#christopher x reader

[chrisslut-04]

literal poetry.

HIS ANGEL

lustboy!chris x sweetheart reader fanfic

in which: chris confesses to reader that he cheated on his current situationship “unknowingly” while reader is keeping a secret that she likes chris.

contains: emotional intimacy, pet names (only angel), friends to lovers dynamic, long term pining, unprotected sex (consensual, emotionally charged), oral sex (f receiving), slow deliberate first time, mutual vulnerability.

Chris always told you everything.

Who he kissed. Who he touched. Where his mouth had been and why he didn’t text her back after. The messes he made and the lies he told. You never encouraged him, never congratulated him like his boys sometimes did, but you never judged him either. You just listened. Called him out when he needed it. Stared at him like he was both ridiculous and heartbreaking, like you could see something beneath all that cocky, unbothered swagger.

You never thought he’d break your heart without even touching it.

But here you were, sitting on his lap, straddling him on his bed, bare legs folded over his black sweats, because he let you do his skincare. Because Chris Sturniolo, fuckboy of all fuckboys, let you gently rub moisturizer into his cheekbones with the pads of your fingers while he blinked up at you with half-lidded eyes, arms limp at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“You okay?” you asked softly, tilting his chin.

He blinked a few times. “I feel kinda out of it.”

You laughed. “Tired from all that pussy-slaying?” you teased.

He snorted. Then fell quiet. Looked at you differently. A little too long.

“Promise you won’t judge me?”

Your hands paused on his jaw. “Uh oh,” you murmured with a little grin. “What did you do to Cierra?”

Chris didn’t laugh.

He didn’t flinch either.

He just said it like it was nothing. Like it was truth.

“Cheated on her.”

The silence was loud. Deafening.

You blinked. Slowly pulled your hands from his face, your thighs tensing over his lap. Your body shifted like your stomach had flipped. You weren’t even with him—never had been—but you liked him. Of course you did. You liked the version of Chris only you seemed to see.

You climbed off him.

He stood up immediately, like the space between you was made of fire.

“Wait, wait—fuck—I didn’t mean—It wasn’t like that, I swear,” he rushed out. “It wasn’t even—we weren’t even—Cierra and I—we weren’t serious.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t care,” you snapped.

He shut up.

His hands fisted at his sides. He couldn’t meet your eyes.

You didn’t even know where the slap came from—maybe frustration, maybe heartbreak, maybe because he looked too pretty and too sorry and it made you angry how badly you wanted to kiss him. You didn’t think. You just slapped him. The sound cracked the air like a whip.

His cheek turned. His head stayed low. But he didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

He blinked, jaw clenched. Then looked at you like you’d just given him something he needed. Like punishment made sense.

“I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” you choked out. “You fucking do.”

And then you bolted. Your eyes burned. You couldn’t cry in his room. Not there. Not when he was still looking at you like you were some fragile halo hovering in front of him. He always called you angel. And it always messed you up inside.

You hit the stairs, heart pounding, but his voice followed:

“Look at me.”

You paused.

Something in you cracked when you turned. His face wasn’t smug. Or ashamed. It was scared. Like he knew.

And fuck, he did. He knew from the second your bottom lip trembled and your eyes dropped to the floor.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I fucking knew it.”

You were shaking.

He stepped down slowly, one foot after the other like he was afraid you’d run.

“I always thought—maybe I was wrong—but I knew something was there. You always looked at me like you knew how fucked up I was but didn’t care.”

“I do care,” you whispered. “That’s why I’m mad.”

His mouth parted.

“I’m mad because you keep giving pieces of yourself away to girls who don’t even see you, and I’m just—sitting here. Watching you waste yourself.”

Chris closed the gap between you in two steps and pulled you into his chest like it was instinct. His arms wrapped around your body tight, like he wasn’t afraid of squeezing too hard. Like he needed to.

You buried your face in his hoodie and let the tears fall. You didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. But everything broke loose.

“You’re so stupid,” you cried. “So fucking dumb.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath into your hair. “I know.”

His forehead pressed to yours. Eyes closed. Noses brushing.

His hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs wiping tears, holding you like you were glass and everything he wanted to hold onto.

And then, slowly, he tilted his head. Just a bit.

You felt the change. The shift.

Your breath caught. Your fingers curled into his hoodie.

“Chris…” you whispered.

He stopped.

Your eyes opened, blinking into his, and your voice cracked when you said, “I can’t.”

You stepped away. Just a few inches. But it felt like a canyon.

And you turned.

And left.

Day 1 after you walked out:

Chris didn’t panic. Not yet. He figured you’d cool off. That you’d be mad for a bit, but eventually text back with a sarcastic, “Hope you apologized to Cierra too, dumbass.”

But you didn’t.

You didn’t text anything.

And the silence? It sat in his chest like a brick. He kept checking your profile picture on Instagram like it would change something. He sent you a DM you didn’t open. He watched your story like it was a lifeline and rewatched it four times even though it was just a photo of your coffee and a paperback book.

It took three days for him to admit to himself that maybe he’d really fucked it this time.

Day 5:

Chris got high just to sleep. Slept through two calls from his brother and one missed FaceTime from a girl he used to hook up with.

He didn’t call her back. He didn’t want her. Not anymore.

Not when his brain was so full of you.

Not when he’d wake up hearing your voice in his head:

“You give pieces of yourself away to girls who don’t even see you.”

It echoed, loud and cutting. The worst part was that you weren’t wrong. He just never thought it would hurt to hear it from you.

Day 8:

He tried to distract himself. Went out with Nick and Matt. Dressed nice. Laughed at dumb shit. Pretended.

Came home to an empty bed.

The kind of silence that screamed.

Pulled up your contact. Typed something. Deleted it. Typed again.

Paused.

Sent it anyway.

“I know I don’t deserve to miss you. But I do.”

“Come over. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Just sit with me.”

No response.

Not even a dot.

Day 11:

He looked through his messages with other girls. Threads filled with nudes, heart eyes, lazy flirting. It made his skin crawl.

He blocked them all. Every single one.

Except yours.

Because he couldn’t delete you. You were the only thing that didn’t feel fake.

That night, he stared at his ceiling for so long, the shadows moved with the sunrise. He picked up his phone. Opened your thread. Didn’t think. Just needed you.

“Please.”

“Come over.”

“I miss you.”

“I need you to do my skincare again. You always make me look less dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Angel.”

“Please.”

“I hate this.”

“I hate not talking to you.”

“You’re the only person I never want to lie to.”

Still nothing.

He threw his phone across the room. Didn’t even flinch when it hit the wall.

Day 14:

Chris hadn’t shaved in a week. His hoodie smelled like your hair because he hadn’t washed it. He didn’t care. He hadn’t posted anything, hadn’t replied to texts from friends, hadn’t even left the house except once to buy cigarettes—which he didn’t even smoke—just to hold something between his fingers so he wouldn’t text you again.

He sat on his bedroom floor, phone in his hand. Thumb hovering over your name.

He didn’t send anything this time.

He just stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

The silence didn’t feel passive anymore. It felt deliberate.

Like maybe… this was the part where you chose yourself over him.

And that terrified him.

Because he didn’t just miss you.

He wanted you.

And not in the way he’d wanted the others. Not in the quick, easy, low-effort way that came with no risk. He wanted you entirely—in the way that cracked his chest open and made him scared of what was underneath.

The truth was…

He’d been falling for you quietly. For a long time.

He just didn’t think you’d walk away before he said it out loud. You weren’t doing great either without him. You tried to be tough. Act like you don’t care. Like you don’t need him. But you were lying to yourself. You wanted & needed to see him again. So you did.

It was almost 1 a.m. when you stood outside his front door.

Two full weeks of silence.

Two weeks of missed calls, unread messages, sleepless nights, and everything you’d tried to bury rising back up in your chest like it belonged there. Like he belonged there.

The lock clicked under your fingers like muscle memory. Chris always hid the spare key in the mini vase close by the door.

The living room was quiet, dimly lit by the glow of a TV playing something no one was watching. A blanket half on the couch. A hoodie slung over the armrest that you swore was yours.

You moved through the house like a ghost. Like someone who used to belong here but didn’t anymore. Your heart thudded against your ribs, loud enough you almost turned back.

Until you heard it.

The creak of the floorboard at the top of the stairs.

You looked up.

Chris.

Standing at the end of the hall, barefoot, hoodie halfway off one shoulder, sweatpants hanging low, curls flattened on one side like he’d just rolled out of bed. He looked… soft. And tired. And stunned.

Like he wasn’t sure you were real.

His lips parted, but no sound came.

You didn’t say anything either. You just looked at him.

It was the first time in 14 days you’d let your eyes really land on him.

And that’s when it broke.

He walked toward you, slow at first. Then faster. His breath was shaking by the time he hit the stairs, and when he got to the bottom step, he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t grab or hold or pull.

He just stood there.

Eyes wide. Voice cracking.

“I didn’t know what it felt like to miss someone who’s still breathing until you left.”

The sentence hit the space between you like a confession he’d been choking on.

He laughed once, hollow and soft. “You were always right here. I thought you always would be. And then you weren’t. And it felt like everything got… too quiet.”

You felt your throat tighten. “Chris…”

“I deleted everyone,” he whispered. “All of them. Gone. You’re the only name left in my phone.”

Your eyes burned.

He laughed again, like it was pathetic. “That night, when you left… I stood in that hallway for so long. I just stood there. I thought if I stayed still enough, you’d come back. Like maybe you’d feel it. That I needed you to turn around.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he stepped down and reached for your hand. He didn’t even touch it fully—just hovered his fingers near yours, hesitant, reverent.

“You’re the only person who never wanted anything from me. You just… cared. And I didn’t know how to handle that.”

You sniffled and shook your head, voice cracking. “I thought you were gone too.”

“I was never gone,” he said softly. “I was just stupid. Scared. And used to people leaving before I could lose them.”

You stepped forward slowly, until your chest brushed his. Your head tilted up.

Chris’s hand moved to your jaw, cupping it gently like you were still something sacred. Like this time, he knew what it meant to hold you.

