you're so right anon omfg he'd eat it so good 😫

About how he’ll hold your hand while he pounds into your suffocating heat. Your tight walls gripping onto his dick as he slowly thrusts in and out of the gooey entrance.

His hands that wander and softly grab at your plush skin with such tenderness like you were made of glass.

His lips tracing across your forehead and down your neck to plant kisses across your flushed skin. You can hear the soft and low rumble of his voice as he talks you through everything,

“Just like that baby..”

“You’re doing so good, hold on a little longer..”

“You’re so beautiful…”

Just soft and tender praise that make your pussy flutter..

His words only spur you on and you slowly feel the building pressure in your stomach.

The slow roll of his hips and wet slapping from your conjoined sex. You let out a soft moan as the high washes away your vision fading in and out as hot sperm coats your cunt.

Black and white dots fill the sides of your vision. You can feel the heated liquid flow deeper into your womb and you let out an audible whimper as your breaths mingled together in the hot air of his room,

“That’s my gorgeous girl..”

“So good for me baby..”

“Always so sweet..”

Chris had leaned down and captured your lips in tender passion and you let out a soft moan at the contact and let your fingers glide through his soft locs pulling at the tiny hairs at the base of his neck.

↳ more enemy!chris x enemy!reader here ༉‧₊

youre padding through the sturniolo household barefoot, your feet hitting the cold tiles is a nice yet shivering feeling. its dark, its late, and you shouldve been asleep hours ago. but how could you find your rest when you had a literal chainsaw sleeping next to you? so you got up, sending the sleeping nick a glare before going to the kitchen. 

you yawn as you enter the kitchen, clutching your phone in your hand with the flashlight on, to avoid bumping into stuff. 

as you open the fridge, your eyebrows shoot up. not only because the light is super bright, but also cause of the content. its filled with sweet sodas with way too much sugar, leftover doordash food in half closed containers and a rotten apple sitting in the back. 

you sigh, how can these boys live like this?

closing the fridge you hear a soft sound behind you, and you dont even have to look to know who is clearing their throat.

chris. 

you turn around, expression already annoyed as you shine your phone flashlight directly into his stupidly handsome face.

he groans loudly, his eyes squeezing shut. 

“fucking hell, can you not?” 

a small victory smirk creeps up your lips. your eyes trail down his body. hes shirtless, of course he is, the past few weeks of summer he seemed to grow allergic to shirts. not that youre complaining.

his sweatpants are full of questionable stains and hang way too low on his hips. so low that the happy trail peeks out. you swallow. why does he have to bother you at this time, and why cant you just ignore the heat spreading through your body? 

before you can answer, you notice him crossing his arms and your eyes flick to his biceps. wrong move. 

you can feel the unwanted heat grow in your body as you watch his arms twitch. god he mustve been working out cause his biceps grew bigger, way bigger. 

you swallow again, using the flashlight of your phone to examine his body more, especially the arms. 

yes youve noticed chris getting quite buffer over the past few weeks, when he was picking something up, jokingly flexing himself with matt as men do or when he was fucking you. 

his arms would steady themselves on either side of your face when hed pounds into you with an unmatched force, and one time, he wrapped his arm around your neck, holding you into a headlock as his hips would snap back and forth. 

“hello am i talking to a fucking wall?” 

his annoyed tone makes your head snap back up at his face. 

“What?”

he sighs. 

“jesus youre distracted.”

you cant help but roll your eyes, before letting them glance back down at his still crossed arms. 

“i asked why youre still up.”

he mumbles lazily, his voice rough at its edges. 

you raise a brow.

“couldnt sleep, why are you still up?” 

you snap back at him. and youre not even sure if he answers or not, cause your eyes are back on his arms, who are now resting on the kitchen counter. 

a lazy smirk spreads across his lips, the one you hate but love at the same time. 

“mmm you seem a bit worked up.” he mutters, voice low and teasing. your eyes snap back up at him. 

