#best onion oil for hair

[hairfall]

Best Follikesh Onion Hair Oil

Follikesh Onion hair oil nourishes the strands of your hair, making them seem healthy and shiny. It encourages hair growth, which helps to reduce thinning and give volume to a person's hair. Once you apply onion oil to the scalp in small circular motions, blood circulation increases. This prevents hair loss while strengthening the roots.

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[truenext]

Buy Onion Black Seed Shampoo (300 ml) Online from Trunext, It Prevents Hair Fall, Adds Shine and Strength, Promotes Hair Growth. Shop now Online!

[trusoul]

TruSoul Onion Hair Oil packs the power of natural ingredients like onion, jojoba, Bhringaraj, Brahmi, vitamin E, and neem oils to address common hair problems such as thinning, breakage, and split and boost your overall hair health.

[oraahwellness]

Say goodbye to bad hair days!Oraah Onion Hair Oil is the solution to all your hair problems. From boosting hair growth to improving scalp health, this hair oil has got you covered.

Treat your hair to the goodness of Oraah Onion Hair Oil and witness the difference. Shop now.

Website: https://oraah.in/collections/beauty/products/oraah-onion-hair-oil

[eddies-ashtray]

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.

♡*♡*♡

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 dissipates slightly when 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 :)

[biofaith]

onion hair oil for hair growth

Biofaith onion hair oil for hair growth with the best ingredients like Black Seed & Jatamansi which helps to stop hair fall and improve hair growth and remove dandruff.

[naturalhealthandpersonalcare]

7 ways to use onion hair oil for amazing hair results

Onions are not just limited to the kitchen; they are also versatile vegetables with numerous health benefits, according to Ayurveda. Every part of the onion is believed to have a healthy component, making it a great ingredient for home remedies. Onion juice, popularly known as onion hair oil, is particularly effective for a variety of hair-related problems, such as hair fall, dandruff, and early greying. The following are seven benefits of onion hair oil: reducing hair fall, improving hair thinning, renewing damaged hair and regrowing hair follicles, acting as a natural hair conditioner, combating dandruff, maintaining the pH level of the scalp, and nourishing and strengthening the hair.

WOW Skin Science Onion Hair Oil is a nutrient-rich hair oil that fights hair and scalp problems, providing soothing care to dull, lifeless, weak hair and tired scalp. It contains black seed oil extracts that stimulate the scalp and improve blood circulation, helping with hair growth and reducing hair fall.

Here are 7 ways to use onion hair oil for amazing hair results:

Apply onion hair oil directly to the scalp and massage gently in circular motions to improve blood circulation and help the oil penetrate deeply into the hair roots.

Leave the onion hair oil on the scalp and hair for at least 30 minutes before shampooing to ensure maximum absorption.

Use onion hair oil as a pre-shampoo treatment. Apply it to the scalp and hair 30 minutes before shampooing to help protect hair from the harsh chemicals in shampoo.

Use onion hair oil as a leave-in conditioner after shampooing. Apply a small amount to the hair and leave it in for a few hours or overnight for deep conditioning.

Mix onion hair oil with hot oil, such as coconut or almond oil, for added nourishment and moisturization.

Use onion hair oil as a natural hair serum to tame frizz and add shine to the hair before shampooing.

Mix a few drops of essential oil or lemon juice with onion hair oil to mask its strong smell and make it more pleasant to use.

Onion hair oil has several benefits for hair. Here are some of the benefits of using onion hair oil:

Reduces hair fall: Onion hair oil helps to strengthen the hair roots, which in turn reduces hair fall.

Improves hair thinning: Regular use of onion hair oil can help to improve hair thickness by strengthening the hair strands.

Promotes hair growth: Onion hair oil contains sulfur, which helps to improve blood circulation in the scalp and stimulate hair growth.

Natural hair conditioner: Onion hair oil acts as a natural conditioner, leaving the hair soft and smooth.

Fights dandruff: Onion hair oil has anti-bacterial and anti-fungal properties that help to fight dandruff and other scalp infections.

Maintains pH level of the scalp: Onion hair oil helps to maintain the pH level of the scalp, which in turn promotes healthy hair growth.

Nourishes and strengthens hair: The vitamins and minerals present in onion hair oil provide nourishment to the hair, making it strong and healthy.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the effectiveness of onion hair oil may vary from person to person. While some may experience positive results within a few days, others may take longer. As onion hair oil is a natural extract, it may require more time to show results. It is recommended to use the oil regularly in small quantities and monitor the progress for best results.

[sotrueproducts]

If you're looking for a best skincare products that can help you achieve smoother, glowing skin and an even skin tone, look no further than niacinamide. 