“I’m still scared,” he admitted. “But if you walk away again, I don’t think I’ll come back from it.”

You leaned into his palm.

And when he kissed you—it wasn’t wild. Or rushed. Or cinematic.

It was quiet. Slow. Honest.

Years of tension breaking open.

Your hands twisted in his hoodie. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to him like you’d slip away if he didn’t anchor you.

And neither of you let go.

Not for a long time.

Because both of you wanted each other so desperately, it was hard to pull away. You didn’t plan to stay.

You had no bag, no toothbrush, nothing but your keys in your hand and the ache in your chest that started when Chris kissed you and hadn’t let up since.

You ended up on his couch—somehow. Still fully clothed. Your knees brushing. His thumb tracing lazy circles over your hand.

The kiss had broken once you both realized you were breathless. But the gravity between your bodies hadn’t let up.

Not even close.

Chris sat turned toward you, leg folded up under his thigh, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. You hadn’t seen him look this unguarded in years. Maybe ever.

You swallowed thickly. “Why does this feel like more than just a kiss?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His fingers brushed your chin, tilted it up gently. He studied your face like it was familiar and brand new all at once.

“Because it is,” he said quietly.

And then he leaned in again. Slower this time.

The kiss was needier now. Not rushed, but hungry. The kind of hunger that comes from being too full of silence, too full of missing someone.

Your hands curled into his hoodie. His lips parted against yours, tongue tracing slow, teasing strokes that made your breath hitch. His hand cupped the back of your neck like he needed to feel that you were real, right here, not going anywhere.

You shifted closer. His arm wrapped around your waist instinctively, pulling you flush to him on the couch until you were straddling his lap.

When you pulled back slightly, breathless, his eyes were darker now. Glassy.

“Do you… wanna stay the night?” he asked. Voice low. Shaky.

You nodded before he even finished the sentence.

“I want to,” you whispered.

Chris didn’t say anything.

He just exhaled like a weight had left his chest, then lifted you like it was second nature—your legs wrapping around his waist as he stood. Your fingers tangled in his hair. You could feel his heart pounding under your palm.

He carried you up the stairs, slow, steady.

His bedroom was still dim from earlier. He nudged the door open with his foot, kissed your cheek when he set you down on your feet.

“I’m lighting a candle,” he said. “It’s stupid but… I don’t want this to feel like all the other times.”

You blinked, then nodded. Your heart hurt in your ribs in the best way.

He lit it. Vanilla and musk. Soft light flickered in the corner.

Then he walked over to his desk, clicked open a playlist. Cigarettes After Sex started to play.

He turned to you, and his voice was so soft when he asked, “You sure?”

You nodded.

But that wasn’t enough.

“I need to hear it, angel,” he whispered. “Please.”

“I want you,” you said, voice cracked but firm. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Chris stepped toward you slowly, hands finding your waist again. His forehead rested against yours.

“Then let me show you how long I’ve wanted you too.”

He kissed you slow, again. Backed you gently toward the bed. Your knees hit the edge and you sat, legs hanging off. Chris stood between them, looking down at you like you were something precious.

He lifted your shirt inch by inch. You let him.

Your chest rose and fell under his gaze. He ran his hands up your arms first, slow and reverent, then under the hem of your shirt—thumbs brushing your ribs, your sides, until he peeled the fabric off completely and dropped it to the floor.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “You know that?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The look in your eyes said thank you. Said finally.

He leaned down, kissed the dip between your collarbones, then lower, his mouth warm on your skin. Every touch of his lips felt deliberate—like he wasn’t just kissing, he was memorizing.

He pulled off his hoodie next, revealing the ink you’d once traced with careful fingers under the excuse of applying moisturizer.

Now you were touching him with no excuses.

Your palms slid over his chest, and he shivered.

“Lie back,” he murmured, his voice low, coaxing.

You did.

He climbed on top of you, slowly, bracing himself on his forearms. His mouth ghosted over your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. You arched into him without thinking. The heat between your legs started to pulse, throb, and Chris noticed.

His mouth moved to your ear.

“I wanna take my time,” he whispered. “I want you to remember this.”

You whined when he kissed your stomach, when his fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down with patience that made you want to cry.

You were already soaked.

His gaze darkened when he saw.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “For me?”

You nodded.

“Let me taste you. Please”.

You let out a breathy yes before you even thought.

He spread your legs gently, pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs. And when his tongue finally dipped between your folds, slow and deliberate, you gasped.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t pornographic. It was intimate.

His mouth moved like he cared about every twitch, every moan, every little sound you made when his tongue circled your clit just right.

He held your hips down with firm hands.

“Doing so good, angel,” he murmured into your skin. “So fucking sweet.”

You came on his mouth, gasping, thighs trembling around his head. And he held you through it. Didn’t stop until your fingers tugged his curls and begged him up.

He kissed your lips, slow, mouth shiny with you. You tasted yourself and didn’t care.

“Let me make love to you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded.

And this time, he undressed fully. Took his time.

He was hard—thick and aching—but he wasn’t rushing.

He lined himself up and paused.

“You okay?”

“I want you,” you breathed. “Chris… I want all of you.”

He pushed in slowly, eyes locked on yours. You gasped at the stretch, your body shaking, hands gripping his arms, but his voice soothed you the entire way.

“You’re doing perfect.”

“I got you.”

“Breathe, baby. Just like that.”

When he was fully inside, both of you stayed still—just feeling.

And then he moved.

Slow. Deep. Intentional.

Not just fucking. Loving.

His hand cradled your head. His lips found yours again, over and over.

“I never touched anyone like this,” he confessed, voice cracking. “I didn’t know I could feel this much.”

You moaned his name like it was the only word your brain knew.

The way he moved—slow thrusts that hit just right, that made you feel every inch—made you come again, clenched around him, gasping into his mouth.

And when he came, he buried his face in your neck, body shuddering.

He didn’t pull out right away. Just held you. Wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.

And for the first time in years…

He didn’t feel empty afterward.

Just full.

Of you.

A/N: i might have entered my angst smut writing era bc this is all i keep writing currently.

likes and reblogs are always appreciated:)

[hannahsturniolo]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛᴇᴅ

Warning: kissing, dry humping

Summary: you and Matt were having an intense make out session, when you were interrupted.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You and Matt were tangled up together under the covers, his arms wrapped around you tightly watching a movie. Your legs were intertwined, your forehead resting on his chest, you could hear his heart beating fast.

You glanced up at Matt, lifting your head off his chest.

“I love you” you said, eyes full of love.

“I love you too, baby” he gently smiled back.

You leaned up to kiss him, slow and deliberate. Your hands brushing against his jaw to cup the side of his face.

You felt his one hand fall on the small of your back, pulling you in closer. He was kissing you like he had all the time in the world.

What started as soft quickly turned into something deeper, more urgent. Your tongues dancing together. Your bodies already knew what they wanted.

Matt broke the kiss just barely, breathless, his eyes locked on yours as he peeled off his shirt throwing it to the floor.

He then had his lips trailing along your jaw and down to the curve of your neck, kissing you there with a quiet urgency. He loved watching you react to every single touch.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his mouth found that one spot on your neck, the one that always made your breath hitch.

You moved Matt away gently, then climbed up, straddling him, placing your knees on either side of him.

You began to move your hips slowly, the gentle friction sending sparks through your body, as you leaned down capturing his lips in a deep hungry kiss.

His hand grabbed the back of your neck, gripping it firmly, and the other hand clenching your hips to help you grind harder and faster.

“Fuck- Matt” you whined.

A deep husky sound rumbled through his throat against your lips.

*knock knock knock*

You both pulled away from the kiss fast, and you pulled yourself off of him, heart pounding as you heard the urgent sound of knocking at Matt’s bedroom door.

“Yes?” Matt yelled across the room.

Chris’s voice came through, firm and demanding, “open up!”

“Aw fuck, sorry baby” Matt whispered in your ear, letting out a huff as he leaned down and grabbed his shirt off the ground, throwing it over his body.

Matt walked over to the door, and opened it slowly. Chris sticks his phone in Matt’s face.

“Look what Nick just sent me” Chris said laughing, showing Matt a meme.

Matt looked very unimpressed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Taglist❤︎:

@courta13 @riggysworld @heartsonlyforchris @mattssidepiece @matthewsangel @whore4chris @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @sturkneeohloww @leila-marie4 @sturniolo-szn2 @tezzzzzzzz @fictionalboysstuff @sturnixblogger @vall67 @chrissbxby @sturniolobananas1 @sophand4n4 @stvvrn1olo @xxxxxxlovesstuff @mattspillowprincess @moond0llie @emely9274 @briizysturn @sturniolooluvv

[vickytaa]

And this?

"We should hide it better next time."

_______________________________________

"CHRISTOPHER OWEN STURNIOLO WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" Nick screamed while getting upstairs to the living room, where Chris and you were.

Both of you exchanged a confused look. "What is he talking about?" Chris asked. You quickly raised your hands, not knowing what made Nick so angry.

As Nick's figure comes into frame, Chris's and Your's jaw literally drops. Both faces were white.

Nick was holding a piece of paper, nothing special, right?

Wrong.

It was your "Fuck places" list of yours and chris.

"What the fuck is this? Why is kitchen, bedroom, beach and more places with a tick?" He asked. Oh god he didn't notice.

"That's uh... our..." Chris began to explain, but any word came out of his mouth. He lightly hit your arm, trying to get help.

"Places were we've been together!" Came out before even thinking of how stupid that answer was. Nick was getting more confused, not truly believing you.

He started to read again. It was a simple list:

Chris and Y/n :

- Starbucks's Bathroom ✓

- Hot tub ✓

- Lift ✓

- Matt's car ✓

- Library ✓

- Forest ✓

- Church ✓

And that thing was loong, it seemed endless.

"Yeah, right..." Nick said, obviously not believing anything you've said, I mean, who you think was believing that?

"Hey, what's all the fuss about?" Matt said, entering the room. This couldn't get worse. "These two over here have something to explain to us," Nick said, borrowing the paper to Matt.

