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For you my love 💕

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ˇ⋆ ╱ ‧ ˚ ꪆ dealer!chris && bambi

❛ nsfw alphabet ❜

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ A : AFTERCARE

chris isn't the best with words, but he's soft in his own crooked way. after sex, especially when it's rough or messy or emotional, he lights a joint with trembling fingers and pulls you onto his chest. you're half-draped over him, bunny squished between you, and he's stroking your hair with inked knuckles. he doesn’t say much, just murmurs stuff like ❝you good, angel?❞ and ❝need anything?❞ sometimes he kisses your temple. sometimes he just lets you breathe. if he was too mean, he’s extra gentle, letting you guide his hands when he helps clean you up. he’ll pull his hoodie over you and call you ❝his best girl❞ until you melt into him.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ B : BODY PART

chris is obsessed with your mouth. not just the obvious reasons (though those too). it’s the way you pout when you don’t get your way, the way your lip wobbles when you’re about to cry, the way your gloss smudges when he kisses you stupid. he watches your mouth like it holds every secret he’s ever wanted. you, on the other hand, love his hands. they’re big and rough, always warm, and you love how safe they make you feel. when he cups your cheek or slips a thumb past your lips, you go still like a doll.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ C : CUM

messy. messy. messy. chris wants you dripping. he likes the way it looks on your stomach, your thighs, your chest—his favorite? inside, of course. watching it spill out makes him groan. he’ll push it back in with two fingers while you whimper and hide your face. if you try to wipe it up, he tuts and says, ❝nah, leave it. looks pretty.❞ there are definitely nights where he finishes on your tongue and tells you to ❝be a good girl and swallow.❞

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ D : DIRTY SECRET

he’s kept the first gloss-stained tissue you ever left in his car. it's in a box with your old gum wrapper, a bow from bunny, and a crumpled receipt from your first 7/11 run. he pretends he doesn’t care about stuff like that but he’s secretly obsessed. sometimes he pulls out the gloss and just stares at the smear of your kiss, high and a little lovesick. also? he’s thought about recording you before. nothing serious. just the sound of you whining his name.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ E : EXPERIENCE

chris isn’t new to sex. he’s had his fun, been reckless, used it as a distraction. but he’s never had someone like you—so soft, so needy, so bratty. it’s new for him to want to learn someone. to care if he’s doing it right. and with you, he always wants to get it right. he teases that you’re his little student, but he’s constantly watching your reactions, trying to figure out what makes your toes curl.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ F : FAVORITE POSITION

lap princess. he likes having you on top, facing him, your knees dug into either side of his hips, arms looped around his neck. it’s control without aggression—he can guide your hips, keep your body flush to his, kiss you messy. he likes seeing your face when you lose it. you? you love when he folds you up, one hand under your knee, the other gripping the mattress as he leans in real close and says, ❝you’re mine, bambi girl.❞

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ G : GOOFY

he’s surprisingly playful. especially when you’re being bratty. if you squeal when he grabs you, he’ll chase you around the room just to hear it again. during sex, he sometimes talks in a stupid deep voice just to make you laugh—❝you want this cock, baby?❞ like a parody. but then he really gives it to you and it’s over. your giggles dissolve into gasps and he grins down at you like, ❝told you.❞

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ H : HAIR

he keeps it groomed, but not manicured. a little stubble, a happy trail, and trimmed just enough that it’s not messy. you’ve told him before that it’s ❝so hot❞ and now he pretends not to care—but he totally keeps it tidy because of you. facial hair? little scruff on his jaw that burns delicious when he kisses down your stomach.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ I : INTIMACY

filthy, but tender. even when he’s fucking you dumb, chris holds you like you’re delicate. he rubs your thighs, pets your hair, keeps his forehead to yours. he talks the whole way through—dirty, sweet, begging. ❝look at me. fuck, baby, look—there you go.❞ sometimes he trembles after, holds you so close it’s like he thinks you’ll disappear.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ J : JACK OFF

he won’t if he doesn’t have to. but when he does? it’s with his phone open, listening to old voice notes you left, the ones where you’re giggling and telling him you miss him. his hand is wrapped tight and he groans your name when he finishes. once he came into one of your socks and laughed about it after. ❝you’re everywhere, baby. even in my fuckin’ laundry.❞