[samishaorganicproducts]

Red Onion Oil & Shampoo For Hair Growth and Strengthening

The “Ultimate Hair Care Regime Kit” set contains everything you need for your lustrous locks and is curated to indulge those who desire beautiful, healthy and stronger hair. Combo 1 x Samisha Organic Red Onion Hair Growth & Volumizing Oil For Deep Nourishment, Soft, Silky & Shiny Hair - 200 ML 1 x Samisha Organic Red Onion Volumizing Shampoo For Hair Fall Control, Dandruff & Frizz Free Hair - 200 ML https://samishaorganic.com/collections/combos/products/samisha-organic-red-onion-ultimate-hair-care-regime-shampoo-hair-oil-400-ml

[hairfall]

A Brief Guide on Onion Oil for Hair and its Benefits

If you’ve been struggling with hair fall and dandruff for a while now, then look no further when you have got onion in your kitchen. Rising hair concerns has been affecting almost everyone, without being gender biased. Maintaining a healthy mane takes a lot of perseverance and effort. But with this kitchen ruling ingredient, you can experience the ultimate difference in your hair. 

The science behind how red onion oil helps hair to flourish

Ancient Ayurveda had recognized the commendable benefits of onion as a universal hair care long ago. The nourishing elements of red onion oil multitask on the scalp and hair strands to deliver natural results. 

Read More

[luveline]

as a kid i was so scared of my parents splitting up, what if roan learns someone in her class’ parents are divorcing and it sends her spiralling thinking she’d never see reader again?

thank you jade 💛

thank you for requesting lovely ♡ eddie and roan (almost) stepmom!reader, 2k

"Yeah, I got the expensive kind," you're saying, phone sandwiched between your ear and your shoulder, a knife held loosely in your hand. "I don't wanna make it wrong." 

Roan can vaguely hear the rumble of her Uncle's voice on the other side giving reassurances. 

You scrape the blade of the knife against the cutting board. "I know. I know, Wayne, I swear, just… I hardly ever make him dinner and this is our last anniversary before we get married, and– I know. Sorry, that's– I know, you don't mind, it's just–" 

Roan attaches herself to your hip like an octopus, looking up at you as you look down. You smile at her, putting your knife flat to stroke her hair. 

"She's right here," you say, "she's helping me… okay. Thanks, Wayne, you're the best. See you tomorrow. Alright, I will. Bye." 

You put your hand behind Roan's shoulder and walk her with you to the phone. As soon as you've hung it back on the hook, you scoop her up to hold against your chest, even if she's getting longer and longer every day. "Hey, babe. Uncle Wayne says he loves you and he missed you today. He wants to make you dinner tomorrow, so we'll find your nice blue dress tonight and put it in the wash." 

Roan flops her face against your neck. "I love him too." 

"He knows." You press your cheek to hers briefly. "Okay, you wanna sit on the top with me and I'll finish making today's dinner?" 

Roan's happy to sit on the counter and swing her legs as you finish making the pot pie. It's one of Eddie's favourites because his mom used to make it a couple of times a month, and so it's one of Roan's favourites, her lips quirked with excitement as you chop onions, carrots and celery into small pieces for the frying pan. 

"I love the carrots," she says. 

"Yeah?" You uncap the cooking oil to pour a generous splash into the pan. "Want me to put extra in? I don't mind." 

Roan nods enthusiastically. "Yes!" 

She's happy watching you cook at first, but she gets quieter as you finish up. By the time the pie is in the oven she's picking at her little nails, shards of polish in her lap like powdered sugar. 

"You okay?" you ask, wiping your hands clean. She shrugs. You shrug back. "What's that mean?" 

"I'm thinking." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." Roan pokes her toes into your thigh. 

"Well, daddy's home soon, but you know you can tell me." 

"Mm," she hums, holding out her hand. You don't take it, folding her into your arms for a hug instead. 

It would usually make her feel better, but Roan feels ten times worse as you soften your tone to a less cheerful murmur, "Got another tummy ache?" 

"Not that." 

"What is it?" you ask. 

She hides her face in your shoulder, pert nose to your soft shirt. 

"You don't have to tell me," you whisper. "Sorry. I'm not trying to pressure you, I promise, I just love you." You turn saccharine again, patting her back as you dote excitedly into the top of her head. "Love you love you love you!" You punctuate with a kiss, and Roan starts crying. 

—

Eddie's startled but not too worried to get home to the sound of Roan crying. She certainly cries less and less now that she's getting older, but children cry so often that he doesn't think it's worth panicking over. 

