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eddies-ashtray · 3 months ago

Text

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

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His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island.

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down.

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat.

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes.

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up.

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour.

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.”

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive.

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven.

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop.

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven.

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.”

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass.

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say.

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms.

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest.

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.”

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache.

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended.

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently.

The word lingers in the air between you.

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them.

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows.

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.”

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is.

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back.

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze.

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support.

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it.

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity.

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis.

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound.

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild.

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh.

“Hey!” He barks.

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.”

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat.

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions.

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you?

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man.

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology.

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.”

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly.

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey.

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over.

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him.

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat.

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs.

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant.

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him.

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair.

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it.

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin.

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days.

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder.

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash.

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad.

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter.

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically.

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan.

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over.

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat.

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure.

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over.

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white.

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax.

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh.

“You know…For an old man, that was-”

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin.

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity.

Finally, he finds your eyes.

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh.

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn.

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape.

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs.

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.”

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly.

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing.

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer.

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now.

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth.

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck.

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin.

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside.

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple.

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand.

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair.

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin.

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate.

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.”

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free.

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’.

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements.

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder.

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves.

“Open.”

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips.

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is.

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut.

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.”

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive.

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat.

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder.

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body.

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect.

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice.

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs.

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind.

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit.

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him.

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly.

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes.

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot.

More. You need more of him.

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary.

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides.

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him.

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin.

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight.

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse.

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him.

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble.

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it.

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are.

Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you.

He shudders with his release.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening.

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing.

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close.

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound.

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves.

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs.

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead.

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now.

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too.

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily.

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear.

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed.

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again.

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt.

♡*♡*♡

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

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nicholasgoodgirl · 2 months ago

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that was mean- nicholas

summary: nicholas was having a bad week and gave you the silent treatment.

warning: argument, crying, happy ending

a/n: i couldn't stop thinking abt this no joke. so ofc i had to write it out

from late at night till he left early this morning for work nicholas has been either quiet rude or both.

we haven't spoken to eachother or not even silents acts of love. nothing.

he cut his alarm clock off and i tried to give him a hug before he got out the bed and he pushed me off of him "not right now" he grumbled and got out of bed

when he left for work i said 'bye' to maybe break the silence shared between us, but i got no response. it was starting to get lonely. i missed my bestfriend that was also my boyfriend

i had nobody to mess with or someone to talk to about my day.

to stop these lingering thoughts i go back to bed to maybe get my mind off of things.

i wake up around 8 am which was later than the time i usally woke up around, but today was sorta a lazy day.

it was gloomy not much sun was shining, it rained a little here and there. it was more of a slow day for me so the extra rest was very much needed

i text my boyfriend forgetting about the whole silent treatment ordeal.

me: how's your day going so far?? :)

and to no suprise i was left on delivered and soon left on seen. i messaged him periodically throught the day; hoping that maybe he would reply

it was almost time for dinner which normally nicholas cooks cause he's just better at it, but i didn't know when he was coming home or if he would even do it, so i look up some quick easy recipes and nothing struck my fancy but the pizza recipe. cause how hard could it really be?

i put a packet of yeast into my bowl along with some flour, water, oil, and salt. i let that sit for 30 minutes then im back to cooking again.

spreading flour onto the counter and placing the dough onto it; kneading it into a circle shape. this was harder than i thought

i look around for the marinara sauce and i put it into a different bowl and add a few light seasonings.

i paste that onto the dough, then i sprinkle some alot of cheese onto the pizza and my additional toppings bell peppers, spinach, and mushrooms.

i was so proud of myself especially sense i wasnt the cook, out of me and nicholas. i was really excited for him to try what i made but again i highly doubt he would even eat the food.

i put the pizza away into the oven completely forgetting to set a timer and put on a movie while i wait.

a smell of burning was the first thing that woke me up. "shit shit shit" i repeat totally freaking out remembering i left the pizza in the oven.

i get a rag and ineffectivley wave smoke out the air. when i open the oven it smelled horrible. i was coughing from all the smoke that had entered my lungs.

i take the burning pizza out and throw it into the sink, and hose it down with the water.

thats when i hear the front door open and mentally face palm. "what's that smell?" he asks "i kinda burnt a pizza that i tried to make"

"of course you did" he mutters sounding unimpressed. "and the fuck you mean 'kinda' you obviously did burn a damn pizza" he gestures to the chunk of charcoal burnt pizza

"it's not like i did it on purposes or something if thats what you think" my tone sounding a bit confronting.

"It's smells fucking horrible so open a damn window first off" he took a step closer raising his voice.

"you don't pay for shit so i don't understand why you almost had this place in flames secondly. then you also wanna blow up my phone while im working for crying out loud what do you want from me!" he yelled directly in my face

and im sure he knows by now i hate being yelled at. it's something my parents did and overall doesn't solve anything

i just take it, i didn't wanna fight so i go over to the nearest window and crack it open so the smoke clears.

my eyes watered from all the harsh words he could dish out but not the equal amount of attention "well.. you are- when i was.. ugh s'not my fault" i couldn't get a full sentence out. i felt so belittled in this moment

"im going to bed i don't have time for your stupid ass shit" those words hurt more than he thinks.

he had the most patience for me, always making time for us and now he doesnt.

"that's so mean.. you're being so mean" i wipe some tears that had fallen. i turned away from him silently crying.

the peices of my hair stuck to my tear-soaked cheeks. "wait- I'm sorry please don't cry" nicholas' voice was filled with regret.

i lazily push him away from me but he doesn't budge. his arms wrap around me bringing me into his familiar embrace. "I'm so sorry for being an asshole. I've been having a long shitty week and i know thats not an excuse so you don't even have to forgive me."