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ K : KINK

brat taming, of course. you pout, whine, roll your eyes—and he flips you over in a second. but he’s never cruel. it’s always about making you melt. he also has a major praise kink. ❝so pretty like this, angel. look at my good girl.❞ and a size kink. ❝look at how small you are under me, fuck.❞ he’s secretly into you calling him sir, but only when you really mean it.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ L : LOCATION

his favorite? the backseat of his car. windows fogged up, your leg thrown over the middle console, music low. it’s gritty, secret, intimate. you love it too—the thrill of his hands all over you, the windows rattling when he groans into your throat.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ M : MOTIVATION

your whiny voice. the way you tug his hoodie strings. how you climb into his lap with no warning. his biggest weakness is when you kiss under his jaw and whisper, ❝want you.❞ his eyes go dark fast. you, meanwhile, get off on his hands. when he lights a joint, grips the wheel, adjusts his rings. you’re drooling already.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ N : NO

anything that scares or hurts you. if you ever so much as flinch, it’s game over. no degrading that isn’t playful. nothing clinical or too detached. chris likes it messy, real, raw.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ O : ORAL

chris goes feral for going down on you. he’ll do it lazily, like he’s got all day, or obsessively like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. he loves making you cry from it. ❝too much? nah, you got it, angel. one more.❞ he’ll lick you through every twitch. receiving? he loves when you’re messy, looking up through your lashes with spit and tears everywhere.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ P : PACE

depends on your mood. if you’re acting bratty, he’s got you folded fast and rough, hips snapping against yours while he mutters filthy praise in your ear. if you’re being soft, clinging to him? he’ll slow down. go deep. keep his mouth on yours the whole time, fingers laced with yours, whispering how good you’re taking it.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ Q : QUICKIE

he lives for them. in alleys, bathrooms, stairwells. chris likes the thrill. likes tugging your underwear aside and covering your mouth with his hand. he calls them ❝bunny breaks.❞ quick and breathless. teeth on your neck. your legs around his waist, bunny hanging out your bag nearby.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ R : RISK

dealer!chris doesn’t care. he’s taken you in stairwells while people passed by, in the shadows of club bathrooms and locked supply closets. he likes danger, but he’s careful with you. never reckless in a way that could hurt you. just enough to make your cheeks hot and your thighs shake after.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ S : STAMINA

he can go all night. genuinely doesn’t get tired if you keep kissing him and pulling him back. he likes when you get exhausted and all limp and fuzzy. ❝aww, bunny tired? let me help you sleep.❞ even when you’re done, he’ll coax another out of you, just to prove he can.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ T : TOYS

he’ll use a vibrator on you but only when he’s the one holding it. once let you tie his wrists just to see how long he’d last—(answer: not long. he begged.) has a remote-control toy he keeps in his pocket at parties just to watch you squirm from across the room.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ U : UNFAIR

tease king. sends you texts mid-day just to ruin your focus. ❝no panties today, right? good girl.❞ will edge you with his fingers then walk away like nothing happened. smirking the whole time. sometimes he’ll do it in the car and just hum over your whines.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ V : VOLUME

chris is loud. groans, breathy cussing, muttering your name. ❝fuckfuckfuck, that’s it. that’s my girl.❞ when you whine his name just right, he chokes on it. the neighbors have banged on the wall more than once, and he just laughs, tells you to be louder.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ W : WILDCARD

you once wore his hoodie with nothing underneath and climbed into his lap mid-deal. he barely kept it together. whispered ❝you tryna get me arrested?❞ through clenched teeth, but let you stay. finished the deal with one hand under the fabric, pressed to your thigh, heart pounding.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ X : X-RAY

he’s thick. not extremely long, but wide enough to make you wince that first stretch. curves up a bit. he knows how to use it and he loves when you talk about it. ❝too big, huh? but you’re takin’ it so good.❞ he’ll hold your jaw and make you say it again.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ Y : YEARNING

so high. he’s always touching you. even if it’s just your knee. he wants you all the time. every day. sometimes twice. he’d cancel shit just to get you under him. he watches you get dressed just to imagine taking it all off again.

── 9ৎ . ݁˚ Z : ZZZ

he crashes hard if it’s late or intense. but if you fall asleep first, he’ll just watch you, bunny squished between you, and run his fingers over your cheeks. ❝you’re trouble, bunny. sweetest kind.❞ sometimes he sleeps with his hand on your hip, like a claim.

