#headcanon kissing

[shylittleunicorn15]

so how would kinger, jax, and caine kis

(when i first saw this i was like "idfk lol" but i gave it some debate and came up with this, enjoy!)

Jax is able to close their mouth so they might give Caine and Kinger kisses on certain places on their face with their lips(they'd probably kiss their eyes as an act of mischievousness)

i have a theory about Kinger having a mouth(its stolen from the horrible circus au's Kinger having a mouth)

(if you cant read it says mouth here and he's got sharp teeth...)

Caine turns human when he wants to (with and without lips) so it's not a problem for him, but he will nip them as his way of kissing(not hard enough to hurt them, just enough for them to know he loves them :) )

[ghostsgrl666]

roommate!ghost who's waiting for you when you get home in the middle of the night after going out with your friends. Sitting on the couch in those fucking grey sweatpants when you stumble through the door and drop your keys. Has to stare at the crack on the ceiling when you get down on your hands and knees to find them, pretend for his own sanity that he hasn't seen the tiny excuse for underwear you've got on under that little black dress.

Like clockwork, he's got you sitting on the icy bathroom counter as you giggle, telling him all about your night. He's got cotton pads and makeup remover in one hand and the other holding onto your thigh because you started unconsciously squeezing his broad frame when he stepped in between your open legs. He gently wipes away all the traces of the night, carefully mapping out the contours of your face like you're a masterpiece he's carved from some precious stone. Until he gets to your lips. The shiny, fucking sparkly gloss is all thats left on your skin but his hand freezes as he studies the crease in your bottom lip. You catch up two seconds later in your dreamy, relaxed haze, and without even thinking about it you close the gap, softly pressing your lips to the one's silently hovering over yours.

His breath catches and his grip on your thigh becomes molten hot as you just as quickly pull away. Innocently you smile at him, like you hadn't just killed him, like you hadn't just made him start planning your wedding down to the way your eyes would shine as you walked down the aisle, all for him.

Your laugh is the only thing that can pull him out of his stupor, "you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that." 

But he does, he really, really does.

[camilleflyingrotten]

Imagine « they’re not talking » but only for a week and then this happens:

Bonus

[skyrigel]

People have the audacity to say they weren't fucking.

[meowsgirldrawing]

Many Kisses~ (PolyAU! Obey me!)

Note: I got no excuse for the last one, the demons just love their human too much <3 (And MC is just loving life)

[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

[solomiracle]

lucifer catching you doing something stupid and he calls you endearing names/compliments you but in the most exasperated tone

"i trust you're not plotting my downfall with satan and belphie again, right, my beloved lamb?"

"you, the one who outshines all the stars in the sky... the one who takes my breath away with just a glimpse... are seriously going along with mammon's pyramid sceme?"

"my love, my reason for living, my light, my heart, my soul. explain to me why half of the room has been blown up."

[demigods-posts]

just imagine all of camp half-blood knowing that percy and annabeth clearly have a thing for each other. not because of their banter that toes the line of flirting. not because of their countless hugs. not because of their refusal to go anywhere without each other. but because they watched annabeth kiss percy on the cheek. and both of them turn away to smile to themselves.

[transvampireboyfriend]

Thinking about Eddie and Steve not needing words to understand each other, or at least not too many.

The way Steve says "Teddy, c'mere" with his hand stretched out and Eddie's already walking over, chin jutted out bc he knows there must be something stuck to his face.

Or how Eddie will say "Angel, you wanna...?" and trail off looking at whatever Steve's carrying. And Steve will hand it over for Eddie to help, murmuring a "thankyou".

How Eddie'll say "Baby" out of the blue and Steve will drop what he's doing to go sit on his lap and happily receive soft kisses to his jaw.

And how Steve will gently scratch Eddie's scalp when he plops down, head on Steve's lap, because he knows that's what Eddie's asking for.

How whenever one of them hooks their chin on the other's shoulders, the other knows to share whatever they're drinking or snacking on.