He can hear you already on the case as he peels out of his sweaty coat and boots. "That's not going to happen," you comfort, voice bouncing off of kitchen tile, the hum of the oven like a baseboard. "It's hard to believe me, but it won't. Me and daddy are super happy." 

His eyebrows rise of their own accord. "Hello?" he asks, moving down the hallway and into your bright kitchen. 

Roan sits in the shadow of a corner cabinet, hunched over her knees with her face held up by defeated hands, tears wetting her rosy cheeks. You stand in front of her with your hand on shoulder, bent to her eye-level, glancing sideways at him momentarily before you say, "Look, dad's home. He's gonna say the exact same thing as me, I swear. Should we ask him?" 

Eddie takes the mantle by your side, quick to rub the tears from Roan's cheek with his pinky. His hands aren't clean enough for anything more. "What's wrong?" he asks. 

"Nothing," Roan says, her voice strangled by a big sob. 

"Babe!" Eddie laughs, half-hearted. "I can see something's super wrong. I might be a dumb boy, but I know when my girl's upset, don't I?" 

"You're not a dumb boy," Roan says. 

"Oh. Thank you, Ro." 

"You're a dumb man." 

"Very funny." He combs unruly coils of dark hair behind her ear, finger following down the curve to her shoulder. "Quick, tell me what's wrong. Just tell me. Rip it off like a bandaid." 

"It's silly," Roan murmurs. 

"Says who?" 

"Says me." 

"Oh," Eddie says, giving you a look to make sure it's alright before he monopolises her attention. You raise your hands with a small smile, as if to say, Please. "Come here, me. I'm gonna have to squeeze this out of you, huh?"

He leans back, shifting her weight against his hip, arm stretched over the breadth of her back. He's not smug, but it does bring a satisfaction to see how swiftly she calms down once he's holding her. It's a familiar picture, Eddie with his lips to her forehead, a crease between his brow just like Uncle Wayne's as he rubs her back, and Roan, a mirror image of her father, palpable relief in her hands as they tangle in his hair. Less familiar but getting there is you at their side, your cheek on Eddie's shoulder and your hand on his elbow.

"What's it gonna take to let me in on the secret?" he asks. He's making a spoiled child accidentally, always bribing and bartering for good behaviour. 

"Nothing…" Her mumbling tickles his cheek as she shifts around. "I'm worry‐ing," —her voice skips over the word, like a hiccup— "about something because of Stacy." 

"Oh yeah? What did Stacy do?" 

"She said her mom, um, her mom said she's getting a divorce. That Stacy won't see her dad again, and it'll just be her and her mom." 

Eddie doesn't judge people much. He can't imagine caring about other people's divorces when Roan was born from a fling and pretty much left on his doorstep —circumstances don't determine your kid's happiness alone. He does worry for Stacy, and his poor empathetic little girl. 

"That's terrible, bubby," Eddie placates, patting her back. 

"It's– well, it's– I'm…" Roan huffs. 

"Whatever you tell me is fine, promise. No grounding, no telling off."

"I know, daddy, it's just hard to say." 

Eddie feels himself physically melt. 

He leans back against the kitchen counter and shifts her against his stomach. His arms burn with the effort of keeping her secured to him, and he's not loving her sad tone —the quicker he finds out what's wrong, the better. He peeks over her head at you for hints. 

You're uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other like your feet hurt. 

"What?" he asks you. 

You clear your throat. "I think she's worried about me. If something happened between us, she's worried she won't see me again." 

Eddie would like to think after two years of loving his daughter, watching her grow, and all together being a cherished and irreplaceable part of her life and her support system, that you'd find it impossible to leave her. Even if you left Eddie, you wouldn't leave Ro. He knows that. But only two years… he knows you'd love Roan even if he screws things up, but he can't promise her that things would be the same, because they wouldn't be. 

That's not what she's asking, though.

"What, you think you won't see Y/N anymore?' Eddie murmurs, rubbing her back. 

"She's not my full mom," Roan whispers. 

Eddie reaches past Roan to squeeze your elbow. "You know, that doesn't matter, honey. And after the wedding–" 

"You call me mom for a reason, right?" you cut him off. 

Roan lifts her head from Eddie's. "Yeah." 

"Okay, so, say me and dad get married, and then by some impossibility we realise we can't stay married, will you love me less?" 

"No," Roan says with a pout. 

"I wouldn't love you any less, either. I didn't know I could love someone this much 'til I met you," you say, voice scratchy like you're talking past gravel. "So things would change, but not how much I love you. I'd still see you." 

You sound tentative. Eddie's way less hesitant. "Of course you'd still see each other. Babe, if me and mom break up it'll be because I did something stupid, so you'd see her every time I tried to apologise." He grins at you. "How long do you think it would take you to forgive me?" 