ꪮꫀ lola talks . . . ooo okay this took a long time... you can see them get shorter (istg if this flops)

── ʚ chris's clients .ᐟ . . . @chrepsi ⸝⸝ @ph3ebssturniolo ⸝⸝ @sturnsxbbyeilish ⸝⸝ @j21l91 ⸝⸝ @pip4444chris ⸝⸝ @mattslutt ⸝⸝ @sophand4n4 ⸝⸝ @mattscoquette ⸝⸝ @mi-co-uk ⸝⸝ @tezzzzzzzz ⸝⸝ @emely9274 ⸝⸝ @oopsiedaisydeer ⸝⸝ @theowensturniolo ⸝⸝ @httpssturns ⸝⸝ @matthewsroses ⸝⸝ @bugs-tags ⸝⸝ @mattswrinkleton ⸝⸝ @victorious8 ⸝⸝ @h3arts4nat ⸝⸝ @jadedjewelswrld-0807 ⸝⸝ @madz146 ⸝⸝ @ifwdominicfike ⸝⸝ @rriverscuomo ⸝⸝ @ivysturnss ⸝⸝ @brianaluvschris @mattsgold ⸝⸝ @sturniolotoast ⸝⸝ @ariieeesworld ⸝⸝ @angelicameron ⸝⸝ @blahbel668 ⸝⸝ @sturniszn ⸝⸝ @chriss-slutt ⸝⸝ @mattsdiva ⸝⸝ @little-lolaaa ⸝⸝ @mattsmoth ⸝⸝ @clairo4life ⸝⸝ @everythingaboutbags ⸝⸝ @matts-wife ⸝⸝ @chrispleasure ⸝⸝ @ajskorner ⸝⸝ @mattspillowprincess ⸝⸝ @freshlovefever ⸝⸝ @twylas114 ⸝⸝ @matties-angel ⸝⸝ @mayax2o07 ⸝⸝ @sturnsflirt ⸝⸝ @mialovesyouchris ⸝⸝ @tonymayor2022 ⸝⸝ @ifellforanotherloser ⸝⸝ @sturnl0ve ⸝⸝ @angelbabychris

theme inspo from @/angvl3tears (with permission.)

⌗ © sturniphone

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god he was so hot in this vid I NEED HIM IN ME RIGHT NOWWWW 👅

everytime I think of dealer!chris I think of this clip I legit can’t get over him.

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your hair looks sooo sexy pushed back 😫 it will always do it for me

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wanna give him the sloppiest craziest head known to man

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IM GOING CRAZY

u guys have no idea what this is doing to me

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Matt just say you wanna fuck already

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hihi my love😛😛

( @dollyessence )

Hihi pretty girl!! How are you??

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Drip Sweat ⋆˚☆˖° M. Sturniolo

“What are you picking up, sweetheart?”

⟢ sloppy make out session, licking, sweaty and heated sex, nipple sucking. feral!matt, bigdick!matt, beard!matt. dawg idk what else, just play dj to this shit.

divider cred @bernardsbendystraws

Usually, you’d be pissed—your beat-up Bronco loved giving you hell. But today, you didn’t mind one bit.

From inside the garage, you watched as your neighbor, Matt, worked on the truck. The sun poured down on him, catching the sweat glistening on his skin. His brows were drawn in focus, lips set tight as his grease-streaked hands moved with practiced ease beneath the hood.

He was attractive—more than that, really. The kind of attractive that made heads turn. Girls in the neighborhood, even some of the moms, couldn’t help but fawn over him. There was just something about Matt that made people want to drop everything for a second glance—or more.

But he had a soft spot for you. That usual stern, no-nonsense expression of his? It melted into a teasing smirk the moment he laid eyes on you. Flirtatious, cocky, and impossible to resist. And you absolutely loved it.

You hum to yourself as you slip back inside the house, the blast of cool air from the AC wrapping around you like a blessing. After the sweltering heat outside, it’s pure bliss against your flushed skin. You head to the kitchen, already picturing two icy glasses of pink lemonade—refreshing, sweet, and just what you both need.