"you're everything to me. i swear i didn't mean it." he adds

the unforgettable cruel words he'd said to me earlier shoved ontop of his sweet loving words made me cry more.

i let him hold my trembling body as sobs tore through my chest, each inhale was ragged and uneven.

my hands clutched the material of his shirt "im so sorry sweetheart i never wanna make you cry" he explains in such a low voice, giving my hair strokes in attempt to calm me.

my face still burried into his neck tears now starting to dry away, and my breathing starting to even out. he carried me over to the couch and placed me in his lap

i was drained from all the crying, the tense feeling in my body beginning to melt away when i really started to feel nicholas' touch. my eyes drooped again this time staying shut for longer.

i was too tired to resist the sleep that had tooken over. and being cradled in his arms didn't help.

"I'll order pizza for the both of us alright?" he took me off of his lap and placed me on our couch. then lays one of our throw blankets ontop of me. "can we talk in the mornin'?" is the last thing i remember asking before dozing off.

a/n: can yall tell idk how to make pizza

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez fluff

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sewgeekmama · 1 year ago

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Let's Get Popping with Malaysian Palm Oil

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#cooking #malaysian palm oil #moms meet #palm oil #popcorn

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whateveriwant · 11 months ago

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might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;

Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader

Price

Three words: full body massage

That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)

He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his

He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin

Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted

Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)

By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut

Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone

Ghost

We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in

…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is

Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)

You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work

He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home

He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name

I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses

Gaz

He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening

First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining

Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off

The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes

When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet

He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it

Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion

Soap

‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck

However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up

He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you

Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)

He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting

And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there

By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…

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hoshifighting · 5 months ago

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hii lyla, can you do a smut reaction of them getting horny bc their s/o started massaging them?

e tbm, amo ler oq vc escreve pq me ajuda MUITO no inglês, beijos linda

Seventeen getting horny because you started massaging them.

a/n: que gracinha!! eu comecei assim!! fico feliz que te ajuda também 😭 🙏 um monte de beijoooos!

seungcheol lies on the bed, muscles aching from his recent workout. you decide to focus on his massive thighs, kneading the tight muscles with determined pressure. every groan you let out in effort sends a shiver down his spine. your hands inch closer to his groin, and he stiffens, feeling his cock start to harden. the combination of your groans and the proximity of your hands is too much.

suddenly, he grabs your wrist, stopping you with pleading eyes. “i... i can't take it anymore. please, i need you.”

jeonghan feels a rush of arousal the moment your hands touch his back. you’re straddling his hips, your fingers occasionally scratching his skin lightly with your nails. he bites his lip, fighting the urge to flip you over and take you right there. but he waits, knowing how you’d sulk if he didn’t let you finish the massage.

“are you okay?” you ask, noticing his tension.

he smirks, “just enjoying myself. keep going.”

joshua regrets agreeing to the massage as soon as your hands start gliding over his back. he shivers, his breath coming out in shallow pants. you haven’t even gotten into the massage properly, and he’s already struggling to control himself.

“are you teasing me?” he groans, turning his head to look at you with heated eyes.

junhui has the self-control of a monk. he lies there, letting you finish the massage without a word. but the moment you’re done, he grabs your oiled hands, pulling you towards him.

“now, it’s my turn,” he whispers, positioning himself above you.

hoshi is rock hard the second your hands start massaging him. whether it’s his thighs, arms, shoulders, or back, it doesn’t matter. your touch has this effect on him. he doesn’t even let you finish, flipping you over in the middle of the massage.

“fuck! ah–! you never let me finish,” you sulk between moans.

he thrusts into you, grinning. “can’t help it. your hands drive me crazy.”

wonwoo starts to doze off as you massage him, occasional groans escaping his lips. by the time you’re done, he’s turned onto his back, and you see the hard bulge straining against his shorts. he hisses slightly, his arousal almost painful.

“you really have that effect on me,” he murmurs, pulling you closer.

woozi really tries to hide his arousal, using a cushion on his lap or his hands to cover himself. but you notice the change in his moans, the way they get louder and more desperate.

“is something wrong?” you ask innocently.

he blushes, looking away. “i... you just feel so good.”

minghao is used to your massages. it's a comforting ritual in your relationship, one you both enjoy immensely. today, however, he’s feeling unusually horny and sensitive. your hands work expertly over his back, and he lets out a low, contented sigh.

“feels good?” you ask, smiling as you knead the knots from his muscles.

“yes, but today... it’s different,” he murmurs, shifting slightly.

you pause, sensing his arousal. “different how?”

he looks at you with a heated gaze. “i’m too horny. today is your day..."

mingyu's cooking when you come up behind him, massaging his shoulders through his shirt. he lets the knife rest on the cutting board, placing his hands on the counter and closing his eyes.

“mmm, that feels nice,” he murmurs.

you feel him tense slightly and ask, “what happened?”

he lets out an embarrassed moan, saying shamefully, “i’m... hard.”

you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his hips and palming him through his shorts. “looks like you need another kind of massage.”

seokmin loves your massages, always asking for one after practice. he usually falls asleep, but today is different. he just returned from tour, and when you offer a massage, he eagerly accepts. but instead of falling asleep, he feels the longing for your touch in a different way. his cock is rock hard, staining his white underwear with precum.

“for once, can we have a different kind of massage?” he asks, glancing at his erection.

seungkwan got hurt playing badminton and is now listening to you scold him while you massage his thighs. your hands graze his cock occasionally, not intentionally, but enough to make him groan.

“you always push your limits,” you scold, “and now look at you.”

he shifts, his arousal evident. “you can keep scolding me if you want to, but could you ride me, please?”

vernon is working on his music, hunched over his macbook at the hotel desk. you decide to help him adjust his posture and start massaging his shoulders. he closes his eyes, letting out a small sigh of relief.

“you need a break,” you exclaim, kissing his cheek.

he nods, mouth slightly open. “yeah, i do.”

noticing the bulge in his sweatpants, you smirk. “how about a special break?”

chan is tense about his work, massaging his temples as he places his computer on the center table. he throws himself on the sofa, still and tense. your delicate hands suddenly start massaging his shoulders, and he spasms before melting into your touch.

“you’re so tense,” you murmur, working out the knots.

he nodded, furrowing his eyebrows a bit. the night turned into you giving him head, your hands and mouth working to help him finally relax.