"Depends on what you did." You smile fondly. "Probably not long, Munson." 

"I have a weird feeling we're gonna last." 

Roan sniffles. "I just don't want mom to move away," she says. 

You and Eddie have already spoken about this. Serious but not sombre, on your backs in bed. You're not just marrying me, Eddie'd said, terrified of how much he wanted you to say certain things, and how you might not say them at all. This isn't just a promise to me. I know how much I'm asking from you, it's not a small thing. I won't blame you if you can't say yes, but this is… she's my world. 

I already said yes. And I knew what I was saying yes to, you'd replied, holding your hand up above you, the two of you staring in wonder at the ring on your marriage finger. I promise, Eds. I won't let either of you down. 

"Where do you think I'm going, princess? Me and dad are so happy. I'm staying right here stuck to his hip for the rest of time, but only if you're gonna stick to mine." You duck your head to touch your noses together briefly. "I'm not going anywhere." 

"Promise?" 

"Promise you." He swears you're twisting your engagement ring, but he can't quite see. "Can I have her?" you ask. 

"Sure. My noodle arms are about to snap anyway." 

"Noodle arms," you repeat, stealing Ro from him smoothly. "Yeah, right." 

He flexes appreciatively at your comment. 

Roan snuggles up to your neck, little face in the curve of it, her arms curling around you. You hold her tight and bend back under her weight, an arm against her thighs and another behind the small of her back, hand twisted up to brush her curls. 

"Love you," you say softly. You're smiling like you've got everything you ever wanted. "Maybe if me and daddy break up I can just take you with me." 

"Yeah!" Roan says with a gasp. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Whatever, girls. Neither of you can cook, you know that? Maybe tonight you guys can practise your new life together by not eating the dinner I'm gonna cook." Time to lighten the mood, lest Roan spend a special night lethargic. 

You beam at him. "I already made dinner. Happy anniversary, handsome." 

You exchanged gifts and kisses already that morning before work, but Eddie's happy to accept another quick kiss over Ro's shoulder. He dots one on his daughter's cheek to keep things fair. 

"Lucky us, huh?" he says to Ro. 

He's not strictly talking about dinner, and it's cheesy, but you light up like a Christmas tree. "Lucky me." 

[bitchylandtyphoon]

Important to me

Sam Winchester x Reader

(Y/N): your name

(E/C): eye colour

(C/C): celeb crush

Sam and Dean slowly descended the rusty black stairs, trying not to trip from exhaustion. Every nerve ending in their body was hypersensitive; their fingers and toes were cold; their eyes and heads pounded from lack of sleep; and a rotting stench was secreting from their overworn clothing. “Hey guys, how was the hunt?" you asked in a gentle voice to avoid elevating their migraine pain. Dean mumbled under his breath as he walked to his room; even Sam could only give a small smile and “tiring” as a response.

You’ve noticed how the boys have become more tired after their hunts. Maybe it was because you did all the research while they did all the dirty work, or simply because they were getting older. Either way, it’s been taking a toll on their health, and you know it wouldn’t be good in the long run.

Judging from their clothes, you assumed they’d be taking a shower before getting some shut-eye, but you didn’t want them to go to bed hungry.

Walking to the kitchen, you opened the white door of the fridge, which consisted of a few eggs, lettuce, and beer. Wow, no wonder these guys only eat out. Groaning, you grabbed your keys and coat, texting Sam and Dean that you'd be heading out, knowing disturbing them wouldn’t be the best idea.

——————————————————————— Sam walked out of the steaming shower, wrapping his lower body in a towel. Taking another to dry off his hair. He ran his long fingers through his hair, noticing it had become very coarse over the past few months. Sam thought back to a hunt when shards of a monster's guts managed to get stuck in his hair. He felt like it was a personal attack; a shower didn’t help as much as he wanted to either. He spent hours trying to get the red and black hard goo out, even asking Dean. Unfortunately, Dean was not very gentle and made Sam partially ball. He remembers how you saved the day with coconut oil and a small brush. You had to sit on a chair while Sam sat crisscrossed in between your legs. You guys were still getting to know each other, so it was an awkward moment, but after Sam felt your gentle nails and euphoric massage, he melted. His head rested on your bare, soft thigh as you worked on the sides of his head. He felt so much at peace that he could’ve slept right then and there. He chuckled as he ran his hand through his hair, wishing he could have some of that magic right now. He wanted the comfort you gave him.

Putting on his comfier clothes, he slid into his bed, falling soundly asleep with a fond yet tired memory passing through his head once more.