Grabbing the drinks, you make your way back out. The garage door rumbles shut behind you, catching Matt’s attention. He looks up from under the hood, eyes locking on you. That crooked smirk appears instantly, the one that always makes your stomach do a little flip.

You raise a brow, offering him a glass.

“Thirsty?”

He takes it from your hand, fingers brushing against yours—deliberate or not, you're not sure. You lift your own glass for a sip, but a bit of the cool, sticky lemonade escapes the corner of your mouth, trailing slowly down your chin and along the curve of your throat and eventually down the valley of your breasts.

Matt clears his throat, eyes fixed on you as he lifts his drink. He takes a long sip, but doesn’t look away, watching you from over the rim of his glass with that same heat simmering just beneath the surface.

“So, what’s going on with Betty?” you ask, your voice soft with worry. “Is it finally time for me to give her up?”

Your eyes linger on the old Bronco—baby blue and beat to hell, but still the car of your dreams. You’ve had her for years. The thought of letting her go stings more than you'd like to admit.

Matt, long since used to the name you gave her, lets out a low chuckle. He steps back into the garage, setting his glass down on the workbench.

“She’s got some fight left in her,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag. “Battery’s dead, oil’s a mess—but that’s all. You get those swapped out, she’ll be good as new.”

Your shoulders sag a little with relief… until reality hits.

“A new battery?” you groan. “Matt, I can barely afford groceries right now.”

He lifts a hand, like he’s calming a spooked horse. “Hey, hey—relax, sweetheart. I know some guys who might have one lying around. Used, but solid. Won’t cost you much.”

You narrow your eyes, half-suspicious. “But it’ll still cost me.”

He leans back against the workbench with a cocky tilt of his head. “Well, yeah. Nothing’s free in life. But I’m sure we could work something out.”

His eyes gleam with mischief, and the implication hangs in the air between you—thick.

You cross your arms, one brow lifting as you level him with a look. Matt’s eyes flick downward for a split second—just enough to catch the way his gaze lingers—before snapping back up to meet yours.

“What exactly are you putting down, Matthew?”

A slow grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, the kind that makes your breath hitch just a little.

“What are you picking up, sweetheart?”

His voice is low, teasing, laced with something heavier underneath. You hold his gaze, inching closer to him until you're standing chest to chest.

"So?" Matt teases, his fingers twitching to grab at you, waiting for you to give the ok. You say nothing as you begin to walk backwards, your palm slamming down on the garage button, the sheet of metal starting to close.

Matt's movements are swift, his figure darting across the garage and pressing you against the cement wall, his lips immediately attaching themselves to yours. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, his fingers clenching at the exposed skin of your waist.

Teeth were clashing, wet noises being heard as spit was swapped. You could feel the hairs of his beard tickling at your chin, a moan escaping your mouth as you imagine the way it would feel between your legs- but that would come later, you needed to feel him now, all of him.

He pulls away from the heated session, his lips mouthing at your jaw and neck, tasting your salty skin. Your nimble fingers work at the belt holding up your shorts, unbuckling with ease before unbuttoning them and yanking them down. You immediately get to work on removing his tank top, his own hands returning the favor, and removing yours.

As the heated and lustful makeout session proceeds, he wraps his arms around you, caging you in against his chest and unhooking your bra. He groans out, feeling the swell of your breast press against his naked chest. He was already salivating, the thought of his cock being shoved deep inside of you too much to handle, but he couldnt wait to have part of you in his mouth as well.

He slaps your thigh swiftly, hiking one of your legs up on his waist, a clear indication of what he wants to do. He keeps a firm grasp on you as you jump, wrapping your other leg around his waist.

He pulls back from the kiss once again to look down at what he's doing, his hand firmly grasping his cock and lining it up with your soaked entrance. He rubs his tip between your folds, letting out a quiet "fuck" before swiftly stuffing himself inside.

He moans out at the feeling, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as his eyes roll back. You do the same, completely ignoring the pain in the back of your head from the cement wall.

He readjusted his grip on you, his forehead falling against your shoulder as he slowly pulled out, before fully shoving himself back in. Right off the bat his pace is brutal, the tip of his dick already finding the special spot deep inside of you.

You could feel him splitting you open, a slight burning feeling making its way through your body as he stuffs you completely full. Your nails dig into the back of his shoulder, bright red marks showing up as you leave scratches against his milky skin.