“im not.” you reply, a bit too quickly. a mistake, because not only are you confirming his suspicion by immediately defending yourself, his smirk grows wider as well. 

he chuckles lowly and shifts, his arms flexing. 

a shaky breath leaves your lips. 

he pushes himself off the counter and takes a step forward. fucking hell.

your ears burn an embarrassingly shade of red as one of his long fingers tilt up your chin. 

“youre not wet now arent you?”

he teases, boldly, filthy but effective. a shudder runs down your spine and he chuckles. 

“pathetic.”

he mutters, before leaning even closer, backing you until you hit the kitchen island. he hums, satisfied. 

“thought you were a strong girl.. thought you werent so easy…” he whispers lowly, his lip grazing your earlobe. 

his words are quite rude, yet they are unfortunately nothing but the truth. a small gasp slips out when you feel chris’s hand slide down your heated body, stopping right above your pajama shorts. 

another choked gasp escapes you, and his smirk grows. 

he tuts. “so needy, i havent even done anything…”

his words make you shudder, and before you can stop yourself you push your hips forward, a clear sign that you need more, more of him. 

he chuckles and lets his hand slide lower, hovering above your clothed heat. he gives you a look, before pressing his finger against your clit through your thin shorts. a soft whimper slips out. 

“fuck…” 

he grins and adds more pressure, his singular finger circling your clit as you can feel yourself grow wetter and wetter. 

“ylike that?”

he mutters, teasing, because he knows damn well that you do. you nod anyway, as pathetic as it may seem. 

chris hums lowly before pressing his knuckles against your clit, more gentle than youd expect of him, but god it feels good. 

you throw your head back slightly, mouth open in pleasure. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss in your neck, one that makes a whimper slip past your lips. 

“chris, please…” you whisper breathlessly, bucking your hips into his hand once again. he smirks, before pulling back completely and running his hand through his hair with nothing but casualty. 

he opens the fridge, grabbing a soda before walking over to the couch and plopping down. 

what the hell? 

you scoff loudly when you see him pull out his phone, casually scrolling through it like the unbothered asshole he is. 

without your minds approval, your feet move, walking towards the couch and glaring down at him. 

“are you serious?” you mutter, annoyed, still turned on and pathetically needy. he smirks, not even looking up from his screen that is brightening his stupid gorgeous face. one of his arms is lazily resting next to him, the muscles flex for a second before relaxing again. 

“chris cmon, youre being an asshole..” you whisper, less intimidating that youd hoped and more whiny than you wanted. 

he shrugs, glancing up at you and nodding casually to his rested arm. 

“help yourself out then.” he murmurs, a challenging look glistening his in eyes. 

you raise a brow, is he serious? who does he think he is? 

but apparently the questions in your head dont stop you from moving forward, climbing onto the couch and straddling his arm. he hums lazily.

“mm good girl..” 

a small moan slips out and you buck your hips forward, grinding yourself against his bicep. its a pitiful sight, yet it makes chriss grin widen. 

he glances up from his phone and watches you, your hips continuously bucking forward on his strong arm. 

he smirks once again,flexing his muscles underneath you and admiring the sight of you, moaning softly as your head falls onto his shoulder. 

he sighs, but the sound doesnt have that annoyed tone lingering, its mere amused. 

he places his phone on his lap and lets his other hand come up to stroke your hair. 

“mmm always so needy, arent you embarrassed?”

his rude words mixed with the gentle threading through your hair makes your hips stutter. 

a small moan escapes you as you grind harder against his strong bicep, the thing that started this all. 

he flexes his arm for you again, the hardness adding more pressure to your clit. more moans escape you and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

he feels it too, but doesnt stop, --thank god-- and just continues stroking your hair in an almost mocking comfort. 

you know youre just feeding his already big ego right now, but you cant seem to help yourself, the only thing you want right now is get off. 

your grinding continues, the occasional flexing of his muscles as well. 