——————————————————————— You slide open the door, balancing heavy bags of groceries, a special box containing a slice of heaven for Dean, and the boys’ favourite drinks. You dropped the bags in the kitchen, unpacking them away into the cupboards and fridge. Knowing it would be a long night, you pulled out your phone and put some music on low. You then turned on the gas stove, grabbing the lighter out of the drawer to start the fire. Begin by taking out mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, and other foods, washing them before finely chopping them, and cooking them on low heat. You added seasoning and eventually smelled the delicious aroma emanating from the dish. Now you need to cook the meat.

————————————————— Each boiling drop from the shower head felt relaxing and painful as it fell onto Dean's hunched back. The heat soothed his ache, yet, the new bruises were sending another sensation of pain throughout his back. He groaned as he faced the shower head and allowed the pellets to hit his face, giving all his might to scrub away the dried-up blood and sweat embedded in his freckled skin. All he could think about was sleep, hoping to sleep as much as he could yet, knowing another case would cut his rest short. He took the white soap bar and breathed in the rose aroma it released, it reminded him of you. Dean was glad he had a girl like you in his life, no matter what was bothering his thoughts or physically torturing him, he knew he’d have you to patch him up. You were always there for Sam and him. Every time you carefully did his stitches, gave him a needed hug, fixed his tie or walked into your room, the smell would give him a sense of comfort. It reminded him of his younger days spent with his mom. It reminded him of home.

——————————————————————— You put on the blue oven kits cautiously taking out the crispy chicken from the oven. The meal was finished and so were the other dishes you made. You even had time to prepare healthy snacks and some of Sam’s favourite protein drinks. From a young age, you hated the thought of being a housewife and having to complete all the duties at home, but you knew it was the least you could do to cheer them up, adding much-needed order to their already chaotic lives. Plus, it was nothing compared to all they did for you after they took you in. You smiled as you admired the dinner table, for once looking like a normal family’s dinner table and not used as a summoning ground.

You knocked on Sam’s door to get no response, knowing the younger Winchester might’ve fallen asleep you went to go check on the other one. Knocking once again to hear a low “yeah…”. Pushing the door you see a half awake, now clean Dean, lying against the headboard watching TV.

“Hey,” you gently said. “How are you feeling?”. His eyes were still heavy with sleep but pupils dilated from insomnia. You could tell he tried sleeping but to no avail. “Listen,” you sit on the bed and see him smile a bit. “I know you’re tired but I made some food for you and Sam and you should eat. You’d sleep better with a full stomach. And I might have some pieee”. With that Dean jumped into his bunny slippers and strutted towards the kitchen in his pink nightgown. Chuckling at Dean's cuteness, stopping before leaving the room as you saw the big pile of bloodied clothes on the floor.

———————————————————————

“Hey Sam, I’m coming in.” You announced, entering the neat room, smelling a mix of pine trees and cheap cologne. You saw Sam’s large body lying on his stomach, a soft snore coming from his peaceful slumber. Quietly entering the room, you searched for his hamper, unlike the other one, Sam kept his dirty clothes in one, making it easier for you to take the clothes out of his room.

As you passed by Sam, you stood there watching him, taking advantage of the sliver of peace he was given. You put the hamper down slowly to not wake up Sam, getting on your knees, face level with Sam’s. You watched as his lips laid in a pouted style, opening once in a while to exhale, you took notes of the small moles, birthmarks and faint freckles scattered over his face like stars, noticing how perfect his nose was; never have you ever seen a perfect natural triangle. His thick dark brown eyebrows arched over his forehead symmetrically and his lashes fluttered gracefully as butterflies. His hair was your favourite part, ever since you helped take the guts out of his hair you missed the proximity and softness. His soft hair tickled the inside of your thighs and reminded you of a dog’s overgrown mane. It was beautiful to touch.

You then noticed the crevices appearing in his forehead and eye sockets. He starts to stir in his sheets, the peaceful expressions disappearing, turning into a pained one. He began making uncomfortable noises. He was going into a nightmare.

“Sam, hey wake up! Sam come on, wake up. It’s just a dream!” Sam’s head started moving side to side, the veins in his temple and neck protruding. His eyes were tightly shut and beads of sweat formed across his forehead. His hand gripped firmly onto the arm shaking his shoulder, the other gripping the the brown sheets. “SAM WAKE UP!” Shouting wouldn’t help anymore, looking around you see a cup of water on the nightstand.

——————————————————————— Sam jolted up with a gasp, cold water on his face which soaked most of his hair and nightshirt. He grasped onto as much air as possible, eyes wide trying to familiarize his surroundings. A sense of relief overcame him when he saw your concerned (e/c) eyes.