"No, Nick, why does everyone have to know?" You whined. Matt completely ignored you, grabbed it, and started reading it. His eyes were wide open.

"MY CAR?" He asked. He didn't even have to ask us what the list was about. It was obvious.

Nick and Matt started to explain how gross and disgusting this was, but you and chris weren't listening at all.

"We have to be more careful about it..." You said, a bit embarrassed to be exposed. "Yeah... but well, we said we had to finish it by the end of November..." Chris said, a teasing smirk on his face.

You giggled, and your cheeks were burning.

"Yeah... tomorrow photo booth?"

_______________________________________

a/n: short, but I wanted to post something so yes

Love yall:))

[blakeluvsmatt]

I’ll make you feel good (C.S)

includes: chris x fem reader chris sturniolo x fem reader, bestfriend!chris, softdom!chris, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected p in v.

summary: where bestfriend!chris walks in on reader touching herself and tells her to call him next time.

𐙚⋆.˚

You didn’t hear the door open. You didn’t hear the creak of the floorboards. You didn’t hear him calling your name. You were too far gone, lying on your back, legs tangled in your sheets, fingers pumping in and out of your slick folds as you thew your head back whispering his name like you weren’t supposed to. Like he wasn’t your best friend. Like he wasn’t off limits. “Chris-” you moan softly before your door flings open.

“HELLO- OH”

Your entire body jolted like you’ve just been burned, you yanked your fingers away, quickly throwing your sheets over your lower half.

“That’s my bad- shit- sorry!” Chris yelled, immediately closing your door and stepping out.

“Shit” you whispered, pulling your shorts up and padding over to the door. You followed him out into your kitchen, where he sat on your couch like nothing ever happened. “Chris?” he turned his head to look at you, as casual as ever, like he hadn’t just walked in on you moaning his name with your fingers buried deep inside you. His eyes focused on you, almost as if he knew everything you were trying to hide.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice stupidly calm.

“I’m so sorry I-” you throw your arms up. “I didn’t know you were coming over. I didn’t mean for you to see that” you hide your face in the palms of your hands. He tilted his head.

“I figured” Silence fell, the silence that makes your ears ring and your stomach tighten.

“I’m so so sorry” you press your lips into a thin line, awkwardly standing in front of him.

“You said- no, moaned- my name” he pointed out. Your eyes widened in horror, just as you started to think that your current situation couldn’t get any worse than it already is.

“You heard that..?” His head dropped as he let out a soft laugh before looking up, his brows lifted slightly.

“I mean” he started. He got up off your couch, walking towards you. “If you’re gonna get off to the thought of me, the least you could do is let me help next time. I’ll make you feel good.”

Your eyes scanned his face, looking for any hint of sarcasm, but the worst of it? There wasn’t any. Your mouth fell open. “Chris. Stop. We’re friends.” You attempt to cut him off, to stop whatever was happening in this moment.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed” he murmured. “C’mon, you think I haven’t gotten off to the thought of you?” you froze. “Of course I have” his voice lower than before. “I’ve thought about what you’d sound like moaning my name. What your pussy would feel like around my dick.” His fingers wrapped lightly around your wrist, pulling you back into your room. “Let me make you feel good. I’ll finish what you started” Your breath came out in a soft gasp as he laid you down on your bed. His hand moved down, slow, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, like he already knew how wet you were. His fingers brushed your folds, smirking when his thoughts were proven right. “Still soaked for me huh?” he whispered. “Didn’t even get to finish” He pushed two fingers inside you, softly and slowly curling them, making you cry out softly. “Shh” he cooed. “There we go angel, just like that” He fucked you with slow, deliberate strokes, hitting your g spot every time without a fail. He kept his eyes on yours the entire time. “Look at you… all desperate for your best friend’s fingers” he teased, increasing his pace. “Makes me wonder what else you’re so desperate for.” You moaned, thighs shaking. The familiar feeling in your stomach starting to knot. “You close already?” he teased, rubbing his thumb over your clit in soft circles. “Shit.. you really were thinkin’ ‘bout me”

Your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as you came undone all over his fingers, nails digging into his back under his shirt. Hips stuttering, soft cries falling from your lips. “Fuck Chris” you pant as he helps you ride out your high.

“There we go, thats my good girl” When your breathing slowed, he pressed a kiss to your jaw. “M’not done with you yet, angel” You watched him sit up on his knees, pulling down his joggers along with his boxers. He pumped his hard cock a few times, hissing with every stroke. He pressed the head of his dick up against your entrance. “This okay?”

“I want you” you breathed, pulling him in. “Please”

He slid in, slow, bottoming out. “Fuck angel, you feel so good” he groaned, slowly beginning to thrust in and out, allowing you to adjust to his size. He kissed your neck between each thrust, whispering sweet and filthy things. “Look so pretty like this, takin’ me so fuckin’ well”

“Chris” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders as your mouth fell open, chanting his name like an attempt to summon him. “Tell me how good this feels baby. Tell me i’m making you feel good”

“You are” you breathed. “Fuck- Chris don’t stop, please”

He never did. Not until you were falling apart beneath him. Back arching, legs shaking, moans getting louder and louder, clenching around him. “So close angel, can you wait out for me?” he cooed, lacing his fingers with yours. You nod in response, too fucked out to even reply with words. Chris smirks at your response, thrusting even faster, his groans filled the room as the way you clenched around his dick sent him over the edge. With one final thrust, he spilled inside of you, your climax reaching its peak too, leaving a ring of cum around the bottom of his dick. He pulled out slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he collapsed beside you, innocently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“Not gonna be embarrassed anymore, are we?” he whispered, grinning into your temple. You laughed breathless.

“Maybe a little” Chris kissed your shoulder, arm lazily resting around your waist.

“Next time call me sooner” he mumbled into your neck.

with lube and a throat ache, blake x

🍒❤️💋🍷

i fear this one’s shit sorry guys :,)

[silly1billy]

in honor of summer, can we have a beach day imagine with bang chan while the reader and him are visiting his family in Australia?

~ Coastline ~

I have been waiting for one like this 👅

pairing: Bangchan x f!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 400

warnings: none

chan woke you up by tossing a damp towel onto your legs.

“we’re leaving in ten,” he said, already in swimshorts and eating a banana. “mum made sandwiches.”

the beach was a short drive away—windows down, music low, his younger sister in the backseat arguing about aux. chan just drove with one arm resting on the window, sunglasses on, humming every now and then.

once you got there, it was the usual mess of towels, bags, and someone realizing they forgot the sunscreen. his family staked out a good spot, and within minutes, kids were sprinting straight into the water, yelling like it was the olympics.

you sat on the sand with your feet buried and watched chan get dragged into a beach game with his cousins. he was surprisingly decent, and only tripped once trying to catch a ball—blamed the ground, obviously.

“stop laughing,” he said, walking back toward you with a smirk, hair wet and sticking to his forehead. he dropped down next to you and shook water all over you just to be annoying.

you eventually went into the water, where he tried to teach you how to body surf but mostly just ended up getting dunked by a wave and losing one of his earrings 💔🥀 .

after a few hours, everyone regrouped under the umbrella, eating slightly squished sandwiches and salty chips. chan handed you a cold drink and nudged your knee with his.

“not bad, right?” he asked, staring out at the ocean.

you just nodded, biting into a sandwich that tasted like sunscreen and sand, but in a kinda ok way.

he grinned. “i told you aussie beaches were the best.”

you didn’t argue.

[kamyylovee]

CHRISTOPHER OWEN. the things you do to me 😩😩😩

[sturn777]

readers reaction to rapper!chris new song "now we're strangers" (central cee) about them and their messy break up :(

now we're strangers ,, rapper!chris x reader

you don’t even have to press play. you already know.

but you do anyway.

the beat rolls in smooth, heavy, the kind that creeps under your skin and settles deep in your bones. his voice follows a second later, familiar in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"i can still recite your number off by heart..."

your breath catches.

you hate how true it is.

he could dial your number in his sleep, same way you could recognize his voice in a crowded room, even now. but what does that matter when he never calls anymore?

"you can leave, but we can't erase the memories..."

like hell you can.

they stick, no matter how hard you scrub them away. the late night drives, the stolen kisses between studio sessions, the way his hoodie still sits at the bottom of your closet because you can’t bring yourself to throw it out.

your grip on your phone tightens as the verse continues.

"broke my baby's heart, and now she partyin' and hoein'..."

your eyes narrow. hoe? is that what he thinks?

your lips curl in irritation. typical. he messes up, and suddenly you're the villain for moving on. you knew he’d find a way to spin the story, lace his guilt into a beat and let the world sympathize with him.

but it still doesn’t stop the way your heart clenches when he says,

"say your skin's breakin' out because i cause you stress

then you left, you're lookin' sexier than ever and you're glowin’..."

you swallow hard.

so he noticed.

he always noticed.

but it doesn’t change anything, does it?

your phone buzzes in your lap.

you blink, staring at the screen.

he’s waiting. waiting for you to react, to call, to tell him he’s wrong—or worse, to tell him he’s right.

your fingers hover over the keyboard. type. delete. type again.

what do you even say?

that the song made your chest ache? that hearing his voice still does something to you, even when you wish it wouldn’t? that you still think about him when you're alone at night, even though you’d rather die than admit it?

your hands shake, frustration bubbling up.

he doesn’t deserve a response.

not this time.

he’ll have to sit with this one.

you don’t even check the messages ; just see his name light up your phone, over and over again, until it’s nothing but an annoying reminder that he still gets to you.

that one makes you pause. bet? bet what?

but you don’t have to wonder long.

a sharp knock at your door sends a jolt through your chest.

you already know who it is.

you make him knock again before you finally push yourself off the couch, fingers curling around the doorknob. you take a deep breath, school your face into something indifferent, and pull it open.

there he is.

same chain. same low eyes, scanning your face like he’s tryna figure out just how mad you are. he’s got a bouquet in one hand, white roses, your favorite, like he ain’t just rapped about breaking your heart in front of millions of people.