“there we go.. feels good doesnt it?” he coos, his hand moving from your hair to the back of your neck. 

you moan in response, bucking your hips faster, more desperate for release. you hear him groan, a pleasured sound. 

your breathing picks up more and more, basically panting in his neck as you use his bicep as satisfaction. and you both seem to enjoy it. 

chris shifts on the couch, groaning again as he adjusts himself. 

a weak whimper escapes you, youre close, too close for simply dryhumping his arm, but it doesnt matter anymore. 

“cmon pretty girl, come..” he grunts near your ear. the low praise makes your legs shake around him, thighs squeezing his bicep closer–as if possible– before nuzzling deeper in his neck. loud moans, whimpers of his name and heavy pants leave your mouth as you cum apart right there. 

he moans when your wetting shorts make contact with his bicep. 

“youre insane…”

you roll your eyes, feeling too embarrassed to even use your voice right now. you shift off his arm and stand up, cringing at the feeling of your soaked panties sticking to your own skin.

he smirks, licking his lips before nodding towards his lap, the indication clear.

you groan, but lower yourself on your knees in front of him anyway, eventhough it seems unfair, he didn’t gave you his fingers so why would you give him something in return? yet you can’t help but obey.

“mm go on pretty girl.”

he mumbles, demanding yet eager.

you roll your eyes.

“i hate you.”

he scoffs.

“tsk you’re so— oh fuckkk….”

a/n wrote this in under an hour while high and i’m shocked by myself lmao

↳ more enemy!chris x enemy!reader here ༉‧₊

youre padding through the sturniolo household barefoot, your feet hitting the cold tiles is a nice yet shivering feeling. its dark, its late, and you shouldve been asleep hours ago. but how could you find your rest when you had a literal chainsaw sleeping next to you? so you got up, sending the sleeping nick a glare before going to the kitchen. 

you yawn as you enter the kitchen, clutching your phone in your hand with the flashlight on, to avoid bumping into stuff. 

as you open the fridge, your eyebrows shoot up. not only because the light is super bright, but also cause of the content. its filled with sweet sodas with way too much sugar, leftover doordash food in half closed containers and a rotten apple sitting in the back. 

you sigh, how can these boys live like this?

closing the fridge you hear a soft sound behind you, and you dont even have to look to know who is clearing their throat.

chris. 

you turn around, expression already annoyed as you shine your phone flashlight directly into his stupidly handsome face.

he groans loudly, his eyes squeezing shut. 

“fucking hell, can you not?” 

a small victory smirk creeps up your lips. your eyes trail down his body. hes shirtless, of course he is, the past few weeks of summer he seemed to grow allergic to shirts. not that youre complaining.

his sweatpants are full of questionable stains and hang way too low on his hips. so low that the happy trail peeks out. you swallow. why does he have to bother you at this time, and why cant you just ignore the heat spreading through your body? 

before you can answer, you notice him crossing his arms and your eyes flick to his biceps. wrong move. 

you can feel the unwanted heat grow in your body as you watch his arms twitch. god he mustve been working out cause his biceps grew bigger, way bigger. 

you swallow again, using the flashlight of your phone to examine his body more, especially the arms. 

yes youve noticed chris getting quite buffer over the past few weeks, when he was picking something up, jokingly flexing himself with matt as men do or when he was fucking you. 

his arms would steady themselves on either side of your face when hed pounds into you with an unmatched force, and one time, he wrapped his arm around your neck, holding you into a headlock as his hips would snap back and forth. 

“hello am i talking to a fucking wall?” 

his annoyed tone makes your head snap back up at his face. 

“What?”

he sighs. 

“jesus youre distracted.”

you cant help but roll your eyes, before letting them glance back down at his still crossed arms. 

“i asked why youre still up.”

he mumbles lazily, his voice rough at its edges. 

you raise a brow.

“couldnt sleep, why are you still up?” 

you snap back at him. and youre not even sure if he answers or not, cause your eyes are back on his arms, who are now resting on the kitchen counter. 

a lazy smirk spreads across his lips, the one you hate but love at the same time. 