He saw how your eyes travelled over his face searching for an answer, too shocked or scared to say anything. He sighed, “Don’t tell Dean, please.”

“Ok, I won’t.” What was that, you thought to yourself, you’ve never seen this type of behaviour from him. “At least talk to me about it. You’ve been more tired than usual and it’s worrying. If you’re not gonna tell Dean, tell me.”

Sam smiled, his heart swell when he heard your confession. For once someone was listening to his struggles without ratting out to Dean.

“Um Sam…” Sam shares a confused look until you look down at your now red and numb arm. “Sorry!” Sam immediately retracts his arm away, allowing the blood to rush back to the area.

“It’s like you’ve never touched a girl before or something” you joke trying to lighten up the mood. He laughs under his breath. “Come downstairs and eat something.” You demanded as you rubbed your sore arm.

“It’s okay-“

“Sam.”

He grins his teeth as he sees your serious face. Cute, he thought.

You grab onto his large calloused hands and attempt to pull the giant out of bed, barely budging. “Oh my god, you are so friggin heavy. How are you built like a god with all that junk food?”

He jumps to his feet almost falling on top of you, your nose meeting his chest as the scent of fresh soap fills your nose. A blush rises to your skin at the proximity, looking up you see his brown eyes already staring down at you. You felt his thumb glazed over your smaller hands, which you both held onto each other. “So you think I’m built like a god huh?” Sam suggestively asks with a raised eyebrow.

Taking a quick step back, you playfully shove him away. “Haha very funny Indeed Winchester, get your ass downstairs.” Crossing your arms you wait till he exits his room, him and his footsteps disappearing into the hallway.

“(Y/n) THINKS I HAVE A HOT BODY” Sam shouts from the hallway; your eyes widen as instant embarrassment runs through your body. You hoped to god Dean didn’t hear or you’d never see the end of the teasing.

———————————————————————

You return to the kitchen to see two big babies chowing down on the meal you made, acting as if they hadn’t eaten in ages.

“(Y/n), THISH FWOOD ISH AMASHING” You barely make out the words as Dean continues to stuff his mouth with food. “What he said,” Sam says as he adds more food to his plate. You giggle as you sit next to Sam, glad to see them eating a proper meal. “Where did you even learn how to cook like this?” Dean asks. “My mom used to teach me the basics but then I picked it up more when I moved out. Haven’t cooked like this since University actually,” you answer. “So you’re gonna tell me we could’ve been eating like kings but you decided to torture us with takeout.” Dean jokes while dropping his fork on his plate. “I never hated you more.”

You burst out into laughter throwing your head back, “Please, you love me.” You say rolling your eyes. You noticed how Sam became quiet, twirling his food around a fork.

“Not as much as Sammy does,” Dean says with a devious smirk. Sam chokes on his food as you roll your eyes. “Very funny Dean” Sam glares at Dean.

“Sorry Sam but I’m off limits, too committed to (c/c).” You giggle as you jokingly twirl your hair. “He’s such a daring man dramatic sigh”.

“I’m gonna puke my food up if you keep acting like that,” Dean says with a disgusted face while trying to put even more food in his mouth.

You cheekily smile and see as Sam scoffs, taking note of the weird action. Dean gets up to put his plate away, you take this as a cue to start cleaning up the kitchen.

“Goodnight” Dean yells as he walks out the door. You and Sam both say goodnight. Then it hits you, that rascal. He left you and Sam in the kitchen alone. You can already feel the blood rushing to your ears, instead, you try to distract yourself by doing the dishes.

“Do you need help with anything?” His eyebrows knit together as he asks “Let me help clean at least.”

As much as you wanted him to rest, you couldn’t say no to him and his persuasion. Or maybe he had you wrapped around his finger. “Uh yeah, I’ll wash and you dry?” You offer pointing to the load of dishes. “Yeah, that’s great”. You grab the yellow sponge and begin scrubbing the sauces off the pots, leaving Sam to get the towel. Unmindful of you, you forget where the towels are, right in the cabinet in front of you, the towels stacked on the higher shelf. As you were about to move you felt Sam’s figure hover over your smaller frame. You freeze as you feel his body’s heat mingle with your cold body. His large hand rests on your lower back.

To another person, it could be a simple gesture, but to you, deep down you were screaming from the closeness of it all. Somehow Sam had always made you shy in his presence, you didn’t know if it was because of how smart and skilled he was that made you feel inadequate to him or how he made you weak in the knees with his beautiful…well everything. You’ve been close with other men like Dean, yet Sam’s touches and glances manage to get your cheeks red and heart pumping.