“hey, baby.” his voice is smooth, almost lazy, but you know him too well. his jaw flexes like he’s holding back something, like he doesn’t really wanna be here, but has to be.

you cross your arms, unimpressed. “what do you want?”

he huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “knew you’d be on some shit.” he pushes the flowers toward you, tilting his head. “take ‘em.”

you hesitate, eyeing him for a second before snatching them from his hand. they smell good. annoyingly good.

“so what? you think you can just pull up with flowers and i’ll forget you dropped a whole song about me?”

he exhales through his nose, shoving his hands in his pockets. “never said that.”

“but you're here.”

he tilts his head, watching you, and you hate how easy it is to fall back into this. the quiet stares, the unspoken shit that lingers between you both.

you shift your weight, glancing down at the flowers. “why’d you really come, chris?”

he steps forward. “wanted to see you.”

your breath catches.

his fingers brush against your arm, slow, deliberate, like he’s testing the waters.

“wanted to see if you was really done with me,” he mutters, voice lower now. “or if you just tryna act like it.”

your throat tightens. “i am.”

his lips twitch. “yeah?”

you don’t say anything. you don’t pull away when he reaches up, thumb brushing against your jaw.

his eyes flick to your lips. “you still mad at me?”

you should be. you were.

but he leans in, and you don’t move.

he smirks, just a little, before pressing his lips to yours.

and just like that, you lose.

──────────────────────────────

© STURN777

[venussturniolo]

introducing…

barista!chris - best paired with reader

• “Doubt” by Twenty One Pilots • leather jackets even in the summer • busted air forces • makes excellent mocha frappuccinos • loves cats • scared of bugs • late night car rides • stays up studying • silver rings and bracelets • wired headphones • sketching • photography •

[mattslutt]

STILL OURS - c.sturniolo

in which: you and chris get into an argument and later have makeup-sex, angsty??

contains: emotional vulnerability, crying, makeup sex.

The echo of the slammed door hadn’t even settled before you burst into quiet tears.

You didn’t even know what the fuck you were crying about anymore. Something dumb. Some offhand comment about the dishes or weekend plans or how he’d said something in that sharp, clipped tone he used when he was already annoyed. It wasn’t even one big thing — just a pile-up of little ones, like stones stacking into a wall until it finally cracked.

Chris had shouted. Really shouted. His voice went hoarse at the end of it — red in the face, jaw clenched, pacing the floor like he didn’t trust himself to stay still. And then he stormed off, slammed the bedroom door so hard the damn house felt like it flinched with you.

You didn’t follow.

You just sat there on the couch, knees up to your chest, hoodie sleeves wet with tears you weren’t proud of. You didn’t want to be the one to fix it. Not this time. Not when it felt like every nerve was already raw and every apology you could possibly give had already been used up in past fights that were too similar to this one.

But silence has a way of stretching too long. Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. Long enough for your anger to start caving in on itself, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind.

And then — the bedroom door creaked open.

You heard his steps before you saw him. Slow, tentative. Not like before. You didn’t look up when he walked into the room. Not even when he stopped in front of you.

When he sat down beside you, you instinctively pulled away.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t argue. Just reached out — slowly — and wrapped his arms around you from behind. His grip wasn’t tight. If you’d told him to let go, he would’ve. But instead, he pressed his forehead against the back of your shoulder, breath shaky against your skin.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

His voice sounded cracked open. No edge. No defense.

You stayed quiet. Not because you didn’t believe him — you did — but because you didn’t have the words yet to respond.

He kissed your shoulder. Not to seduce. Not to soften. Just to say, I’m still here. He stayed like that — forehead pressed to your arm, lips brushing your skin gently, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” he whispered, tears catching in his throat now. “I hate how I yelled. I hate how I made you look at me like you were scared.”

When you finally turned to look at him, his face was blotchy and tired, his jaw still tight like he hadn’t unclenched since the fight. But his eyes… they were glassy. Soft.

He kissed your forehead first — reverent, like a man kissing the edge of something he thought he lost.

Then your cheek.

Then your lips — slow, scared, and silent.

And when you kissed him back, he breathed out like he’d been holding it in for hours. His hands moved to cup your face, thumbs trembling against your skin. He kissed you again — deeper this time, but still careful. Still apologizing with every movement.

He didn’t say anything when he lifted you into his lap. Didn’t have to. The apology was in how he held you. How he tucked your hair behind your ear. How his eyes searched your face like he was trying to memorize it before it vanished.

“Come upstairs with me,” he murmured. “Let me make this right.”

You didn’t answer out loud. Just nodded, barely, and let him take your hand.

Upstairs was quiet. Dim. The kind of heavy stillness that comes after a storm.

Chris didn’t touch you like a man trying to have sex. He touched you like someone trying to make up for every time he’d made you feel small. Like he wasn’t sure if he deserved your body, but he was grateful you gave it anyway.

He undressed you piece by piece, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered — your collarbone, the inside of your wrist, the curve of your waist. His mouth moved like he was saying sorry without the words. His hands were gentle. His breathing shallow. His eyes never left yours.

When he finally pushed inside you, your breath caught.

It was slow. Deep. A kind of closeness that felt like being stitched together again from the inside. You both gasped — not out of pleasure, exactly, but out of relief. Like finally, finally, something made sense again.

You wrapped your arms around his back and held him tightly — chest to chest, no space between you. He buried his face in your neck and started whispering.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

“You mean everything to me.”

You cried, softly. So did he. You could feel his body tremble as he moved — slow, gentle strokes that weren’t about getting off, but about staying in the moment. Staying inside you. Holding on.

He kissed your cheek. Your forehead. Your jaw. Again. And again. And again.

And with every quiet thrust, he gave you a little piece of himself back.

You lost track of time.

How long it had been since he slipped inside you — slow, unhurried — and settled there like he didn’t want to leave. Like he couldn’t.

The room had gone still. Your bodies tangled under the soft weight of the blanket he’d pulled over you both halfway through, his hand still splayed on your hip. His chest pressed against yours, skin sticky with sweat, breaths uneven. Neither of you moved. Not really. He was still inside you, soft now, but warm and close, and you could feel the beat of his heart against your ribs.

Chris’s face was tucked against your neck, lips parted slightly where they’d stilled against your skin. He hadn’t stopped whispering for the first ten minutes — broken apologies and soft “I love you”s as he moved inside you so slowly you almost cried again.

Now he was quiet. Only the smallest tremble in his exhale gave away how raw he still felt.

You stroked your fingers through his hair gently, and his hand flexed on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. Not enough to move. Just enough to remind you: I’m here. I’m not letting go.

You shifted your hips, barely — not to deepen anything, just to feel him there, to remind yourself it wasn’t a dream. That the fight was over. That he still wanted you, still needed you, still loved you.

Chris kissed your neck, soft and half-asleep. Then he mumbled, “Don’t move, baby… just… stay.”

His voice cracked on the last word. You turned your head and kissed the side of his head, feeling the weight of everything unsaid hang between you like something holy.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

And you meant it.

He hummed — a quiet, aching sound — and shifted slightly to bury his face further into your neck. His cock twitched inside you just once, sensitive and barely responsive now, but it was comforting. Not sexual. Just… connection. Warmth. Stillness.

“I wanna sleep like this,” he murmured, voice raspy and tired. “With you. Just like this.”

You wrapped your arms tighter around his back and nodded into the dark.

You didn’t need to say anything else. Not tonight.

The two of you fell asleep like that — sweaty, trembling, tangled together in the wreckage of what could’ve been a breakup. His body still inside yours, hearts pressed close, hands clutching skin like lifelines.

No space between you.

No more yelling.

Just quiet forgiveness.

And love that still stayed.

A/N: guess who’s back. so sorry for disappearing guys, i promise ill be back but here’s a little angsty fanfic :)

[hannahsturniolo]

ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ʙᴏᴡʟ ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴄʜʀɪs

This was requested!♡

Summary: you and Chris ask each other questions, and if you get it wrong, you get dunked in the ice bowl.

Chris is in orange, and y/n is in pink

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You and Chris were standing side by side, phone on the kitchen counter, and a bowl of ice water in front of you.

You clicked record.

“I’m definitely going to win” Chris teased, placing his one hand on the small of your back.

You giggled, “nah.”

“𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴, 𝘸𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳“ you couldn’t stop giggling.

“𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘺, 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘦“

You and Chris were giggling, and you playfully hit his arm after he said he thinks it’s him.

“𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺“ you said with a teasing voice.

You tied your hair up in a claw clip, so that you didn’t get your hair wet in your face.

You walked up to the bowl, being the first one to get quizzed, Chris had his phone in one hand, and his other hand lazily over your head just in case he needed to dunk you.

“𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥“ you said squirming and giggling out of nerves.

“𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦?“

“𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘪 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘶“ you said putting your hands up confused and laughing.

He pretended to dunk you.

You opened your mouth into an O shape, “𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘬“ you said chuckling, reaching over and playfully slapping his arm.

Chris now stepping infront of the bowl. You reaching up to grab his hair, excited to dunk him in the water.

“𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘥?“

“𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘮“ he paused, thinking.

You were hoping he forgot so you could dunk him.

“𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘦𝘳“

“𝘢𝘸 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶“ you let out a big belly laugh.

“𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴?“

“𝘰𝘩 𝘯𝘰, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬“

Chris didn’t give you time to think, he gently pushed your head down into the water.

You came up after he let go.

He moved the wet hair out of your face for you tucking it behind your ear.

“𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬?” you said laughing pushing his shoulder.

“𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴 14“ he giggled.

“𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.“

“𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳?“

Chris threw his hands up in the air playfully, “𝘰𝘮𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 30 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘪 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 3 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧“

He paused looking at you, you gripping his hair harder knowing you’re probably going to dunk him. You were looking in his eyes, “𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺“

“𝘪𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦?“ he said looking at you raising an eyebrow with an unsure smile.

You pushed his head down into the water.

“𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘛𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘦“

“𝘰𝘩 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺“ Chris laughed.

“𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭?“

“𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦“ you said looking at him, knowing you were right, and giggled jumping up and down.