“mmm you seem a bit worked up.” he mutters, voice low and teasing. your eyes snap back up at him. 

“im not.” you reply, a bit too quickly. a mistake, because not only are you confirming his suspicion by immediately defending yourself, his smirk grows wider as well. 

he chuckles lowly and shifts, his arms flexing. 

a shaky breath leaves your lips. 

he pushes himself off the counter and takes a step forward. fucking hell.

your ears burn an embarrassingly shade of red as one of his long fingers tilt up your chin. 

“youre not wet now arent you?”

he teases, boldly, filthy but effective. a shudder runs down your spine and he chuckles. 

“pathetic.”

he mutters, before leaning even closer, backing you until you hit the kitchen island. he hums, satisfied. 

“thought you were a strong girl.. thought you werent so easy…” he whispers lowly, his lip grazing your earlobe. 

his words are quite rude, yet they are unfortunately nothing but the truth. a small gasp slips out when you feel chris’s hand slide down your heated body, stopping right above your pajama shorts. 

another choked gasp escapes you, and his smirk grows. 

he tuts. “so needy, i havent even done anything…”

his words make you shudder, and before you can stop yourself you push your hips forward, a clear sign that you need more, more of him. 

he chuckles and lets his hand slide lower, hovering above your clothed heat. he gives you a look, before pressing his finger against your clit through your thin shorts. a soft whimper slips out. 

“fuck…” 

he grins and adds more pressure, his singular finger circling your clit as you can feel yourself grow wetter and wetter. 

“ylike that?”

he mutters, teasing, because he knows damn well that you do. you nod anyway, as pathetic as it may seem. 

chris hums lowly before pressing his knuckles against your clit, more gentle than youd expect of him, but god it feels good. 

you throw your head back slightly, mouth open in pleasure. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss in your neck, one that makes a whimper slip past your lips. 

“chris, please…” you whisper breathlessly, bucking your hips into his hand once again. he smirks, before pulling back completely and running his hand through his hair with nothing but casualty. 

he opens the fridge, grabbing a soda before walking over to the couch and plopping down. 

what the hell? 

you scoff loudly when you see him pull out his phone, casually scrolling through it like the unbothered asshole he is. 

without your minds approval, your feet move, walking towards the couch and glaring down at him. 

“are you serious?” you mutter, annoyed, still turned on and pathetically needy. he smirks, not even looking up from his screen that is brightening his stupid gorgeous face. one of his arms is lazily resting next to him, the muscles flex for a second before relaxing again. 

“chris cmon, youre being an asshole..” you whisper, less intimidating that youd hoped and more whiny than you wanted. 

he shrugs, glancing up at you and nodding casually to his rested arm. 

“help yourself out then.” he murmurs, a challenging look glistening his in eyes. 

you raise a brow, is he serious? who does he think he is? 

but apparently the questions in your head dont stop you from moving forward, climbing onto the couch and straddling his arm. he hums lazily.

“mm good girl..” 

a small moan slips out and you buck your hips forward, grinding yourself against his bicep. its a pitiful sight, yet it makes chriss grin widen. 

he glances up from his phone and watches you, your hips continuously bucking forward on his strong arm. 

he smirks once again,flexing his muscles underneath you and admiring the sight of you, moaning softly as your head falls onto his shoulder. 

he sighs, but the sound doesnt have that annoyed tone lingering, its mere amused. 

he places his phone on his lap and lets his other hand come up to stroke your hair. 

“mmm always so needy, arent you embarrassed?”

his rude words mixed with the gentle threading through your hair makes your hips stutter. 

a small moan escapes you as you grind harder against his strong bicep, the thing that started this all. 

he flexes his arm for you again, the hardness adding more pressure to your clit. more moans escape you and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

he feels it too, but doesnt stop, --thank god-- and just continues stroking your hair in an almost mocking comfort. 

you know youre just feeding his already big ego right now, but you cant seem to help yourself, the only thing you want right now is get off. 

your grinding continues, the occasional flexing of his muscles as well. 