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textmel8r · 4 months ago

Text

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( tenth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , smuttish , pure unadulterated fluff

୨୧˚ an; thank you all for the patience 😭😭 so sorry i’ve been busy getting back into uni shit but omg!!! slowburn is peaking!!! also the tag list is officially closed because i have reached the max # of tags!!!

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

Nanami’s morning routine doesn’t deviate from the norm. An alarm clock was built into his genetic code, and he rouses at half past six in the morning. Unfurling his long limbs from the confines of the couch—the suede thing was big, but Nanami was bigger. Joints popped under sheets of muscle and flesh when he gave a hearty stretch, and with that, he was ready to start his Sunday.

Fueled purely on motor memory, he filters through each step of the habitual customs he’s grown to associate with mornings. You’re still sleeping soundly in his bed, and the risk of waking you condemns Nanami to his downstairs bathroom rather than the personal en suite tailing off his bedroom. It doesn’t pose much of an inconvenience; Nanami was nothing if not prepared. The slender closet in his downstairs bathroom housed spare toiletries—handkerchiefs, tooth brushes, soaps and oils.

He brushes his teeth first, watching his reflection with tired eyes. Minty foam froths at the corners of his lips. Nanami collects the mess with his tongue before spitting into the porcelain bowl of the sink. He’s thorough, scrubbing every corner of his mouth, followed by a pass through with charcoal infused floss. Next, the man is dabbing a button of facial cleanser onto a small square of towel, wetting it under the faucet. Scouring his cheeks, then forehead, then nose. His hair is mussed from tossing in his sleep, and if not for the guest upstairs, Nanami would probably leave it as is. But you’re his guest, and for some reason that means something to him, so he slicks back the blonde frizz with wet hands.

Another staple of Nanami’s morning routine: a good cup of coffee. The machine was expensive—Nanami tends to splurge when it comes to matters that mean most to him. He doesn’t mind spending a little extra on his suit wear, his beloved watches, and certainly not his coffee. Crafted from titanium and stainless steel, it sat heavily on the black marble countertop and whirred quietly as it compressed beans into the filter.

Ingredients line the island at the center of his extravagant kitchen. Weekends were the only days in which Nanami had enough time to cook breakfast for himself, rather than grabbing a bagel or danish from the convenience store on his way to the office. It was a shame, really, because he enjoyed the gratification of cooking his own meals. And not to toot his own horn, but he was rather proud of his skills.

He never cooks for two, though.

Nanami peruses the ingredient assembly line, looking from the organic eggs, to the all purpose flour, to the carton of mixed berries. It would be rude of him not to consider your palate. Did you prefer a savory breakfast? Or perhaps you’d rather have something on the sweeter side like pancakes? He nibbled his lower lip in thought.

A divine aroma saturates the entirety of downstairs. Nanami focuses on folding a second omellette, tucking the concoction of whipped egg, chopped bell peppers, caramelized onions, diced tomatoes, and grated sharp cheddar on itself with the delicacy of a surgeon. He’s knee deep in concentration, back turned towards his staircase so your presence goes entirely unnoticed.

Hands clap together somewhere over his shoulder. He jerks with a startled gasp, the fork in his hand clattering to vinyl tiles. Nanami presses a palm to his racing chest, twisting to find your hands just inches away from his ear. What a little shit, you are. He doesn’t waste effort trying to stifle his grimace. “Was that necessary?”

You’re crouched down, retrieving the silverware off the floor. “Now we’re even.”

“Even?”

“Yeah,” you hand him the fork, to which he blinks at the useless thing. It’s been dirtied by the floor, so Nanami instructs you to toss it in the sink and grab another from the utensil drawer at the end of his pointed finger. As you play fetch, you explain. “Do you know how scared shitless I was waking up in a strange bedroom? In strange clothes?” He’s watching you toy aimlessly with the abundance of extra material bunched up around the trussed waistband of your—his—sweatpants. Nanami’s clothes cloak you more than enough; cotton t-shirt hanging just below mid-thigh, and those damned oversized sweats rolled up in stupidly big cuffs at the ankles stopping over your socked feet. You must’ve adjusted them accordingly when you stepped out of bed. Something akin to apprehension pulled at your face. “We didn’t…”

Blonde brows scrunch as he attempts to decipher your blathering. When you beckon a hand between your chest and his, Nanami abruptly chokes on his saliva. “Are you out of your mind?” He’s quick to sputter, spinning back to face the sizzling pans and contain the tickle in his throat. A white bowl and whisk are gathered into strong arms—homemade blueberry pancake batter sloshes against the wiry bristles of Nanami’s whisk. He pours three more precise circles of batter onto the second frying pan, and the sweet paste fizzles against nonstick cookware. “You were intoxicated, Y/n. Couldn’t even remember your own address.” He paused. “A change of clothes seemed ideal in the moment. Something cozier.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Footsteps pad closer, and you appear beside him, resting your back against the counter. Your head lolls, cheek falling against your shoulder. He can feel your eyes gouging into the side of his face while he flips the pancake triplets. “You changed me?”

There’s a foreign tonality bleeding into your words, something almost playful, and he’s vexed. Are you teasing him? A trimmed thumb nail burrows into the silicone grip of a spatula. Or is that genuine curiosity? “I did,” Nanami gives you honesty, licking his lip as he does so. On it, he tastes a vague note of spearmint. “You needed some help.”

“God,” you touch a hand to your forehead and laugh, “that does sound like me.” There is no perturbation or embarrassment there, only relief, and he thanks God for your uncanny ability to bypass awkwardness in situations such as these. Had the roles been reversed and it was Nanami receiving word that a coworker of the opposite sex had dressed him in a period of inebriation, well, he’d probably send in a letter of resignation to the company the next day. “Sorry for being so difficult for you.”

He wags his head, dismissing the remorse. “Please, your apologies are far from necessary.”