How when Steve bumps his forehead to the back of Eddie's shoulder wrapping his arms around him, and how when Eddie trails his hand down the back of Steve's thigh holding on to the back of his knee as he's laying behind him, they both know that means "I love you".

And how they both say "I love you, too".

[catsoupki]

bakugou (pro hero, mid 30s, 2nd on the ranks) who even with two entire teams of medical staff members dedicated to him and red riot, he will still genuinely believe that your kisses are more effective than whatever pain relievers the paramedics try to shove down his throat

[konigsblog]

we all know about könig's breading kink, but what about könig with a pregnant!reader? 🍼

könig's desperation for a large and loving family stems from his being an only child. könig has never felt the warmth and love from a sibling, and he wants to make sure his kids will always have someone there. könig will impregnate you over and over again, embarrassingly desperate to get you pregnant after your first, with hunger visible in his lustful, half-lidded eyes.

because könig wants to get you pregnant often, he also wants you to quit your job and to spend your hours inside of the house, cleaning and cooking if possible, but more preferably relaxing in bed or on the couch with your favourite television show in the background, to distract you from the pains and sickness that leave you dizzy and light-headed. könig will try to spend as much time as possible with you, taking days off of his work to lift your stomach up to ease the ache in the small of your back that leaves your muscles tight and your shoulders tense.

könig makes fantastic dinners and will rush to the shop to buy you whatever you need, whether that's an entire tub of nutella and some pickles, or honey and broccoli. he won't ask any questions, it's for the better... könig finds himself staying up until the wee hours of the morning, until the birds are chirping outside, the glowing sun is rising over the horizon, and the bags beneath his eyes leave him looking fatigued and ill. you worry too often, and guilt and shame consumes him when he sees your concern. he doesn't want to worry you. he'll fall asleep, part of könig's brain nagging at him not to fall asleep and to always be there, just in case something goes wrong.

you could say he's paranoid, but könig will just say he's being careful.

and when you're pregnant and in need of something to soothe that throbbing, wet ache between your thighs, he'll always be there, almost too eager to help. he'll be there to lick and eat your swollen pussy and to coat you in his spit and saliva, gazing up at you with heavy eyelids and his lengthy cock straining inside of his jeans, or to slide his girthy cock inside your gummy and velvety cunt, rocking his sturdy hips back and forth while playing with your breasts and how your nipples stiffen at his perverse touch, admiring how your breasts have grown while you whine quietly and arch your back, pleading for more so sweetly with your aroused pussy drooling around his shaft.

[midnightorchids]

Jason is fond of the rain.

He adores the sweet earthy smell and the soft, rhythmic pitter patter against his living room window, but above all, he loves spending time with you during the heavy monsoon season.

You walk out of the neighborhood cafe, hand in hand, into the gloomy streets of Gotham. The skyline is grey and somber. It’s quiet, peaceful, a juxtaposition to the city’s usual loud and robust atmosphere.

You scan Jason’s face and he looks content, despite the heavy drizzle that’s soaking him through his sweater. It’s poetic really, a man scattered with scars, a man who bears a heavy past, finds peace in the rain. How truly melancholic.

Loud thunder rumbles through the sky as if a large battle was being fought in the distance. You clutch on to Jason’s hand a little bit tighter, while your eyes still admire his calm demeanour.

“I think we should kiss right now,” he says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“You’re so cliche, you know that right,” you say and he sucks his teeth while rolling his eyes.

His eyes look dark, the usual green colour is almost impossible to see. He stops walking and pulls you into him, his fingers tangling themselves into your wet hair. His lips move in close to yours, but they don’t quite touch.

“I know but can you blame me,” he whispers softly. You try to suppress the small grin on your lips.

“Been reading too much Nicholas Sparks lately,” you inquire, looking up at him through your lashes. Jason lets out a small laugh and the sound touches your heart.

He stares at you in admiration. He often finds himself getting lost in your eyes.

