you should do headcanons for arber xhekaj 😩🙏🏻 i am so thirsty for that man it’s ridiculous
but of course!
arber xhekaj | head canons
summary: musings and ramblings about un habitent certain (c’est juste l’homme plus beau du monde).
warnings: 18+!!! SMUT. little bit of this (hair pulling), little bit of that (thigh riding), some of this (too much talk about hands). but he’s also such a softie, don’t you think? don’t act surprised bc what else would i write about?!!
sweet
- watching the sunlight trickle through the blinds onto his face, normally so terse and serious, but now soft and golden under the sunlight.
- his soft laughs and whispered advice as he tries to teach you some words in czech, or one of his favorite childhood meals.
- the feeling of his finger tips tracing stars on your back, your leg, the palm of your hand.
- soft kisses into even softer hair.
- sitting on the bathroom counter with him standing snugly between your legs, applying a face mask, being so careful not to snag his moustache.
- his heavy body melting into yours after a rough game, feeling his comically large hands pull you closer than close.
- laying on the couch, limbs tangled, working on your ever growing playlist, listening to each others favorite songs and adding them to the playlist fondly titled “us 😚”
- him scooping your half asleep body off of the couch, laundry folding forgotten, to escort you into bed, where he would lay you down so gently and pull the blankets up to your chin- and then the subtle scraping of the laundry basket (all clothes now folded) as he placed it at the foot of the bed before climbing in with you.
spicy
- the way his thigh feels under your clit, hard and wide, his hands on your hips, building you back and forth, a slick sheen forming on his olive skin.
- his deep, hoarse noises as you take him all the way in your mouth, the head of his cock bumping at the back of your throat, hot and hard and him, filling your entire mouth with the silky skin of his cock.
- the way his eyes would flutter, fighting to stay open, as you ground yourself down on him, swirling your hips to spell his name, one letter at a time.
- hard, rough, hungry fucks on the couch or over the counter or in the back of the training room at the rink.
- constellations of hickeys all across your neck and chest, some faded, some still angry and red.
- the delicious stretch of his fingers inside of you, prying you open to make room for his hot tongue.
- the growl of a moan he releases into your cunt when you grip his hair tight- maybe a little too tight- to anchor yourself back to earth as he makes you see galaxy after galaxy.