“there we go.. feels good doesnt it?” he coos, his hand moving from your hair to the back of your neck. 

you moan in response, bucking your hips faster, more desperate for release. you hear him groan, a pleasured sound. 

your breathing picks up more and more, basically panting in his neck as you use his bicep as satisfaction. and you both seem to enjoy it. 

chris shifts on the couch, groaning again as he adjusts himself. 

a weak whimper escapes you, youre close, too close for simply dryhumping his arm, but it doesnt matter anymore. 

“cmon pretty girl, come..” he grunts near your ear. the low praise makes your legs shake around him, thighs squeezing his bicep closer–as if possible– before nuzzling deeper in his neck. loud moans, whimpers of his name and heavy pants leave your mouth as you cum apart right there. 

he moans when your wetting shorts make contact with his bicep. 

“youre insane…”

you roll your eyes, feeling too embarrassed to even use your voice right now. you shift off his arm and stand up, cringing at the feeling of your soaked panties sticking to your own skin.

he smirks, licking his lips before nodding towards his lap, the indication clear.

you groan, but lower yourself on your knees in front of him anyway, eventhough it seems unfair, he didn’t gave you his fingers so why would you give him something in return? yet you can’t help but obey.

“mm go on pretty girl.”

he mumbles, demanding yet eager.

you roll your eyes.

“i hate you.”

he scoffs.

“tsk you’re so— oh fuckkk….”

a/n wrote this in under an hour while high and i’m shocked by myself lmao

↳ more enemy!chris x enemy!reader here ༉‧₊

youre padding through the sturniolo household barefoot, your feet hitting the cold tiles is a nice yet shivering feeling. its dark, its late, and you shouldve been asleep hours ago. but how could you find your rest when you had a literal chainsaw sleeping next to you? so you got up, sending the sleeping nick a glare before going to the kitchen. 

you yawn as you enter the kitchen, clutching your phone in your hand with the flashlight on, to avoid bumping into stuff. 

as you open the fridge, your eyebrows shoot up. not only because the light is super bright, but also cause of the content. its filled with sweet sodas with way too much sugar, leftover doordash food in half closed containers and a rotten apple sitting in the back. 

you sigh, how can these boys live like this?

closing the fridge you hear a soft sound behind you, and you dont even have to look to know who is clearing their throat.

chris. 

you turn around, expression already annoyed as you shine your phone flashlight directly into his stupidly handsome face.

he groans loudly, his eyes squeezing shut. 

“fucking hell, can you not?” 

a small victory smirk creeps up your lips. your eyes trail down his body. hes shirtless, of course he is, the past few weeks of summer he seemed to grow allergic to shirts. not that youre complaining.

his sweatpants are full of questionable stains and hang way too low on his hips. so low that the happy trail peeks out. you swallow. why does he have to bother you at this time, and why cant you just ignore the heat spreading through your body? 

before you can answer, you notice him crossing his arms and your eyes flick to his biceps. wrong move. 

you can feel the unwanted heat grow in your body as you watch his arms twitch. god he mustve been working out cause his biceps grew bigger, way bigger. 

you swallow again, using the flashlight of your phone to examine his body more, especially the arms. 

yes youve noticed chris getting quite buffer over the past few weeks, when he was picking something up, jokingly flexing himself with matt as men do or when he was fucking you. 

his arms would steady themselves on either side of your face when hed pounds into you with an unmatched force, and one time, he wrapped his arm around your neck, holding you into a headlock as his hips would snap back and forth. 

“hello am i talking to a fucking wall?” 

his annoyed tone makes your head snap back up at his face. 

“What?”

he sighs. 

“jesus youre distracted.”

you cant help but roll your eyes, before letting them glance back down at his still crossed arms. 

“i asked why youre still up.”

he mumbles lazily, his voice rough at its edges. 

you raise a brow.

“couldnt sleep, why are you still up?” 

you snap back at him. and youre not even sure if he answers or not, cause your eyes are back on his arms, who are now resting on the kitchen counter. 

a lazy smirk spreads across his lips, the one you hate but love at the same time. 