“Oh I think they’re completely neces—”

“Aht.” A spatula stabs through the air stopping a few inches shy of your nose. There’s a sharpness that eclipses sepia eyes behind the crystalline shield of Nanami’s wire-framed glasses; a barbed glance that telepathically urges you to drop the argument before it begins. With that same spatula, he dives below fluffy circles of speckled cake and transports them from pan to plates, divvying up the pancakes into two even portions. “You took the medication I left for you, yes? They were beside the glass of water on the side table.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m feelin’ better already.”

“Good,” he nods with a subtle, tight-lipped grin. “That’s good. Though you should probably get some food down. Fill your stomach with something other than tylenol.” Nanami stops his ministrations, satisfied with the presentation of both plates of breakfast, and pitches you a simple question. “Coffee?”

You practically moan, “coffee sounds really fucking amazing right now.”

Coffee it is then. Nanami proposes that you go settle yourself in a seat, and that he’d handle the rest. Forfeiting another argument, you buckle and slip into a high stool at the breakfast bar that is associated along the island in the midst of the kitchen. Two twin mugs are poached from the highest shelf, crafted of gray ceramic with uneven, white polka dots. He owned a whole dining set donning those same frivolous dots; Nanami always had an absurd fascination with peculiar patterns, they were charming to the man. Perhaps his collection of ugly things were meaningful because of how violently they contrasted to his otherwise ordinary life. In both mugs, scalding coffee brimmed and emanated laces of smoke slithering up to the ceiling. Nanami didn’t bother asking you how you took your coffee—he just knew. Knew from stealing glances at you over the past year, watching you concoct a disastrous potion of lukewarm coffee poured from the communal pot that you so desperately despised, skim milk from the carton in the office floor’s minifridge, and a concerning amount of sugar packets that made him feel inclined to alert your doctor. Nanami does his best to match the ratio of coffee to milk to sugar, gives it a stir, and hopes it’s up to your eccentric taste buds.

He sets your plate and mug down, sliding it across the counter’s surface to sit before you. Nanami chooses to stand where he is, leaning against the opposite end of the island. His foot, clad in a thick, black sock, taps quietly against the floor. “I wasn’t aware of your preferences so—”

“So you made…” You go quiet, prodding at the unusual combination of food on your plate: a vegetable-ridden omelette on one side and a few blueberry-encrusted flapjacks glazed in a modest squirt of maple syrup on the other. You hate it, he thinks shortly, but then a smile splits on your lips and Nanami fears he may have jumped the gun. “Eggs and pancakes?”

“You do like eggs and pancakes, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” you respond, enthused. “It’s perfect.”

Nanami cringes. “I’d like it if you didn’t call me that outside of the workplace.”

“What? Sir?”

He hums. “Formalities remind me of work; I don’t like to think about work when I’m eating my breakfast.” He punctuates the request with a sip from his mug. Black, unsweetened coffee scathes his tongue with powerful calidity, but he’s well acquainted with its heat by now, and doesn’t wince.

“I’ll just stick to Nanami, then.”

“Actually, I—” Was it even worth mentioning? That he’d handed you the rights to use his first name last night? The tiny, bothersome devil on Nanami’s shoulder was whispering yes. “Kento will do.”

True, unadulterated glee beamed from your person, wafting a certain warmth across the counter to smack him in the face. “Holy shit, yeah that’s right! I remember now!” Using your fork as an arrow to point at the man, “last night, you told me that. You said I can call you Kennnn-Tooooo—”

“Okay, alright.” He’s jaded by your antics, swatting his hand in the air lazily. It’s too early in the morning to get serenaded by his own name. “Say it normally, or don’t say it at all.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just so crazy to think that we’re on a first name basis now, y’know?” You ask before shoveling a forkful of pancake into your mouth, sighing blissfully at the taste. Gratefulness oozed into your gestures, materializing in the way you simpered up at him following each and every bite. Smiles so broad that Nanami wondered if they were out of politeness or if you really just enjoyed his cooking that much.

He can cheers to your observation. “If you would’ve told me five months ago that you’d be sitting across from me in my home—sharing breakfast with me, no less—I would have…” Laughed in your face? Had a conniption? A combination of the two? Nanami trails off into thought, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d have done.”

So hellbent on sticking to his judgment, Nanami rarely changed his mind about people post first impressions. First impressions were something he valued, both in himself and in others. A snap perception is made based upon the first bits of information he collects from a person, and it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to say that your initial communication was less than stellar. Since then, Nanami’s one-track mind had pinned associations onto you like a bulletin board, assigning your name with attributes like sleazy and trashy and (God, he felt the worst about this one) slutty. This entire time, it was Nanami’s stubbornness and penchant to be right that shielded him from the realization that you were none of those cancerous aspersions.

You are you.

You are a diligent worker. You are never on time. Your favorite color is (f/c). You are easy to talk to, easy to approach. You like pistachio cheesecake and criminally sweet coffee. You are insecure about your presentation skills, though Nanami can’t understand why. You are determined. You are rarely shy about asking for something you need, a quality he appreciates in someone. You make him laugh. You can’t hold your liquor. With the way you’re drooling over your plate like a hungry puppy, it’s apparent that you like his cooking. And he likes you.

He… what?

“Yeah, well,” you tilt your head, and the melodic chuckle that follows is enough to yank Nanami from his dazedness. Lifting your mug, you push it towards him in a sort of gesture. “Good thing the past doesn’t matter, huh? We were both lame in the past, but look at us now.” You retract the mug to your lips, taking a swig. “Future us is awesome. Are awesome? Is?”

You mumble to yourself, befuddled by grammar. Meanwhile, Nanami brews in thought. Your undying fearlessness of what’s to come in life always rendered him bewildered.

“I’m jealous,” he admits, idly tracing the rim of his cup with his thumb.

You perk up. “Of?”

“Your ability to embrace the future. It’s brave.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” you sweatdrop, itching your cheek. “I wouldn’t call it bravery. Maybe security? I’m—yeah, I’m secure with the route I’ve taken in life.”

“You’re secure with white collar work?”

“I can’t see myself in any other profession,” you smile, flicking him a brow. “What about you?”