You couldn’t stop giggling trying to ask the next question.

“𝘰𝘩 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?“ Chris said looking at you confused but laughing with you since your laugh was contagious.

“𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺“

You couldn’t finish the sentence. You were covering your face laughing into your hands.

“𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵?“ you said, you couldn’t stop laughing.

“𝘪 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘦“ he giggled, as you pushed his head into the ice cold water, almost peeing yourself from laughing so hard.

“𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵?“ you pulling him in for a hug.

“𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺“ you said teasingly.

You hear Nick in the back of the video “YES!!”

“𝘰𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧𝘧“ Chris said playfully pushing you out of frame.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Taglist❤︎:

@courta13 @riggysworld @heartsonlyforchris @matts-sidepiece @sturniolooluvv @matthewsangel @whore4chris @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @sturkneeohloww @leila-marie4 @sturniolo-szn2 @tezzzzzzzz @fictionalboysstuff @sturnixblogger @vall67 @chrissbxby @sturniolobananas1 @sophand4n4 @stvvrn1olo @xxxxxxlovesstuff @mattspillowprincess @moond0llie @emely9274

[vickytaa]

Wet dreams. C.S.

___________________☆___________________

I groaned loudly, grabbing the wet mattress. "What happened?" My roommate, Chris, asked. "I washed my mattress early in the morning, and it still hasn't dried up"

I knew it was a bad idea bringing my drunken friends to my shared room, but I did it anyway. They vomited on my bed, and I had to wash it. But where am I going to sleep tonight?

"And now I don't have where to sleep," I whined. "Oh, you can sleep with me." My eyes widened at his suggestion, my cheeks blushed. Chris and I have been roommates since last year. We aren't best friends, but we help each other if they need anything.

And sleeping with him wasn't that far from reality; we sleep in the same room, separated beds. So, why not? It's just a night.

"Are you sure?" I asked. He sat up from the gaming chair, "Yes. It's just for tonight" I nodded with a smile, but my stomach was full of butterflies. I mean, Chris is very attractive, funny, and mindful, how anyone could resist him?

The night came, and we both changed into our pyjama's, ready for bed. I laid down on the edge of the bed, my ass almost falling. I was trying to fall asleep as fast as I could, not wanting to do or say something stupid. I shut my eyes closed, my back looking at Chris.

Suddenly, I felt an arm wrapped around my waist, which moved me closer to Chris. "You were about to fall," He said, his eyes still closed. I giggled at his comment, trying to hide my nerves.

We both finally fell asleep, his grip on my waist tightening. I've always hugged my pillows or stuffed animals when I am asleep, so there was no surprise when I woke up in the middle of the night with one arm and a leg hugging Chris.

I was really embarrassed and didn't want to hug him again, so I turned around, my back now facing him, again.

Unexpectedly, I felt his grip tighten, pulling me incredibly closer to him. My back was now resting on his chest, and my ass... well, it was rubbing against his bulge, and fuck he was hard.

He was having a wet dream, really wet.

His hips started to rub against mine's. I couldn't help it but get wetter and wetter by the thought of fucking Chris. His low whimpers and moans were making me rub harder on him.

I knew this wasn't right. Probably, I wasn't even in his dream. But it was impossible not to fall on the tramp.

His moans became louder and louder. The arching heat between my legs started to burn like hell. I needed some friction. I was lowering my hand to my core when I froze. "Y/n- Fuck..." Chris moaned into my ear.

Was he having a wet dream about me?

I wanted him so bad for so long. I needed to do something. I wanted to surprise him.

So I did, I pulled down my shorts, along with my panties, and removed his pants and boxers. His hard dick hit his stomach. I simply watched as his tip was covered with precum.

I sat on his lap, now straddling him. I grabbed his cock and guided to my entrance, teasing my wet folds with his tip. Loud moans and groans left our lips when he found my hole, entering inch by inch.

I looked at his pleased face, his furrowed eyebrows, his "o" shaped mouth, his closed eyes, and his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Once I was used to its size, I started to move. The room filled with raw nosies. "Chris! Fuck-" I moaned.

Out of nowhere, I feel his hands on my hips, helping me because I was getting tired of bouncing. "Fuck, you are so hot, Y/n" Chris said, his voice of just waking up.

"Chris- I... I'm mh" I couldn't even finish the sentence as I came all over his cock, he following soon after.

As we both relax from out high, I collapsed on top of him. "That... that was incredible" He said, still surprised of what just happened. I giggled, my plan has succeded. "All because of your wet dreams"

___________________☆___________________

[kamyylovee]

EXCUSE ME. i have no caption other than being in love and awe of this man 🥵😮‍💨🤤

[vviolynn]

BIG EXHALE. WOAH. that’s a tough one to consume. dang girl. the tension? i feel the tension. the way y/n is pulling changbin in against his will is so GUT WRENCHING UGHHH 💞💞

currently going insane. your writing genuinely has me hooked. i feel awful for chris though, he’s waited for her so long and she’s done waiting for him 😞💔

i genuinely have no idea who i’m rooting for. if it ends with either one i’ll be happy icl, but leaning a little bit towards chris rn after uncle jack said that chris and y/n have been made to be together since the beginning it just seems so poetic… BUT I ALSO GET WHAT CHANGBIN MEANS TOWARDS THE END YK?? like when he goes that y/n isn’t the same girl that bangchan once loved yk??? ugh i can’t pick this is so hard.

i love both concepts. your writing is so intoxicating and pulls me in i can’t escapeeee 😔‼️

can’t wait for the next part you masterpiece maker 💞💞

𓄹 ⊹   ᳝🪐 ࣪⠀.  vanilla baby 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ( no fingers in the fire, alright )

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫. chris x fem! reader x changbin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. mechanic! brothers au, love triangle, small town, age gap, first love! chris, love at first sight, angst, smut 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. smoking, profanity, use of pet names, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, brief violence, jealousy, possessiveness, flawed characters 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 2.4k | 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑾𝑶, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬 <-

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. a horrible sight, witnessing the darling girl be so close to the wolf. his darling girl. his wolf.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. @shoganaiiii, @poody1608, @tsunderelino, @wickedbutlovely, @imagine-all-the-imagines, @hwangjoanna, @imeverycliche, @vviolynn, @jinibunny, @minkieater, @stephanieeeyang.

Now.

“What are you doing here?” Chris doesn’t add: With him, with him, with him—it hangs in the air, it’s poignant in its accusation.

Why he’s accusing, with what proof, what God-given right, he doesn’t know, he can’t think of it right now. You’re in front of him, but you’re not, more like . . . it’s a different version of you, an altered one; he senses confidence, but retreat, defiance and submission, something wild, unpinnable; your face is flushed, his brother’s chest is heaving, though his expression is that of a heart attack on halt, and it all should tell him, really, that something is very wrong and it concerns him, but it’s none of his business.

He could leave. Go back to working on his car. Minho’s expecting it by tomorrow.

You’re here.

Why the fuck are you here? Is he breathing?

“Wedding,” you offer, stupidly. “My cousin’s,” you add, salvaging.

Yes. He knows. He’s invited. 

It’s not what he asked.

Chris can’t seem to be able to look at you straight on. The axis of the world has tilted, the very ground is shaking, your face is distorted, he can’t stand it. He turns to his brother, but he’s become a stranger too. He really should go back. There’s nothing for him here.

You came back. You came back. He’d believed your words all those years ago. He half expected to be forgotten by now. He wished for it, needed it. Changbin’s right hand is flexing, unflexing, the little ticks, what he’s known to deceive him, the unblinking eyes, stance ready to pounce, an animal, the buzzing around him—Chris feels he’s been cheated, somehow, knowing there was no game, no winners.

Still, blood to blood, they stare at one another and silently ask who’s going to cave first. Who’s going to tell the truth? One has been lying a long time, the other knows the truth.

You shift, take a step forward. Towards, but you’re unsure.

Chris drowns. “No,” he chokes, teeth gritting, muscles sore from the sheer willpower it takes to not do anything about this, what his eyes saw, what they so poorly tried to hide. “What are you playing at, Changbin?”

“We only met yesterday—” Your voice was nails on a board. He wanted to be far away from the sound. It was echoing through him, as if his own. A terrible sound. 

A horrible sight, witnessing the darling girl be so close to the wolf. His darling girl. His wolf.

“Quiet.”

“What’s it to you, brother?” Salt on the wound. A deflective move. “You never cared before.”

Out of the corner of his eye, your figure moving, moving, closer, until—his cheek burned, his head turned. Your face is wet, you’re shaking, you’re fuming. Changbin sees this play out through his eyelashes, lips pulled, arms on the ready, a one person army ready to defend, to commit treason.

“Fuck you, Christopher,” the most venomous of poisons, snarled, spat out. “What does this even mean to you? At least Changbin’s not a coward. At least he fucking acts on what he feels—”

“You know nothing,” he won’t look at you. He deserves this. He can’t justify it. In his chest, though, the boiling revelation, the devastating realization, “I missed you.” A braveless whisper. This truth can’t be loud, Chris is so rarely truthful.

You gasp, the faintest sharp intake, but it falls short and dies. He hears it anyway. 

What he also hears, “That means nothing to me.”

What he also hears, your footsteps stepping away from him, leaving, putting distance between everything that he is and everything that you are. All that distance you’d put between you for years, tenfold now, because you’re so close, and you’re still choosing this. His fault, his fault, his fault.

He has no right to feel anything. He swallows, and his cheek stings, and his brother is staring at him, and his mind is still processing the fact that you came back. You’d seen him before he’d seen you, and you coaxed Changbin into not revealing your identity, when he felt you. Building up the courage to walk outside had been the hardest thing he ever had to do.

“You did this to yourself,” a pitying hand on his shoulder, and Chris looks at his mirror. “The heart doesn’t wait, little brother. It acts. Catch up or lose it forever.”

“Please.” Don’t take her.

From behind him, “It’s not up to me. For your sake, I’m letting her choose.”

Which is to say, he’s already lost.

Now, later.