The moment is intimate, it brought his troubled mind to ease. Jason takes the opportunity to close the gap and kisses your lips. The rain dances on your skin. There’s a soft breeze and you pull Jason closer.

He tastes like the cigarette he smoked earlier and the strawberry cheesecake you split at the cafe. You want to savour this moment forever.

He smiles against your lips and you pull back only to cover his face in small pecks.

“I…” kiss, “love…” kiss, kiss, “you…” kiss.

Jason adores the rain, the smell, the sounds, but most importantly he loves kissing you in it.

[moominsuki]

bakugou loves to make you beg for him to kiss you when it’s always him who’s feening, lingering around you when you’re doing something.

his lips will always be dangerously close to your face while he invades your personal space to the point where you subconsciously want his lips on yours and then he’s smirking, grabbing your cheeks with his big ass hand and teasing you as if he wasn’t almost head butting you over the stove.

“you wanna kiss me so bad,” he grins, mouth over yours while you think back to almost ten minutes ago, where he was practically having a sulky tantrum over the fact that you had only kissed him twice that day.

[euno11a]

nap time is the best

Having the window open as your bodies are pressed together with only a thin sheet covering each other. Simon resting his head on your chest as you lazily give him head scratches - debatably the best part of it all. The sound of the rain pattering on your bedroom window making you both sleepy.

the time being filled with soft kisses to each others lips and random naps, Simon falling asleep and you pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head while taking some picture of him to add to your hidden album in your phone…

as you fall asleep, Simon litters little kisses on your chest and whispers about how a big brute like him doesn’t deserve the love you give him. But he could never figure out how even in your sleep you could figure out he was talking bad about himself, your arms wrapping around him as you nuzzle into the top of his head.

the sloppy kisses. Having you propped up on him as you lazily kiss each other, not caring that either of your tongues are basically missing each other and just aiming everywhere else except there.

but the one thing that kills me - Simon can’t help but to hum “You Are My Sunshine” to you as you fall asleep. His low voice rumbling in your ear as he rocks you gently, reminding you that your his light that gets him through a tough day at work, or through a nightmare, or a reminder of what he was blessed with to come home to.

safe to say Simon “Ghost” Riley loves nap time.

[lilislegacy]

remember when annabeth referred to percy as her “friend” in HoH, because nothing, not even “boyfriend,” properly described what he meant to her? do you think the fact that annabeth and percy are each others’ best friend ever confuses people?

like imagine someone, let’s call them ava, is new to the demigod gang and asks percy who his best friend is. to which he would obviously answer annabeth. (or vice versa.) and then ava she sees them interact - laughing their butts off together, making inside jokes, hugging, play fighting, bickering, being affectionate, teasing each other, etc. - and she sees the clear heat behind their eyes and the chemistry between them. ava thinks that she is such a good detective and is SO onto them. so imagine ava going up to the others and saying “guys i can’t be 100% sure, but im pretty confident that there’s something going on between percy and annabeth. and yes, i know that they are best friends and all, but i really think there’s some stuff happening behind closed doors.” and everyone just staring at her like she’s a certified idiot until someone says something, likely leo going “no shit sherlock. they’ve been together for like 3 years, so i’d certainly hope there’s some stuff going on behind closed doors”

and i love the thought of it staying that way forever, even when they are all grown and married. imagine annabeth’s coworkers ask her who her best friend is and she points to percy, and he comes over and they’re teasing each other and hip bumping and laughing and just being so funny and cute together, like besties are, and her co-workers think hmm, that husband of hers who she’s mentioned must have some competition. only to later realize that this guy who’s her best friend IS that husband of hers.

it would have to take the right scenario because as we’ve seen, percy and annabeth are very PDA. but if they refer to each other as their best friend to someone new, and then aren’t kissing every 5 minutes (a rare occurrence), then i’d bet they might REALLY confuse some people. and the thought makes me giggle

[kawareo]

We all know and agree on autistic rizz Gale, yes, but have you considered, autistic rizz Lae'zel. In this essay i will