Honesty permitted, Nanami would describe his job as the bane of his misery. There used to be a point in his life in which he was sure that this was his ultimate goal: a senior executive position with an esteemed, high-profile company. Younger Nanami was content to endure years of early mornings and late nights with busy schedules jammed in between because it’d all be worth it when he finally tastes that sweet senior title. Except, now he’s tasted it. He’s licked it dry, and despite that, that feeling of fulfillment Nanami had been vying for his whole career remains frustratingly dormant. The notion that this will be his routine until retirement kills him.

He chews thoughtfully on a sliver of pancake before responding. “We touched on this a little over text.”

“You want to travel.”

You remembered. He hums. “I do.”

“And you want a family.”

“I do,” Nanami sighs longingly.

You don’t make an effort to stifle a chuckle at his supposed foolishness. Shaking your head and cutting your eggs with the blunt side of a fork; “You talk about these things as if it’s all some sort of cushiony pipe dream. It’s really fucking hilarious all things considered.”

“All things considered?” Perplexed, Nanami pries for an expansion.

And with all the seriousness in the world, you begin to count on your digits. “You are probably the most charming, most intelligent, most wealthy—”

“Y/n,” Nanami yawps at your conviction. When you jest, you do it in such an obvious way. He’s come to familiarize himself with the clever quirk of your mouth’s corner, or that playfully irritating glint in your smile-squinted eyes. But now, Nanami can’t find any evidence of joking in your stoney expression. You’re sincere when you say these things about him. It makes his heart pound so viciously that it vibrates his ear drums.

“Most hard-working man I’ve ever met.” Unfazed by his apparent flusteredness, you finish with a nonchalant shrug. “Just funny, is all, that you of all people are stressing over these things when you have the ingredients to make your ambitions a reality.”

“Your compliments are… thanked…” The blonde ducks his head in an awkward, halfhearted bow, “but I can’t ever hope to truly begin my life when I don’t have the time granted to do so.” Nanami touches an index and middle finger to his temple, rubbing in soothing circles. It doesn’t do much to quell the oncoming migraine that this nightmarish topic never fails to cast upon him. “I’ve tried. Believe me when I say that I have worked my ass off trying to balance my job alongside nurturing a relationship. But I’ve come to realize how unfair of me that is—to ask a woman to bear with my neglect because I got held up at the office for the fifth night in a row. A relationship isn’t much of a relationship at all if both people still feel lonely.”

Unbeknownst to him, his tone had slipped away for a moment. He became bitter, recalling the lineup of failures that made up his dating history. Bitter and lonely. It’s been almost two years now that Nanami has abandoned the dating scene, if not for his sake than for the sake of his next girlfriend. Though, he can’t help but have moments of tenderness in which he thinks that maybe all of his occupational achievements would have been more gratifying if he had someone to share them with.

He clears his throat, lowering his voice back down when he apologizes for getting emotional.

“Don’t say sorry.” You offer a reassuring grin. “I’m sorry for assuming shit about your life. That was uncool of me.”

“Don’t say sorry,” Nanami parrots, returning your grin with a sheepish one of his own, and tilts his head toward his shoulder. “I didn’t exactly mind the compliments.”

“Conceited bastard.”

He hides his simper well behind his mug. “I’d still like to know what makes you happy, if that offer is still on the table.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just would like to.” Nanami licks his lower lip, eyes grazing yours. “Do I need a more convoluted reason than that?”

Your face reads like a book. It tells him don’t be a smartass, so he yields to your unimpressed frown. “You’re not gonna like my answer. Working makes me happy.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him. “You are demonstrably proficient, Y/n. In my professional opinion, I have no doubts that you’ll be successful.” Nanami does his best to mirror your sincerity.

“More successful than you?” You tease.

“Oh forget me, I give it five years before you’re replacing Gakuganji,” he laughs gently before pressing a finger to his lips, mimicking secrecy. “Let’s keep that between us, though.”

“The day you take orders from me is the day I can die happy.”

I wouldn’t mind that day.

“But to be honest, I think it cuts deeper than the success aspects. Ah, It’s kinda hard to put it into words…” You take a moment to string together an explanation while Nanami waits patiently. “I’m sort of a mess in my personal life. I fuck a lot of things up, I make bad judgement calls, I can get a little lazy sometimes—I just do shit wrong. Or at least, that’s what I feel like.”

Nanami hangs on every word.

“So, like, to come to work everyday and be organized and–and put on this presentation of competency,” your tongue clicks sweetly, “I need that. I need people to see me that way—I think that’s why it affected me so much when you… when you saw me…”

“At the party?” He clarifies.

You purr in agreement. “Yeah. That. I felt like, I don't know, like I shattered my whole ‘persona’ and you saw me. You really saw me.”

He can’t look away from you. The way you’re visibly shrinking, collapsing in on yourself like a wounded animal. Constricting your own torso with your arms in a self-soothing hug. Are you ashamed?

When Nanami finally speaks, he keeps his voice calm. Soft and cottony. “Do you always have such degrading thoughts about yourself?”

“I wouldn’t call it degradation…”

“I would.” Brows furrow, and he leans further into the conversation with his elbows on the island’s surface. “You talk about yourself as if you’re two separate people.”

“Don’t you see it, too?” You ask him gravely, as though you’re hinging on Nanami’s opinion. Like his insubstantial assessment of you is the only thing that matters. “You won’t offend me, I swear.”

Unperturbed, he blinks. “Not at all.”

“Then you’re fucking blind,” you cluck. “Those glasses aren’t doing much for you.”

Nanami nips the inner seam of his cheek, unamused. Right now, he isn’t much in the mood for jokes. Not when he now understands the extent of the disdain that you have for yourself. It irks him that you can’t see how rare of a person you are.

“My eyesight has no relevance, stop deflecting with humor.” “I’m not deflecting!”

“Yes, you are. Now please, stop and let me talk for a moment,” Nanami shows you his palm, and you find your silence. “You are not two people, Y/n, you’re just one. Just you. Sure, you have your quirks and flaws—as does everyone else—but they are what makes you you. They make you nice to be around.”

“You think I’m nice to be around?”