Your heart felt like vertigo, like it would throw up any second now.

Forget the wedding, you’d made a mess of everything in less than a day, and all the signs were pointing away from this place. You had to go, there could not be anything here for you, neither one or the other, and of course, happiness, that strange, alien word, the little fairytale span a thousand times over from when you were a little girl, nowhere to be seen, once again, destined to never be found by you, an endless loop of hide and seek.

You had walked into this all by yourself. It’d been a terrible idea, a predictable outcome. What could you have possibly gained from confronting someone that held so much over you in such an insignificant amount of time? You should’ve ran away as far as you could’ve after the bar. Changbin was the personification of everything that was wrong with the men you kept choosing. Every bad habit, that false sense of bravado, what pushed you to make wrong choice after wrong choice, all to do with you, nothing to do with them.

His fingers had felt like molten lava, melting every single particle of yours. Your body responded so easily, almost like it knew, almost like it was tuning itself for when it meets him, his hands, and had it really been real or was that fucked up part of your brain speaking for you? The one that would accept any flesh, any pair of lips if they were willing. You abhorred it now, wished it had never existed in the first place, and wished it never had to be this way.

This way got you into trouble. This way led you to a hillBilly bar at nine thirty in the night, needy like only a junkie would be, for anything, anyone, a crumb, a single touch, even if you’d have to get on your knees, even if you didn’t so much like it. You’d fallen prey to so many men, yet acted like you had the upper hand in every interaction.

You controlled nothing, not even yourself. You were weak, scared. Wounded, in need of mending. You were pathetic, and in that way, you deserved Chris’ hate, deserved Changbin’s scorn.

You were nothing.

A hot summer day. Four front steps, an old car.

Girl finds out how her heart breaks.

It breaks over and over, and over.

Boy leaves.

Over and over, and over. The same old story.

Now, later.

Changbin’s well versed in his uncles’ poignant stares and deafening silence. He’s lived with both longer than he remembers his mother being alive, and his father . . . Well. He takes another drag of his cigarette and ruffles his hair exasperatedly, throwing his head back to watch the smoke leave him. Bright fucking day. Hot as fuck. Your smell is embedded in him.

He knew there’d be no more working when Chris slammed the Toyota’s door shut and drove away as if he was a fugitive on the run. It felt foreign, this feeling of watching his brother want nothing to do with him, as soon as possible. They’ve fought before, of course; bloody noses, and busted lips over fuck all, and Chris holds grudges and Changbin doesn’t; they’ve argued nasty words, and broken shit that in retrospect could’ve been avoidable, but never this . . . cold silence, this uncertainty of a most sacred pact, something they’ve held as tight as a fist between them, because it had only been the two of them for so long, and really, honestly, Changbin would take a bullet, kill a fucking man, choke a goddamn bear out for Chris. Of course he would.

But you? You. The mechanic chuckles, rubbing a hand down his face once and getting up from the pavement. He doesn’t think he can give you up, and there’s not an ounce of reluctance in his heart. As his boot smashes the butt of the cigarette on the concrete, he smiles bitterly and brings the fingers that had been inside you up to his nose, gritting his teeth together. Still there. Your scent. The frenzied thrum of his blood returned to his ears.

No. He doesn’t fucking think he can. This would be the only thing he can’t give to his brother, unapologetically. Changbin was kept away for too long, he realizes this now. Perhaps for a reason, perhaps just as good, and it didn’t matter anyway. You feel it too. You sought him out, him, and you let him have a taste and there are repercussions to such a thing. He will not be played. He won’t walk away.

He is different.

He will show you.

When he walks back inside the shop, Jacks is pretending to go through receipts and Hammer is fidgeting with the radio antenna. They both look like scolded children, caught in the act and sent on time-out. Changbin scoffs and rolls his eyes, arms coming to cross over his chest. 

“Spit it out,” he invites. He’s filthy with grime.

You’d said nothing as he dirtied you up. Even as you left, a big smear on your cheek, soft as a field of cotton. You’d said nothing. He doesn’t know why it matters. You forgot all about him the second you saw his brother. You forgot all about him and he’s never felt such raw anger, such deep hurt. He’d do anything to get you to look at him again, and he almost did, if not for that moment of hesitation—the expression on Chris’ face.

He held back for the sake of what he had once seen when you’d left for good all those years ago. He held back out of respect for the shell of a man you’d left behind. Chris had never been emptier than the day he stopped working for your father, and even now, Changbin still doesn’t know the full story. He doesn’t think anyone does.

“Real smooth out there,” Jacks comments with a pointed cough.

“Can’t end well,” Hammer adds, staring over his reading glasses.

Changbin hums, and leans against the wall behind him, expecting a flood of unwarranted opinions and advice that once used to fall on deaf ears. There was something unexpectedly important on the line this time, though. Something he hadn’t accounted for. Something he cares for more than he’d like to admit. And his brother. The one person he can never afford to lose.

“Does it ever?” he muses, and lets his usual smirk act as a shield, a facade. “What do you propose I do?”

Jacks meets his gaze head on, no bullshit. This old man had raised him better than his own father had. It didn’t matter how many steps ahead Changbin thought he was, Jacks was always waiting on the finish line. Never arrogant, in fact the extreme opposite—the generous hand that gives, and gives and has, so far, never ran out.

“We’ve known this girl since she was a tiny bundle of trouble, barely able to stand on her own two feet, son. You mess with her, you mess with us.”

“Enlightening, uncle.”

Hammer scowls. “You think this is a joke, boy? Your brother may never talk to you again.”

Changbin’s stomach pinches. Too close. “You think I fucked up.” Not a question.

“Yes.”

“That boy has had eyes for (Y/N) . . . Your late mother was still alive,” Jacks sucks on the toothpick in his mouth, falling back in his chair. “Always looking from afar, so quiet, reserved. The whole world for the taking but he keeps to his fair share. We’ve worried in the past, but now we know it’s just who he is. But you—you’ve never once put a limit on yourself, there’s nothing you can’t charm under your arm.

“The girl . . . Son, she’s not yours to take. This story has been weaving itself for decades.”

Blinding truth. He felt it like a blade cutting through his scar, all over again. The ache makes something ugly out of him. Something he can’t entirely trust.

“I don’t accept that,” he counteracted. 

“There’s nothing to accept.”

“I’ve never even had the fucking chance to know her.”

“Your brother hasn’t had a single relationship in five years. He’s been biding his time, patient for what he knows is worth waiting for,” Jacks retorts roughly. “Step down. This is not the one for you.”

Changbin’s never raised his voice against his uncles, but he finds himself doing it now. No longer is he playing the role of the secondary act, the unfeeling waste-of-breath that just can’t get it together. It’s true, there’s been no purpose in his twenty-nine years of life, and he’s wasted a lot of potential. He’s had to rough up his hands in order to keep his brother’s clean, he’s had to do things that have never once aligned with what he believes of his morals, and he’s taken it all in stride, he’s paid his fucking dues, but this—you—he fucking believes. He knows what he saw yesterday at the bar, and he knows what he felt today when he kissed you. He knows what he tasted, and how it stained his soul.

Purpose. A chance to make it right. He refuses to lose this too.

“You’ve watched me go in and out of jail cells, have paid the bail on my head, fed and clothed me when no one else gave a shit, and witnessed me lose my goddamn mind when my mother died, so it’s because of that I won’t speak a bad word to either of you, but I—” Changbin takes a deep calming breath, and lowers his finger from his family’s face. Hammer is red with anger, his other uncle quiet like the aftermath of a storm. “She—I can’t let this one go, Jacks. I won’t. I am not a bad person, I know that much about myself. And I love my brother to death. I only met her yesterday, I have no sort of claim on her, I know that too. But if you could see the light that she—” he stops, and looks away, unable to finish that train of thought. 

Continuing, he says, “I—I know. How Chris can love her. But who she is today—that’s not the same girl I’ve been hearing about all these years. The girl I kissed burns like hell. And I can’t seem to give a fuck if I burn with her.”

[oopsiedaisydeer]

for your pleasure

proceed at your own risk. these all feature sexual and nsfw content. all of these links are from twitter/x, you need to be logged into an account to view them!

chris sturniolo

you accidentally hear him jerking off (nsfw audio)

you love him but he has to wait before he cums (p!link)

comforting you by letting you grind on his thigh (p!link)

he finally gets to eat you out (p!link)

you love the feeling of his cock between your boobs (p!link)

you're his best friend, he wants to take things slow (p!link)

he loves kneading your ass (p!link)

getting rid of his boner before he goes out (nsfw audio)

holding you by the ankles (p!link)

he gets you and your underwear all sticky (p!link)

you can't even think when he's fucking you slow (p!link)

matt sturniolo

he can't focus on kissing you (p!link)

dry humping the mattress when you're away (nsfw audio)

you love when he takes his time (p!link)

he loves fucking your face from this angle (p!link)

matt tries his best to follow your instructions (p!link)

easy, boy (p!link)

soft, teasing make out with your boobs (p!link)

he loves putting in the work (p!link)

sharing a bed with your best friend (nsfw audio)

grinding against the bunny he got you (p!link)

pressing you into the mattress (p!link)

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: i don't usually watch this kinda stuff (i prefer reading) but ummm here u go?? im so nervous to post this😓

main taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturns-mermaid @shortnsweetsturnz  @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova @riasturns @sturnsblogs @darksturnz @httpssturns @mi-co-uk @ribbonlovergirl @lovesturni0l0s @grace-sturnz @auttysturnz @kier-with-a-k @malsmind @edu4rd0ss @pink1man @h3arts4nat @chriss-slutt @whore4chris @aaliyahsturniolo

[mattslutt]

SLOW BURN - c.sturniolo

in which: dealer chris fucks his innocent friend.

The room smells like smoke and sweat—dim light, low music, a half-burnt blunt still between Chris’s fingers as he leans back on the couch, shirtless, his chain glinting against his chest.