“mmm you seem a bit worked up.” he mutters, voice low and teasing. your eyes snap back up at him. 

“im not.” you reply, a bit too quickly. a mistake, because not only are you confirming his suspicion by immediately defending yourself, his smirk grows wider as well. 

he chuckles lowly and shifts, his arms flexing. 

a shaky breath leaves your lips. 

he pushes himself off the counter and takes a step forward. fucking hell.

your ears burn an embarrassingly shade of red as one of his long fingers tilt up your chin. 

“youre not wet now arent you?”

he teases, boldly, filthy but effective. a shudder runs down your spine and he chuckles. 

“pathetic.”

he mutters, before leaning even closer, backing you until you hit the kitchen island. he hums, satisfied. 

“thought you were a strong girl.. thought you werent so easy…” he whispers lowly, his lip grazing your earlobe. 

his words are quite rude, yet they are unfortunately nothing but the truth. a small gasp slips out when you feel chris’s hand slide down your heated body, stopping right above your pajama shorts. 

another choked gasp escapes you, and his smirk grows. 

he tuts. “so needy, i havent even done anything…”

his words make you shudder, and before you can stop yourself you push your hips forward, a clear sign that you need more, more of him. 

he chuckles and lets his hand slide lower, hovering above your clothed heat. he gives you a look, before pressing his finger against your clit through your thin shorts. a soft whimper slips out. 

“fuck…” 

he grins and adds more pressure, his singular finger circling your clit as you can feel yourself grow wetter and wetter. 

“ylike that?”

he mutters, teasing, because he knows damn well that you do. you nod anyway, as pathetic as it may seem. 

chris hums lowly before pressing his knuckles against your clit, more gentle than youd expect of him, but god it feels good. 

you throw your head back slightly, mouth open in pleasure. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss in your neck, one that makes a whimper slip past your lips. 

“chris, please…” you whisper breathlessly, bucking your hips into his hand once again. he smirks, before pulling back completely and running his hand through his hair with nothing but casualty. 

he opens the fridge, grabbing a soda before walking over to the couch and plopping down. 

what the hell? 

you scoff loudly when you see him pull out his phone, casually scrolling through it like the unbothered asshole he is. 

without your minds approval, your feet move, walking towards the couch and glaring down at him. 

“are you serious?” you mutter, annoyed, still turned on and pathetically needy. he smirks, not even looking up from his screen that is brightening his stupid gorgeous face. one of his arms is lazily resting next to him, the muscles flex for a second before relaxing again. 

“chris cmon, youre being an asshole..” you whisper, less intimidating that youd hoped and more whiny than you wanted. 

he shrugs, glancing up at you and nodding casually to his rested arm. 

“help yourself out then.” he murmurs, a challenging look glistening his in eyes. 

you raise a brow, is he serious? who does he think he is? 

but apparently the questions in your head dont stop you from moving forward, climbing onto the couch and straddling his arm. he hums lazily.

“mm good girl..” 

a small moan slips out and you buck your hips forward, grinding yourself against his bicep. its a pitiful sight, yet it makes chriss grin widen. 

he glances up from his phone and watches you, your hips continuously bucking forward on his strong arm. 

he smirks once again,flexing his muscles underneath you and admiring the sight of you, moaning softly as your head falls onto his shoulder. 

he sighs, but the sound doesnt have that annoyed tone lingering, its mere amused. 

he places his phone on his lap and lets his other hand come up to stroke your hair. 

“mmm always so needy, arent you embarrassed?”

his rude words mixed with the gentle threading through your hair makes your hips stutter. 

a small moan escapes you as you grind harder against his strong bicep, the thing that started this all. 

he flexes his arm for you again, the hardness adding more pressure to your clit. more moans escape you and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

he feels it too, but doesnt stop, --thank god-- and just continues stroking your hair in an almost mocking comfort. 

you know youre just feeding his already big ego right now, but you cant seem to help yourself, the only thing you want right now is get off. 

your grinding continues, the occasional flexing of his muscles as well. 