“We meet nearly every weekend now, have you been under the impression that I hated your presence?”

“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes. I assumed you were still hanging out with me because you felt like you owed me. Which you totally did, by the way.” You purse your lip together, stiff. “But, um, your debt has long been paid, especially with this delicious breakfast. So… y’know, if you don’t want to go out, you can just tell me.”

A breathy, humorous exhale huffs through Nanami’s nostrils. “I am a grown man. If I don’t want to do something, then I won’t do it. This,” he gestures between himself then you, “isn’t occurring out of pity or some strange form of charity. You’re here right now because I want you to be, okay?”

That little declaration pulls a coy smile from you, something Nanami introspectively overthinks. He tells himself that you’re blushing, just barely noticeable past your complexion. “Okay.” You whisper, the apples of your cheeks more pronounced than he’s ever seen them before.

Baring witness to a skittish Y/n was not on the docket for Nanami’s Sunday. He’s aware that this little discussion should stop. It was enroute to breaching something—something intimate and foreign and never to be acknowledged between you both. Unspoken chemistry that Nanami intended to let shrivel up and rot within his core because he doesn’t have the strength to snuff out the beacon of light you’ve shown in his life when he inevitably ruins yet another relationship.

But…

“I’ve had more fun in the past month than in my twenty-seven years of life. With you, I mean. So please don’t shun the side of you that exists outside of the office, because you have this spark that I haven’t seen in any of my associates in a long time. I’m… I would be upset if you let yourself turn into another copy-and-paste corporate zombie.”

There is an obvious shift in the kitchen air. It’s blossomed deep and heavy; Nanami feels like it’s become a struggle to keep himself from sinking into the floor. Your gaze is bolted to him, his to yours, in a quiet exchange of consciousness. Can you hear his thoughts? You look at him so intensely, he fears you might be able to hear how beautiful he thinks you look under the fluorescent light bulbs fixed into the ceiling.

You slip off your stool. Nanami watches your trek around the curve of the island. Onto his side.

It’s through feathery lashes that you look up at him.

“Do you find me attractive?”

The spine you have to ask such an audacious question. Visceral palpitations strike through the beating organ in his chest. His hand brushes the ledge of the countertop, then grips it for stability. “Yes.” So attractive, that he felt he could die right now.

“Even after I vomited on your shoes?”

“I thought you didn’t remember last night?” Nanami goads.

“It’s coming back to me.”

You feign cheekiness. “Yeah,” he swallows, taking a shaky breath for himself. “Still beautiful.”

Beautiful, even with remnants of day-old eyeliner smudges below those doe eyes. Messy in the most enticing way. An urge swells within Nanami, to cradle your precious face and swipe the makeup off your flesh with his thumb. However, you moved first.

Reaching upwards, you pluck the pair of glasses off his nose. He lets you. Folded, they sit on the island.

Nanami gives a subtle shake of his head, tonguing the sharp corner of his lip. “What are you doing?” It comes out hushed, like he’s telling a secret.

“I don’t know,” you reply impishly.

The following events can only be categorized as amorous. Ever so slowly, your hand touches. Pressing to his chest, feeling every valley and peak on its ascension to his collarbone. It peeks out from over top the collar of his raggedy, white tee shirt, and you feel him there. Offhandedly, he believes this may be the first time you’ve seen him outside of suitwear. Long, languid breaths keep him grounded, but Nanami can barely stand this torture. Though for you, he does. He lets you touch everything you want, biting his lip all the while.

“What are you doing?” It comes again, more breathy than the last.

You don’t answer, far too enraptured by the panes of his neck. He feels you drag a fingertip down the trail of a vein. Resolve unravels, he’s slipping.

“Kento.”

If he looked into a mirror at this moment, would he even recognize himself? Nanami knows he’s a better man than this. It should take more than the pillowy drawl of his name to snap the wavering thread of self-discipline within him.

Chest touches chest; he’s got you trapped against the kitchen island. The same island you both were sharing breakfast with five minutes ago. The same island, Nanami kisses you now.

Your face is sandwiched between two large hands. Nanami holds you to him, angling your neck back so he can grind his tongue deeper into your warm throat. There is no buildup, no preemptive apprehension that repels him from committing to bury himself in your mouth. He kisses you with no regrets, just desire and stifling yearning.

Moans vibrate the slobbery mess. Nanami feels a bouquet of fingers latch onto his hip and pull—he rewards you, sucking sensually against the tip of your tongue. It’s fucking hot. He’s hot. And hard. Nanami’s sweating. He’s grabbing. He’s rubbing. He’s—-

Beep!

The kiss stops synchronously with twin gasps. You gawk up at him, wide-eyed at the sudden auditory intrusion. He’s looking right back down at you, panting.

“It's the oven.”

“Oh.”

All the passion had seemingly drained, Nanami felt the altar in the atmosphere. With all the reluctance in the world, he pushes himself back to give you sizable space. Unsure of how this aftermath would play out. Awkwardly, he clears his throat, swabbing excess saliva from his chin with a palm. “I uhm—I was baking some bread.”

You nod, avoiding eye contact. “That’s cool.”

You look mortified, and that makes him feel mortified. “Y/n, I’m sorry for—”

“It’s fine.”

His heart sinks to his guts. “No, it’s not fine. Please, let me ap—”

“Kento,” you cut him off, “you didn’t do anything wrong. Like, at all, so stop apologizing. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

Nanami’s brows pinch together, and he gapes at that. “You haven’t done a single thing wrong either.” You don’t seem to believe him, what with the way you sway from left foot to right foot, hands twiddling restlessly. Cautious, he takes a step closer. “You look anxious. I’m by no means kicking you out, but I don’t want to keep you here if it makes you uncomfortable. Just say the word and I’ll call you a ride home.”

A sigh graces your kiss-swollen lips, and you bow graciously. “Please, that would be great, thanks.”

“Yeah,” Nanami says gently, moving to fish his phone out of the pocket of his flannel pajama bottoms. “Of course.”