You’re spread out in his lap, thighs draped over his, back pressed to his chest, and his free hand already down between your legs. He’s high as hell, body relaxed, eyelids heavy, but his fingers? Still sharp. Still slow. Still driving you fucking crazy.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick and lazy as his fingertips slide through your folds. “You’re so wet. This all for me?”

You whimper, hips twitching, and he grins, breath hot against your neck. His fingers don’t rush. They drag—teasing, circling, slipping just barely inside before pulling back to stroke your clit with maddening pressure.

“Shit…” he breathes, kissing your jaw. “You feel so fuckin’ soft, ma. Could play with this pussy all night.”

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. “Chris—please…”

He chuckles, the sound deep, lazy, stoned. “Nah, baby, don’t beg yet. I like how needy you get.” His middle finger presses in deeper this time, slow and stretching. “I’m high as fuck and you’re sittin’ here makin’ me harder just from the way you fuckin’ drip.”

You moan, thighs shaking, and he groans right back, his cock thick and twitching beneath you.

“Open your legs for me, ma. Let me see you fall apart.” His thumb rubs tight, slow circles, two fingers now sliding in and out, soaked and curling just right.

“Goddamn,” he whispers. “This pussy’s mine.”

You’re already close, panting, trembling—and he knows it.

“You gonna come just from my fingers, baby? From me fuckin’ you like this, high and slow?” He kisses your shoulder, his voice a haze of smoke and sin. “Do it. Let me feel it.”

And when you do—legs shaking, breath caught, pussy clenching around his fingers—he groans like it’s his release, too.

“Fuck, baby…” he pants, licking into your neck, still moving his fingers through the aftershocks. “You’re a fuckin’ drug.”

And right now, he’s hooked.

“Damn, look at this mess,” Chris mutters, fingers dragging slowly through your slick again, lazy and precise, like he’s studying every reaction.

You’re still sprawled in his lap, legs wide, your back arched and your head falling back against his shoulder. He’s high and unbothered, the blunt now half-dead in the ashtray—but his focus? It’s all between your thighs.

“You’re so sensitive,” he groans, lips brushing your ear. His fingers—slick and slow—slide up to your clit again. He doesn’t rub fast. He doesn’t rush. He circles it. Gentle, steady, cruel.

You whimper, hips twitching. “Chris—fuck, please—”

He chuckles, voice deep and dragging like molasses. “Please what, ma? Huh? You want me to fuck it or just keep teasin’ this sweet lil’ clit ‘til you cry for it?”

You gasp, thighs shaking, and he moans at the way your pussy clenches even though he’s barely touching you.

“Goddamn, baby,” he groans, two fingers dipping back in slow. “So fuckin’ tight. She’s suckin’ me in like she needs me.”

Then—his thumb brushes your clit while his fingers curl inside. Your whole body jerks.

“There it is,” he breathes. “Yeah. That spot. That’s the one, huh?”

Your legs try to close, overwhelmed, but he uses his thigh to keep them spread, his arm locking around your waist. “Nuh-uh. Open for me, baby. I ain’t done.”

He pulls his fingers out, spreads your folds with two fingers and stares—like he’s in a trance.

“Look at this pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he mutters, voice almost reverent. “So wet I could slide my cock in without even tryin’. But nah… I like her like this. All puffy and twitchy ‘cause I’m just playing.”

He taps your clit once. Sharp. Your breath catches.

“Yeah. You like that, don’t you?”

You nod, eyes glassy, breath gone.

Chris smirks. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not stoppin’ ‘til you’re drippin’ down my fuckin’ hand.”

And then he’s back to it—fingers fucking you slow and deep, thumb rubbing lazy circles, his voice low and slurred against your neck.

“Gon’ make you come again, baby. Nice and slow.“

You’re gone. Floaty. Wrecked.

And he’s loving every second of it.

Your legs are spread wide, trembling, laid open across Chris’s lap. His back’s against the couch, blunt forgotten, sweat glistening on his chest as his heavy-lidded eyes watch your pussy stretch around three thick fingers—then four.

“Look at her,” he mutters, eyes locked on where he’s slowly pushing into you. “She’s takin’ me so good, baby.”

You’re panting, gasping, nails digging into the couch cushions. Your pussy’s soaked—dripping—from how long he’s been playing, working you open like he’s got nowhere else to be, like this is the only thing in the world that matters. His fingers curl inside you, slow and brutal.

“Ma, she’s fuckin’ beggin’ for more,” he groans, voice slurred and hazy with weed and lust. “You feel that stretch? Fuck…”

You whimper, legs twitching. You’re so full already—but he doesn’t stop.

His pinky presses in, stretching you wider, slow and steady. You gasp, the burn making your toes curl—but your cunt is greedy, soaking his whole damn hand, clenching around him like she needs it.

“You want it all, baby?” he breathes against your neck. “Wanna feel my whole fuckin’ hand inside this tight lil’ pussy?”

You nod, broken and desperate, and that’s all he needs.

“Yeah… that’s it, ma,” he groans, pushing deeper. His knuckles stretch you wide, then slip in, thick and unforgiving. “Take it. Take it all for me.”

You cry out—raw and overwhelmed—as his hand slips all the way in, wrist-deep, buried to the base. His fingers flex inside you, slow and deliberate.

“Shiiit,” he growls, kissing your shoulder.

Your body’s shaking, soaked, stuffed full, and he just holds you there—his thick hand flexing, palm dragging slow pressure against every inch inside you. You can’t think. You can’t breathe.

“I can feel your heartbeat in here, baby,” he murmurs, groaning at the tight pulse of your walls around him.

You’re gasping, sobbing his name, eyes rolling back, and he’s grinning against your ear, so high and so in love with the way you come apart around his hand.

“Come for me, ma,” he growls. “Come while I’m fuckin’ you with nothin’ but this hand.”

And when you do? It’s devastating. Your whole body seizes, cunt clenching around his wrist, soaking his palm as you scream his name and fall apart.

Chris holds you through it, still inside you, whispering:

“Good girl. That’s my fuckin’ baby.”

You’re still shaking when he finally pulls his soaked hand out of you, strings of slick stretching between your thighs and his palm. Your pussy flutters, wide and messy, still pulsing from the intensity of your orgasm, lips swollen, hole clenching around nothing—empty now.

But not for long.

Chris groans under his breath, staring down at the soaked mess between your legs, his cock twitching hard against his stomach.

“Fuckin’ ruined, ma,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “You see this shit? Look what I did to you.”

He shifts you like you weigh nothing, flipping you over onto your stomach, ass up, face pressed into the couch cushions. You barely register the move—still dazed—until you feel the thick, hot weight of his cock drag through your slick folds.

You moan, hips pushing back, desperate.

“You want it that bad, baby?” he taunts, grinding his tip against your stretched-out hole. “Even after I stuffed you full’a my hand, you still need this dick?”

“Please, Chris,” you breathe, voice hoarse. “Need it. Fuck me.”

He doesn’t answer.

He just slams into you.

You scream into the cushions, back arching as he sinks in to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The stretch is obscene—your pussy still fluttering and open from the fisting, so he slides in too easy, too deep. You can feel him in your stomach.

“Shit—fuck,” Chris growls, hips stuttering. “Baby, you’re perfect.”

He pulls back and drives in again, harder this time—skin slapping skin, the sound loud and filthy in the room. You’re a mess underneath him, hair clinging to your face, arms trembling, juices dripping down your thighs.

And Chris is gone.

High as fuck, dick buried deep, eyes locked on the way your ass bounces every time he thrusts back in.

He grabs your hips, drags you back into him like he owns you. “Take this dick, ma. Just like that. That’s it. Let me fuck this ruined little pussy how she needs it.”

You moan—long, high-pitched—and he laughs breathlessly.

“You hear yourself?” he pants, fucking into you harder now. “Listen to you. Fuckin’ cryin’ for it.”

Then he leans over your back, one hand slipping under your belly to rub your clit, his chest pressed to your spine.

“I got you, baby,” he whispers into your ear, voice surprisingly soft between the filth. “You’re safe with me. Gonna make you come again, and again, and again. Long as you let me.”

You gasp his name, fingers curling in the cushions as he pounds into you now—hips snapping, thumb circling your clit, cock dragging against your walls like he was made for this.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say whose pussy this is.”

“Yours,” you cry. “Yours, Chris—fuck—it’s yours.”

He groans, loud, and you feel his rhythm falter—just a second—before he fucks into you harder, chasing both your highs like he needs it to breathe.

You’re trembling, right there, clenching so tight around him it’s impossible to hold back—

“Come on, baby,” he growls. “Come all over this dick. Now.”

And you do—screaming, body locking up, pussy spasming around him, soaking him all over again.

Chris slams in one last time and spills inside you, groaning, forehead dropping to your shoulder, cock pulsing as he fills you up, deep and messy and fucking endless.

For a moment, all you hear is breathing. Sweat. The thud of your pulse.

Then Chris presses a kiss to your spine and mutters, still high and wrecked:

“Shit, baby… I ain’t ever lettin’ this pussy go.”

You’re boneless.

Face buried in the cushions, thighs twitching, body limp and leaking from where Chris just fucked you full. Your pussy’s swollen, dripping, twitching from aftershocks—but he’s not done.

Not even close.

“Don’t run, baby,” he mutters, voice dark and low from behind you. “I ain’t finished.”

You gasp as he pushes your thighs apart again, exposing your soaked cunt to the cool air. The mess between your legs is filthy—slick everywhere, your folds glistening, his cum leaking out in slow drips. Your body shudders as you feel him stare.

Then he dives in.

His mouth is hot and wet and fucking ruthless. Tongue dragging through your folds, licking up every bit of slick and cum like it’s his favorite flavor. You cry out, thighs trying to snap shut—but he grabs your hips, strong and sure, pressing you down against the couch.

“Chris—fuck, it’s too much—!”

“Nah, ma,” he growls into your pussy. “You said you needed it. So take it.”

He devours you—tongue flicking, circling your clit, dipping inside you and slurping up the mess he left. He moans into you like he’s starving, like he’s high off the taste of your pussy and losing his mind with every flick.

And when you try to squirm away, shaking, gasping, overwhelmed—he grips your hips tighter, fingers digging in, locking you in place.