“there we go.. feels good doesnt it?” he coos, his hand moving from your hair to the back of your neck. 

you moan in response, bucking your hips faster, more desperate for release. you hear him groan, a pleasured sound. 

your breathing picks up more and more, basically panting in his neck as you use his bicep as satisfaction. and you both seem to enjoy it. 

chris shifts on the couch, groaning again as he adjusts himself. 

a weak whimper escapes you, youre close, too close for simply dryhumping his arm, but it doesnt matter anymore. 

“cmon pretty girl, come..” he grunts near your ear. the low praise makes your legs shake around him, thighs squeezing his bicep closer–as if possible– before nuzzling deeper in his neck. loud moans, whimpers of his name and heavy pants leave your mouth as you cum apart right there. 

he moans when your wetting shorts make contact with his bicep. 

“youre insane…”

you roll your eyes, feeling too embarrassed to even use your voice right now. you shift off his arm and stand up, cringing at the feeling of your soaked panties sticking to your own skin.

he smirks, licking his lips before nodding towards his lap, the indication clear.

you groan, but lower yourself on your knees in front of him anyway, eventhough it seems unfair, he didn’t gave you his fingers so why would you give him something in return? yet you can’t help but obey.

“mm go on pretty girl.”

he mumbles, demanding yet eager.

you roll your eyes.

“i hate you.”

he scoffs.

“tsk you’re so— oh fuckkk….”

a/n wrote this in under an hour while high and i’m shocked by myself lmao

oblivion

In which . . . chris is completely oblivious his goatee is turning you on.

word count- 1318.

warnings- f!receiving. slight humiliation kink.

requested by this anon

Chris was leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug, the other scrolling through his phone. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower, and his goatee was freshly lined up—sharp, precise, the mustache perfectly trimmed. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine, completely oblivious to the fact that you'd been staring at him for the past three minutes without saying a word.

He finally looked up, catching your gaze, and a slow smirk tugged at his lips. "What? Do I got something on my face?"

You shook your head, biting your bottom lip. "No. It's just...that."

He raised an eyebrow, confused, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "Did I miss a spot?"

"No, Chris." You stepped closer, your voice dropping. "The whole thing. Your goatee. Your mustache. All of it."

He blinked, genuinely puzzled. "My...facial hair?"

Instead of answering, you reached up and cupped his jaw, pulling him down into a kiss. But this wasn't your usual kiss. This was slow, deliberate, almost reverent. You dragged your lips across his mustache, felt the slight scratch of his goatee against your chin, and a tiny, desperate whimper escaped your throat before you could stop it.

He pulled back, eyes searching yours. "Wait—hold on." A slow grin spread across his face. "That turns you on? My goatee?"

Your cheeks flushed pink. You nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

Chris let out a low chuckle, setting his coffee mug aside. "Baby," he murmured, stepping into your space, his voice dropping an octave. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Before you could answer, his hand was tilting your chin up, and he kissed you again—but this time, he knew exactly what he was doing. He rubbed his mustache deliberately against your upper lip, dragged his goatee across your jaw, down the column of your throat. Every scratch sent a shiver straight through you, and you gasped against his mouth.

"God," he hummed against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point. "You're so sensitive. All this time I've been walking around with this thing, and you were just suffering in silence?"

You nodded frantically, your fingers curling into his shirt. "Chris—"

"Suffering in silence," he repeated, nipping at your collarbone, the rough hair scraping your skin in the most intoxicating way. "That's real cute."

He dropped to his knees right there in the kitchen, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes. His hands found the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear. The cool air hit your slick heat, and you felt embarrassingly exposed, but the heat in his gaze burned hotter than any shame.

"Fuck, baby," he breathed, his eyes fixed on you. "You're already so wet for me."

He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his mustache brushing against the sensitive skin there, and your knees nearly buckled. He grinned against your flesh. "Oh, I felt that."