“I’ll go change out of your clothes—”

“Keep them on, I insist.” He’s quick to halt you. “And leave yours upstairs, I’ll run them through the washing machine. We can exchange them tomorrow.”

“I—okay, thank you.” You look so apologetic, it wounds him. “Thank you for everything. For taking me home last night, for breakfast, for–for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me. But you’re very welcome.”

Your taxi shows up a few minutes later. It’s hard to watch you go, especially when you left him on dubious terms. Were you upset by his kiss? Nanami hopes to God that’s not the case. Or maybe you were appalled? Fearful, even?

Nanami needs to turn his brain off—this cancerous spiral of thinking would only send him into a dark pit of guilt, and he had a web meeting later in the evening. After washing the dishes leftover from the breakfast endeavor, he sits on the sofa with his head in his hands

You tasted like fucking maple syrup.

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edibleolis10 · 26 days ago

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worldlxvlys · 8 months ago

Note

Can you write a fic based on Wednesdays video and we notice he not wearing underwear and it’s visible -don’t know how to explain it well🫣

distracted

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: smutttt, p in v, cream pie, unprotected sex, fantasizing, choking, oral (male receiving), handjob, degradation

a/n: @sophssturn also requested something very similar but my dumbass accidentally deleted the request 😭

hope you enjoy !!

i swear i wasn’t looking on purpose.

ok, that’s a straight lie.

but it’s almost as though he wanted me to look, he knew exactly what he was doing.

he wore those grey sweats, which he knew made me go crazy.

and to top it off, he decided not to wear any underwear ? what a slut.

he knew good and damn well that he was too big to be walking around without any boxers on.

and to do it while he was filming ? when he knew there was nothing i could say or do about it ? yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing.

i was sitting behind the camera, watching as he cooked burgers for everyone.

every time he moved just a little too quickly, his dick would press against his light-colored sweatpants, the outline of his bulge showing.

of course i was aware of how big he was, but that didn’t mean the entire internet need to know too.

as i continued to stare at him, my eyes scanned over his entire body, imagining him in a completely different scenario.

instead of his wrists flicking with every flip of a burger, they were straining against a restraint, and i was watching him squirm desperately under me.

his pretty mouth was being suffocated under the weight of my body, while my aching heat was shoved in his face.

instead of the oil from the cooked meat dripping down his hands, it was a layer of my arousal decorating his long fingers.

when he threw his head back, moaning at the taste of the hamburger, i imagined him moaning my name while i bounced on his-

“helloooo? did you hear me?” chris asked, pulling me back to reality.

“oh, sorry. i was distracted” i answered, now realizing that everything was cleaned up, and matt and nick had already went off to do whatever.

in front of me sat a hamburger, placed perfectly between two buns on a plate.

“distracted by what?” he asked as he watched me take a bite of the food.

i took a minute to finish chewing before answering, “what do you think?” i deadpanned, watching as he looked at me in confusion.

“you seriously don’t know?” i asked, continuing to eat the burger.

when i finished, he pointed to my mouth, “you have a little..” he trailed off as he collected a bit of juice that dribbled down my lips from the meat.

before he could do anything else, i grabbed his finger, looking up at him as i licked the small bit of liquid from his finger.

he stared at me with his mouth hanging open slightly, before i let go of his hand.

“ tastes good” i spoke to him, making him whine in response.

i reached forward, palming him through his sweats, making him moan out in surprise.

“tell me, what did you think was gonna happen?” i asked as my hand made its way into his sweatpants.

“i- fuck, i don’t know” his head fell back as he whispered, hands gripping my waist.

“yes, you do chris. you did it for a reason, what is it ?” i asked as i left a light kiss to the shell of his ear.

i didn’t get an answer as i began to stroke his length.

i squeezed his base lightly, making him groan in response.

“answer me or i’ll make you cum in your pants out here like the dirty slut you are”

“shit” he breathed out raggedly, attempting to compose himself, “i wanted you to fuck me”

“you could’ve just asked baby”

“but i-“ he shuddered the feeling of my hands continuously squeezing him, “i need it rougher”

at those words, i pulled my hand from his pants, “say fucking less” i spoke as i grabbed his hand, pulling him to his room.

when we got there, i closed and locked the door behind us, before pushing him into it roughly.

“talk to me chris. tell me what you want” i spoke.

“ i told you already, i-” i brought my hand to his throat, squeezing it slightly.

“excuse me?” i asked him, eyebrows raised.

his eyes widened slightly, his gaze dropping to my lips. “try that again” i told him.

“i need you to fuck me” he whispered. “louder” i spoke.

“need you to fuck me” he spoke, his voice slightly raised.

“louder”

“they’re gonna hear-” he started before i cut him off, “i don’t really give a fuck. you wanna act like a little bitch in heat ? i’ll treat you like one, say it louder”

“please, please fuck me. need you to fuck me so bad” he spoke up, whining desperately.

“was that so hard?” i asked, tilting my head to the side.

i slid my hand up to grab his jaw, pulling his face toward mine into a heated kiss.

my hands wove into his hair, harshly tugging on his brown locks while his found their way around my waist.

i swallowed his moans as my lips danced along his greedily.

i ran my hands down his clothed chest, letting my fingertips toy with the hem of his shirt.

he took the hint, pulling away for a second to pull his shirt off, before his lips found their way back to mine.

my hands explored the new skin, running along his chest before stopping at his waistband.

i teasingly rubbed his stomach, fingers brushing the waistband but never moving past it.

he pulled away to speak, his mouth slightly open, “don’t tease”

i raised my eyebrows at him, grabbing him by his arm and guiding him to sit on the bed.

“maybe if you weren’t walking around without any underwear on, i’d listen to you” i spoke as i sunk down to my knees in front of him.

his eyes widened slightly as i left a kiss to his clothed dick.

he looked down at me with hooded eyes, watching as i slowly pulled his sweatpants down.

his hard dick slapped his stomach, pre-cum dripping onto his abs.

chris’s breathing sped up in anticipation, his hands clutching the sheets underneath him.

i placed my hands on his thighs, keeping them pulled apart while i leaned forward, collecting his arousal with my tongue.

i started at his stomach, licking at the small beads of arousal, before swirling my tongue around his tip.