You mindlessly scrub a knife, hoping to finish the chore as soon as possible. “Ow ow ow…” you grimace in pain as the knife slices the side of your finger. You see Sam reacts quickly. Grabbing your hand and putting it under the faucet, turning on the cold water. “This looks pretty bad,” he says as he takes your hands in his. One hand holds on to your wrist while the other gently presses the cut, attempting to get as much blood out.

You could not imagine a more embarrassing moment, the one time you’re alone with Sam you embarrass yourself like a child. Yet you couldn’t ignore how Sam’s body was pressed against yours, you could feel the rough outlines in his body. The front of his leg pressed up against your butt.

“Does it hurt?” Sam asks, not looking away from the cut.

“It just stings but not too much” you reply, noticing the decreased blood spillage.

He takes your other hand and guides your fingers into mirroring his previous actions. “Don’t move I’ll be back”. His warmth fades and you stand still, waiting as the cold water cleans up your cut.

You throw your head back, groaning at your clumsiness.

——————————————————————- Hissing in pain, Sam dabs rubbing alcohol into your new cut. You’re now sitting in his room as it was the closest place with a first aid kit.

“There, all done. How does it feel?” Sam finishes wrapping a large bandaid around the wound.

“I am so much better now. Thank you, Sam.”

Sam gives you a soft smile and he cleans the area up, you watch as he picks up the remote and turns on the TV.

“I thought you were tired”

“Come on, it’s only like 10 pm. We’ll be fine.” Sam defends himself as he sits on the other side of the bed. “Come closer.” He pats the empty spot beside him.

You look stunned at what the Winchester is implying until you realize he means to lay against the headboard. You slowly get up, sitting beside Sam but leaving a good space between both your bodies.

“So what do you want to watch?” Sam asks as he starts surfing through movies on his TV.

“I’m okay with whatever.” ——————————————————————— You turn to Sam to talk to him about the climax when you realize he has dosed off. His head leaning back on the headboard, from the side it looked uncomfortable. Not knowing what to do, you decided to wait until the movie finished. ——————————————————————— You yawned as the movie neared its end, all the characters looking over the bleeding horizon as the camera zooms out. From the lack of movement, you assume Sam is still asleep. You take his phone off the nightstand and turn the do not disturb mode on, if other hunters need you, you’ll handle the case for them. He deserves some rest.

You pull out your phone to scroll through your private socials. Seeing a few edits of your (c/c) and quietly giggling to yourself. You take a glance at Sam, still dosed off. He looks better now. Wait, you look between your (c/c) and Sam. Omg, how did you not see it before? You groan internally as you stare at your phone; the long-haired, smart, well-mannered, and tall golden retriever guy. They were honestly so alike. You hoped the boys wouldn’t be able to see the resemblance.

You thought back to the moment at the table when you were gushing over (c/c) and Sam scoffed. Do you think he was jealous? No, no way. You calm yourself down before the redness reaches your face.

You felt a heavy weight shift onto your shoulder, his hair tickling the crevice of your neck. You didn’t want to wake him up by checking but it was very evident that Sam had fallen asleep on your shoulder. You could smell the sandalwood scent coming from his hair, wishing you could get more of the comforting smell.

Sam was tired and you knew it would be a big fuss if you woke him up. So, you stayed there, looking at the TV screen, trying to hold in any excitement or scream within you. The butterflies are swarming their way around your stomach. That is until you felt Sam’s arm wrap around your torso.

You stay still, unlike your body temperature which skyrockets at the sudden touch. You feel yourself being pulled towards him even more, his head snuggling dangerously close to your neck, his lips close to your skin. Sam’s hot breath created a burning sensation, your heat causing them to burn tenfold.

You weren’t gonna move, you couldn’t leave, you were stuck beside Sam for the rest of the night. You exhale trying to calm yourself; he’ll forget all about this tomorrow. This is totally what friends do. You cuddle and panic internally with Dean all the time. You couldn’t be lying more at this point. You shut your eyes, you carefully reach over to turn the nightlight off.

click

The only light was emitting from the faint blue light on the TV. Its light began to shut off as the room welcomed pure darkness.

So you lay there in the dark as you feel Sam’s body snuggled right up to yours, his arms holding you captive as his fingers twitch and graze you ever so often. This would be a dream if you guys were together. You’ve liked Sam ever since you knew him, and you love both him and Dean very much. Doing everything in your power to show how much you care for them. You just wanted Sam to love you and adore you the way you did.

You felt a wave of exhaustion hit you, and your own eyes became heavy with fatigue. Blinking slowly, you succumb to Sam’s comfort and allow your heavy head to lay on his.