His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he leaned in. The first touch of his tongue was broad and flat, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. You tasted sweet on his tongue—honeyed and warm—and he groaned low in his throat like he'd just tasted something sinful.

"God, you taste incredible," he murmured, his breath hot against your soaked folds.

He dove back in, this time parting your folds with his thumbs, spreading you open for him. His tongue circled your entrance, teasing, dipping in just barely before dragging back up to your clit. He lapped at you in long, slow strokes, savoring every drop, and his goatee scraped against your inner thighs with every movement—rough, scratchy, delicious.

You gasped, your hand flying to his hair, gripping the damp strands. "Chris—"

He hummed against you, the vibration rippling through your sensitive flesh, and your hips bucked involuntarily. He took it as encouragement, flattening his tongue against your clit and applying firm, steady pressure. He circled the swollen bud in slow, torturous figure-eights, alternating between broad strokes and pointed flicks of his tongue tip directly over the center.

"You like that?" he asked, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his goatee wet and messy, his eyes locked on yours. His thumb replaced his tongue, rubbing tight circles over your clit while he caught his breath. "You like when I do that?"

"Yes—" The word came out broken, desperate. "Don't stop—please—"

He smirked, then lowered his mouth again, but this time he was more deliberate. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked gently, his tongue flicking rapidly against the sensitive peak. His goatee—rough, scratchy, wet with your arousal—pressed firmly against your folds, the friction of the coarse hair against your oversensitive skin sending jolts of pleasure straight through you.

He moved his head in slow, rolling circles, using his entire face against you. His mustache brushed against your clit with every pass, his goatee scraped against your inner lips, and his tongue was relentless—dipping into your entrance, then dragging back up to lap at your clit, over and over.

"Fuck, Chris—right there—" you choked out, your thighs trembling around his head.

He groaned against you, the sound muffled but the vibration unmistakable, and he doubled down. He speared his tongue inside you, curling it, fucking you with it while his nose and mustache ground against your clit. Then he pulled back and dragged his tongue flat over your entire slit, gathering every bit of your wetness before focusing back on your clit with sharp, rapid flicks.

Your breathing was ragged, your hips grinding against his face, chasing the friction. He let you use him, his hands gripping your ass to pull you closer, his mouth working you relentlessly. His goatee was soaked now, the coarse hairs scraping against your folds with every movement, the contrast between the rough scratch and the softness of his tongue driving you absolutely insane.

"I can feel you getting close," he murmured against you, his breath ghosting over your clit. "You're so fucking sensitive, baby."

He wrapped his lips around your clit again and sucked hard, his tongue flicking in rapid, desperate strokes, his goatee grinding against your entrance with every motion. The combination of suction, friction, and the constant scratch of his facial hair against your most sensitive spots was too much.

"Chris, I'm gonna—I'm gonna—"

"That's it, baby," he urged, his voice low and rough, his mouth never stopping. "Come for me. Let me taste it. Come all over my face."

And you did—practically sobbing his name as the orgasm crashed through you, your hips grinding against his face as he worked you through it. He didn't stop, didn't let up, his tongue lapping at your clit through every wave of pleasure, his goatee scratching and his mustache brushing and his mouth drinking every bit of you until you were trembling, oversensitive, completely wrecked.

He pulled back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin smug and satisfied. His goatee was a mess—glistening, wet, absolutely filthy, with your arousal shining on the coarse hairs—and the sight of it sent another weak pulse through your spent body.

"Look at that," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over his own chin, collecting some of your slick and bringing it to his lips. He sucked it clean with an exaggerated moan. "Taste even better the second time around."

He stood up, crowding you against the counter, and kissed you again. You could taste yourself on his lips, feel the scratch of his wet beard against your chin, and you knew—you knew—he was never going to let you forget this.

"Should've told me sooner," he whispered against your mouth, his voice rough and low. He dragged his goatee across your cheek, leaving a damp, sticky trail. "Now I'm never shaving this thing off."