not give up gets him going more than any flirtatious lines or teasing touches ever could. Bonus if you’re sweating from the heat and work.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
I’m not sure honestly bahah. I think he’s very much into the philosophy of trying everything once.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
No preference, very skilled. He’ll bring you to the edge multiple times until you’re rutting against his face and practically in tears! He cannot deny the thrill he gets from seeing you struggle to take him though.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Fast and rough-- he knows he should go slow and sensual to appear more romantic, to put on the play of being the perfect, ideal boyfriend, but where’s the fun in that?
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He loves them, he needs them. I would say you guys probably have way more quickies than straight up sessions.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
As mentioned above, I see him as being very adventurous and doing anything at least once. He will do whatever you ask, he’ll bring up situations from that handsome head of his often-- occasionally to see your reaction and occasionally because he actually wants to do it.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
His stamina is unmatched! He can probably go at least the amount you can, but it’s probably more than that. He doesn’t last too long each round though, unless he’s actively pacing himself.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He doesn’t use toys, nah. No judgement if his partner does, but he personally doesn’t enjoy using toys.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He’s exceptionally unfair. Touches, kisses, compliments-- he learns your turn ons and uses them to his advantage. He loves to turn you into a mess for him, whether you can immediately gain relief from him or it’s going to be a multi-day teasing, he loves it.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He can be pretty loud. He’s a big growler and grunter.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
He prefers to only use three fingers (thumb, pointer, and middle) to jerk his cock and he focuses primarily just below the head if he’s trying to cum quickly.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Heather red boxers. His cock is above average length and above average girth, he is cut.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Way too high lol… I don’t think anyone could match his sex drive tbqh.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He doesn’t typically go to bed after sex unless he’s fully exerted himself, then it’s pretty much within 5 minutes.