[albatris]

Snippet Sunday!

this week we'll have some Quinn attempting to be sweet and nice

God, what to make? They weren’t a cook. They especially weren’t a cook next to someone like Nat. Why had they offered? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Quinn dug around in their fridge, hoping it would be the thought that counted. Maybe a stir-fry…?

They threw some fake chicken into a wok, alongside some carrots, onion and broccoli, and turned the heat to high. High meant it would cook faster, right? They didn’t want to keep him waiting too long.

They dug around in their pantry for some spices. What went in a stir-fry? Ginger, cumin… cinnamon? No garlic. Chili. Paprika? Quinn didn’t know what any of these were used for. And none of that would make a sauce. What went into a stir-fry that made it a sauce?

Oh, hell, the vegetables were burning. Quinn flitted back over to the wok and turned down the heat. Should they have put some oil in? They splashed in some avocado oil, and then a bit more. Maybe the oil and spices made the sauce? They chucked the spices in and mixed them around. Quinn tasted. Nope, not right.

In a sudden stroke of genius, Quinn typed ‘easy stir-fry recipe’ into their internet search bar with their free hand. Soy sauce. They needed soy sauce. Quinn poured in a generous dash, swirled it about. If that didn’t fix things, nothing would. They were too nervous to taste test it a second time.

He’d like it. He’d like it, wouldn’t he? At the very least, he’d be polite enough to pretend he liked it.

They let the stir-fry simmer for a few minutes, then dished some up into a bowl. To their dismay, their pulse was racing and they felt a little woozy. They slapped themself in the cheeks a few times, cursing themself for being so anxious. What the hell did they have to be anxious about?

They ventured down the hall to Nat’s room, only to find that he was passed out asleep already. Their bubbling nerves immediately turned to irritation, and Quinn quashed the feeling. This was probably for the best, and they were more than a little relieved, too. Their stir-fry most definitely sucked.

Quinn bumped into Alex back out in the living room, freshly clean and free of gore. It had taken its braids out and thoroughly washed its hair.

“Here,” Quinn said, holding out the bowl. “You can have this.” In its current condition, Alex probably wouldn’t be able to taste the difference between stir-fry and dirt anyway. At least it wouldn’t go to waste.

“Thank you?” Alex said, a question. “Did you cook this for Nat?”

“No,” Quinn said, their lip curled. “I just felt like cooking.”

“Sure.”

“I’m heading out,” Quinn said. “I’m going to Nat’s stupid apartment to feed his stupid cat.”

Alex took a bite of stir-fry. “Don’t do anything reckless,” it said around its mouthful. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“No relaxing, got it.”

Alex rolled its eyes at them.

“Try and rest,” Quinn said. “I'll help you with your hair later on tonight.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I don’t need help with it.”

“Would you like help with it? And doesn’t a scalp massage sound nice?”

Alex considered this. “Hm. Maybe.”

“The word you’re looking for is yes,” Quinn said. “Just let me look after you a bit, alright?”

“Alright,” Alex said. “This stir fry is awful, by the way. Even to my uncooperative tastebuds.”

“I didn't hear that.” Quinn hopped over to give Alex a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon!”

[reality-detective]

🤔Why Going Without Shampoo and Conditioner Can Give You Thicker, Stronger Hair?

🙅‍♀️Shampoo and conditioner can strip your hair and scalp of natural oils, which can lead to dryness, breakage, and other hair problems.

🌱Natural methods can also clean and nourish hair without striping natural oil nor exposing you to harsh chemicals.

Here are 2 best natural methods to wash your hair, without striping natural oils :

1️⃣Apple cider vinegar rinse :

– Mix 1-2 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar in a cup of water and pour over your hair, massaging your scalp. Rinse with water after a few minutes.

ACV balances pH, removes buildup, and stimulates hair growth.

2️⃣Baking soda wash :

– Make a paste with 1-2 tablespoons of baking soda and water, then massage it into your hair and scalp. After rinsing, use vinegar.

Baking soda promotes hair growth, removes oil, and adds volume.

🤷‍♀️What are the natural remedies for better hair growth?

- Onion juice

- Egg mask

- Rosemary oil

I have been using cold pressed hexane free castor oil with Rosemary oil to rub into my scalp and sleeping with it like that at night. I am seeing a difference.

The I'm using 👇

½ cup castor oil

6-7 drops of rosemary oil

Massage into the scalp about 2 hours before bed, cover the pillow with a towel and after 2 months I'm seeing positive results.

I do this every other day and I don't use shampoo or conditioner, I use Amish soap with all natural ingredients. 🤔