“fuck” he breathed out, his head instantly flying back.

“talk to me, baby. you feeling good ?” i asked him.

CHRIS’S POV

“yes, feels so good” i whispered, brows furrowing as she teased me.

she brought the palm of her hand to my tip, rubbing me in quick, circular motions.

my hips jerked up at the feeling, my mind growing fuzzy at the amount of pleasure that coursed through me.

“you think you deserve to cum ?” she asked, looking up at me through her lashes.

she pulled her hand off of me suddenly, deciding to tease me more.

my mouth hung open, but i was unable to form any words as my mind was consumed with her.

her hands, running up my thighs, but always stopping just before her fingers could graze my dick.

her face, glaring up at me with that look in her eyes that told me i was going to be gone by the end of tonight.

her lips, so plump, curved to fit around my dick perfectly.

“please, i need your mouth” i whined as she moved her face closer to me, her breath tickling my painfully hard cock.

“yeah? well i need you to learn how to listen” she spoke, moving away from me.

if there was one thing she loved to do, it was tease me. she wanted to push me to my limits until i lost it.

and she knew exactly how to get me there.

“ok, ok, i’m sorry. please, please, i need your mouth so bad”

ignoring my pleas, she pulled her shirt over her head.

“you never answered my question earlier, chris” she spoke.

her words went in one ear and out the other, however, when i saw what she was wearing underneath her clothes.

“fuck” i groaned out at the site of the black lace that adorned her skin.

the bra had a low cut, her tits sitting perfectly in the cups.

the bottom left little to the imagination, the lips of her pussy hugging the small string of fabric that barely covered it.

“do you deserve to cum?” she repeated her question from earlier, tilting her head at me.

“yes” i spoke quickly, desperate to have her in any way i could.

“i don’t know, you didn’t answer me the first time” she spoke, moving to straddle my waist.

“guess i’ll take that as a no” she spoke as my hands found their was to her hips.

“cum before i tell you and i swear to god i’ll edge you until you start crying” she spoke firmly as she lined herself up with my dick.

“f-fuck” i groaned at the feeling of her pussy sucking up my sensitive tip.

i held her close to me while she continued to take me inch by inch, until her hips met mine.

when i bottomed out, we both let out moans of content.

she began to roll her hips into mine slowly, before bouncing on my cock.

i watched as her covered tits bounced in my face with every one of her harsh movements on top of me.

i squeezed her hips tightly, needing something to grab onto as she found her rhythm.

her tight pussy continued to squeeze me, each pull of her hips pushing me deeper and deeper into a euphoric state.

“g-god, feels so good” i groaned out, watching her eyes light up at the praise.

“yeah?” she asked, grabbing my jaw to pull my face closer to hers.

“fuck yes, you’re so good to me baby” i spoke against her lips.

she ground her hips down against mine as she pressed a fervent kiss to my lips, her fingers finding their way back to my hair.

when i pulled away, i left kisses on her neck, making my way down to her boobs.

“so beautiful” i whispered up to her.

“hmm, so sweet to me” she spoke, “but i’m still not letting you cum” she pushed my chest, making me fall back onto the bed.

she laid her hands on my chest, using it as leverage to increase her speed on top of me.

“you look so good on top of me like this” i groaned out.

i was barely holding it together, something about the way she took control made me lose my mind.

“i’m so close” i whined as the sounds of our skin slapping against each other’s filled the room.

“well that sucks for you then, huh ?” she asked as she brought her hand to my throat, lightly choking me.

my eyes rolled into the back of my head at the action, my fingers digging into her thighs.

“i- please, i need it, need it so bad” i struggled to form a logical sentence as she leaned back, placing her hands on my thighs.

“oh my g-god” i moaned, desperately trying to hold back my orgasm.

“wait until i tell you” she spoke, moving my head to look at her.

i glanced down to where our bodies met, getting lost in the way her glistening pussy engulfed my dick.

i could’ve came from the sight alone.

“please, please, please” i repeated the word like it was a chant, knowing i wouldn’t be able to hold off for much longer.

“i’m almost there, baby. so close, just hold on a little bit longer for me”

my head flew back when she clenched around me, eliciting a loud moan from me.

“fuck, let go for me chris. let it all out” she moaned as she continued to clench around me.

i sat up to close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her waist to hold her close to me.

my legs began to shake, my abdominal muscles tightening as i was hit with a shockwave of pleasure.

my hips bucked up into her, making her moan while i shot my load into her weeping hole.

“fuck chris, right there ! right there” she cried out as i unintentionally thrusted into her, my cock buried as deep as it could go inside of her.

she let out one last moan as i felt her release all over me, my dick coated in her pleasure.

my body went limp underneath her, letting her take control as she worked us through our highs.

once we both calmed down, she lifted herself off of me slowly, before making her way to my bathroom.

when she returned, she held two towels in either hand; one wet and one dry.

she gently rubbed the wet towel against my skin, cleaning up the sticky substance that resided from our previous orgasms.

“are you ok my love? did i hurt you?” she asked me while she continued to clean me up.

she took the second towel, drying my wet skin while i answered, “no baby. i’m ok” i smiled lightly at her.

“good” she answered before finishing up, and doing the same for herself.

she discarded the towels in the hamper before coming back over to me.

“wanna take a shower?” she asked as her hands found their way to my waist, rubbing light circles into it.

“yeah” i spoke as i went to stand up, immediately halting my movements when it felt like my legs were going to give out.

“what’s wrong?” she asked, noticing the way i quickly sat back down.

“my legs are…” i trailed off, searching for a word that wouldn’t make the effect she had on me so obvious.

i didn’t need to feed her ego any more than i already had.

it was no use, though, as she picked up on what was happening.

“you can’t walk ?” she asked, a smug grin growing on her face.

“shut up” i spoke, shaking my head at her.

“awww, it’s ok baby, i’ll take care of you” she spoke, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

she went to help me up before pausing, “want me to pick you up?” she teased.

🦢🦢🦢🦢

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