“Stay the fuck still,” he mutters, voice soaked in hunger. “Let me fuckin’ eat.”

You sob into the pillow, your body trembling, nerves raw, every nerve ending firing as his tongue moves faster, lips sucking your clit into his mouth before he presses two fingers back in—hard, deep, curling perfectly.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “This pussy’s fuckin’ cryin’ for me.”

Your whole body jerks as the pressure builds again—too fast, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He wants it all.

He needs to make you break.

His fingers pound into you now, messy and relentless, his mouth locked to your clit. You’re crying, begging, choking on your own moans, but Chris is locked in, drunk on you.

“Gon’ come again, ma,” he grits. “Gon’ gush all over my fuckin’ face. I want it, baby. Give it to me.”

You scream—loud, raw—as your body explodes.

Your pussy clenches, floods, gushes into his mouth as you collapse, twitching, crying his name. And still—still—Chris keeps going, tongue lapping up everything, groaning like he could live between your legs forever.

“Fuckin’ heaven,” he mutters, lips shiny with your slick. “Can’t get enough of this fuckin’ pussy.”

You’re spent. Ruined.

But he’s still licking.

Still holding you down.

Still saying your name like a prayer.

_______

You’re both quiet now.

Your body’s trembling, twitching with the echoes of everything he just did to you—fucked out, overstimulated, and barely able to keep your eyes open. Chris is on his side, curled around you, one arm slung heavy over your waist, his thumb stroking lazy, grounding circles on your skin.

He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. Then another. Then one at the back of your neck.

“You good, baby?” he murmurs, voice low and warm, still laced with that soft haze from the high.

You nod slowly, turning your face just enough for your cheek to brush his. “Mhm. Just… floatin’.”

He chuckles softly, forehead resting against you. “Yeah. You took it all like a fuckin’ champ, ma.”

His tone’s different now—no teasing, no filth—just warm pride and low affection. You smile sleepily, reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his where they rest on your stomach.

Chris shifts closer, pulling the blanket over your bodies, wrapping it around you both. You feel the weight of his chain against your back, the heat of his chest pressing into you, the slow, steady beat of his heart against your spine.

“You make me feel…” you start, voice barely above a whisper. “Safe. Wanted. Like I’m yours.”

He exhales slow, tucking his face into your neck. “That’s ‘cause you are mine.”

Silence settles. His arms tighten just a little.

“Don’t nobody touch you like I do. Don’t nobody get this part’a you.” His lips brush your ear. “Only me. Always me.”

You shiver, not from the cold—just from the way he says it. Like it’s a promise.

Then, a gentle kiss to your temple.

“I’ll run you a bath in a bit,” he mumbles, half-asleep. “Get you cleaned up… kiss you all over again if you let me.”

You hum, content. “Only if you hold me after.”

“Always,” he whispers. “Ain’t lettin’ you outta my arms tonight.”

And with that, the two of you fall into the quietest kind of peace—skin to skin, breath to breath—wrapped in each other, and in the afterglow of something deeper than just the high.

A/N:

this is freaky.

[belikejk]

He loves her chat

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾Late night thoughts 008☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“I look at her and I remember why I never even want to look at anyone else.” Dad!Chan x Reader

Notice : I’m currently on hiatus from writing. If you’re seeing this—congrats! That means my queue is working. 💌

“Daddy, it’s melting!” your son wailed, chocolate already dripping in thick globs from the side of his cone and down his tiny wrist.

Chan crouched in a panic, trying to grab a napkin from the stand. “Okay, okay, don’t cry, bud—look! I got it, I got it—here, here—wipe your hands first, not your shirt—no—don’t—ah—okay, we’re already sticky.”

You watched from a bench a few yards away, sipping your iced drink as the summer heat warmed your skin. You could see the chaos unfold in real time. Your husband’s backwards baseball cap slipping slightly as he bent forward, the front of his gray T-shirt already marked with what looked like chocolate and maybe a bit of strawberry swirl. Your son, Kai, on the verge of a meltdown.

“You’re okay, Kai,” Chan murmured as he grabbed another napkin, gently swiping at the mess dripping down his son’s fingers. “Let’s fix this, yeah? Deep breaths.”

Kai sniffled dramatically, fat tears welling in his eyes. "But daddy its UGLY NOW!" He held up the sagging, tragically tilted cone .

Chan bit back a laugh, lips twitching as he cupped the back of Kai’s head. “It still tastes the same, promise.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, baby,” Chan said, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “Even ugly ice cream’s still ice cream.”

That’s when she appeared, heels clicking lightly on the concrete path, a high ponytail swaying behind her like a flag of confidence. Her voice, sugary and smooth.

“Oh my gosh,” she gushed. “Is he yours?”

Chan turned, still kneeling with a napkin in one hand and a chocolate-covered toddler in the other. “Uh—yeah. He’s mine.”

She stepped closer, smile wide, sunglasses perched on her head. Her eyes roamed boldly, from the curve of Chan’s shoulders to the line of his jaw, and then down again, lingering way too long for it to be casual.

“He’s so cute,” she said with a coo. “I just love seeing dads out with their kids. It’s, like, so rare.”

Chan stood slowly, adjusting Kai on his hip. “Ah… thanks.” His voice was polite, but you knew that nervous chuckle. He was trying to be nice.

“You’re doing amazing,” the girl continued, glancing pointedly at the way Chan’s hand cradled Kai’s back. “Really. Most guys would be tapping out by now. But you’re still, like, calm. Gentle. It’s refreshing.”

Chan gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… it’s not that hard if you love the kid.”

He bounced Kai lightly in his arms, and your son let out a little huff, melting cone forgotten for the moment.

The girl tilted her head, smile slow and deliberate. “Honestly? If I saw more guys like you at the park, I’d be here every weekend. You’re kind of… the whole package.”

Chan blinked. “Uh… that’s—thanks?”

She took his half-smile as a green light. “You’re so chill. And sweet. And, like…” she let her eyes travel, slowly, far too slowly, from his biceps to his jaw. “God, you’re seriously hot.”

Chan shifted on his feet, bouncing Kai lightly to distract him from another meltdown. “I really just came for ice cream—”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” she cut in, laughing. “Honestly, if I’d known dads like you existed, I would’ve hung around the playground more often.”

Chan chuckled nervously, trying to deflect. “Yeah, uh… not sure that’s a compliment you want to say out loud.”

But she only stepped closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve got this... warm protector thing going on, y’know? It’s really attractive. Some girls are into bad boys. Me? I like the good ones. The kind that make a mess for their kids without complaining. The kind that know how to hold a baby and look like you.”

Chan blinked again, stunned.

Kai whined again. “Daddyyyyyyyyyy, it’s still melting!!”

“I know, bud, I’m trying—don’t panic—here, bite it from the side—no, not the cone, the ice cream, you’re just eating cone right now—okay…” Chan was now juggling napkins, a tilted cone, and a sticky-fingered child trying to climb up him like a squirrel.

And still, the girl wouldn’t leave.

“Do you always come to this park?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Because if you ever want company....I wouldn’t mind tagging along next time. I love kids. And I wouldn’t mind getting to know you either.”

Her eyes scanned him like he was on display.

“You’re honestly kind of perfect,” she said, eyes flicking over him like she couldn’t help herself. “Sweet, patient, good with kids... and really easy on the eyes.”

Chan gave a tight smile. “I appreciate it, but—”

“I mean it,” she cut in, stepping closer. “You’re the kind of man I could see myself with. Stable. Mature.”

Chan stepped back slightly, lifting his hand between them as a subtle warning. “Look, I’m flattered, but—”

She didn’t let him finish. “Don’t be modest. I’m not trying to make things weird. I just feel like we clicked. Here—” She fished a card from her purse and held it out. “Call me. Just saying, if you ever get tired of the hard stuff… I could be a little easier.”

She reached out again...this time, her fingers grazing the front of his shirt, straightening the collar like they were already something. And that’s when Chan’s hand shot up, gently but firmly catching her wrist mid-motion.

“Don’t.”

She blinked. “What—?”

“I’m married.” He held up his left hand slightly, the gold band glinting in the sunlight. “Happily.” His voice was quiet, but firm. There was no room to misunderstand it.

She opened her mouth again, maybe to laugh it off, but he kept going, eyes flicking to the simple gold ring on his hand, then back to her.

“My wife?” he said. “she’s... everything. She’s my peace, my best friend, my first thought every morning. She’s the reason I even know how to be this kind of dad.”

Kai squirmed in his arms, sticky fingers tugging at his shirt. “Daddyy” he mumbled, “I-I wana go to Mommy.”

Chan glanced down, his whole expression softening.

He crouched and gently set Kai down. “Alright, go ahead, baby.”

Without missing a beat, Kai took off across the grass, his little legs wobbling as he shouted, “Mommy!”

Chan watched him run to you...watched you light up as you opened your arms, pulling your son close with that smile that still knocked the air from his chest.

Then he looked back at the girl.

“I don’t need easier,” he said. “I’ve already got everything I could ever want. I look at her, and I remember why I never even want to look at anyone else.”

The girl stayed silent, unsure now, fingers still holding the number she had no chance of giving him.

“You don’t come close,” he said. “Not to her. Not even a little.” Then he let his eyes flick down to the slip of paper in her hand. “Keep the number,” he said coolly. “Might want to save it for someone who’s available.”

And with that, he turned his back on her completely.

He walked straight to you without looking back, like the girl had never even been there.

You looked up from helping Kai wipe his hands, your brow lifting slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Now it is,” Chan said softly, already sliding an arm around your waist. He pulled you in, eyes full of nothing but you.

And right there in the middle of the park...with your son humming to himself and the girl still frozen a few feet away...Chan leaned in and kissed you.

Soft. Intentional. Like he wanted to remind the whole world who had his heart. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, lips brushing your cheek as he whispered, just loud enough to carry:

“I love you, baby.”

No hesitation. No doubt.

Because you weren’t just his wife.

You were his person.

And no one else ever stood a chance.

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