"O-oh- Matt- Fuck!" The words you attempted to say come out strangled, the air being completely knocked out of your lungs. He pulls away from your shoulder, his eyes holding intense contact with your bouncing breast. He leans down and captures your nipple in his mouth, closing his eyes and humming out at the taste of your salty, sweet skin.

Your hands run through his hair, whimpering out and pushing his face deeper into your chest as he lightly nibbles on the sensitive skin. He pulls away with a wet pop, licking a fat and wide stripe from your breast and all the way up to your neck before stopping at your ear, making sure to moan lowly.

"Feel so fuckin' good sweetheart - shiitt- you love this, don't you?"

You moan in response, the noise turning into a gasp as he swiftly moves you both towards a random TV stand in your garage, slamming you down and redoubling the efforts in his thrust. You let out a silent scream, your eyes rolling back as you try to slow down his movement, your hand lazily slapping at his stomach.

"Don't run from it, sweetheart-" He rasps out, yanking you closer and slamming his hips against yours harder. "You need that car battery, member' ?"

The garage begins to feel smothering, the smell of sex and the smultering heat being enough to make your head fuzzy. You could feel the knot in your stomach forming, the feeling you know all too well forming quickly.

He can feel your walls clamping down on him, his jaw dropping as he moans loudly, the neighbors surely being able to tell what's going on behind the garage door.

"C'mon baby, give it to me." He heaves, his hips beginning to stutter as his own orgasm approaches. His hand trails down from your thigh and towards your sopping wet cunt, his thumb swiping over the bundle of nevers underneath the hood of your clit.

Your back arches as you claw at his chest, your orgasm hitting you full throttle, your juices splashing out between you two. He groans at the sight and stalls deep inside of you, spilling his seed and claiming you as his.

The two of you stay in place, panting and heaving as you try to catch your breath. He bites his lip as he slowly pulls out of you, watching his seed spill out of your abused cunt and leaking onto the garage floor.

He notices the dazed look in your eye and gives a pant mixed with a chuckle, "You ok sweetheart?''

Your delirious nod makes him pat your thigh, pulling you up so you're sitting and letting you rest your head against his abdomen. His fingers smooth over your hair before gripping a few of the curly locks and tilting your head back.

"Go get cleaned up, I'll meet you in the shower."

Your body shivers at the thought of round two, you aren't sure if it's out of exhaustion or excitement, but you don't question it, simply standing up on shaky legs and making your way inside.

Matt pulls up his boxers and his jeans, leaving the belt unblocked but still zipping them up. He looks at the puddle of cum on the floor and snickers, shaking his head and walking towards the garage door. He hits the button, sunlight starting to filter in as the sheet of metal raises. He steps out onto your driveway, immediately coming face to face with a few of the neighborhood moms looking at him with wide eyes and parted mouths. He smirks and gives them a taunting wave, your bright pink thong in his grasp.

"Hello ladies, nice weather, yeah?"

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⠀⊹⠀⠀SKATETRICKS & SOFT-HEARTㅤ⠀⠀𝃛ㅤ⠀ഒ in which⠀⠀ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌ ㅤskaterboy!chris⠀paired w/⠀dove!reader

⠀𝆬⠀⠀quick story⠀⠀ׅ⠀⠀⊹⠀ On a hot summer night, Chris dragged her to a quiet playground. She watched him skate, got needy, and ended up dry humping him in the dark — slow, needy, and breathless

smut, dryhumping, bit of dirty talk, semi-public play

It started with you watching him skate — again.

The summer night was thick and humid, the air warm even long after the sun had gone down. Chris had dragged you out to some forgotten playground tucked behind an old school — one with creaky swings, faded slides, and a single streetlamp flickering in the corner. Quiet, remote. Just the two of you.

He was skating shirtless, of course — sweat shining along his chest, his hair damp, those old gray sweats slung low on his hips. No boxers. You knew because you’d been staring. Every time he landed a trick, his dick bounced just enough to make your throat dry. You curled your legs up on the curb, pretending not to stare.

But Chris saw. He always did.

He caught your gaze on him as he rolled to a stop, that knowing smirk pulling at his lips. “You good, ma?”

You blinked, cheeks warm. “Mhm,” you mumbled. “Just... watching.”

“Yeah?” he asked, stepping off the board and dragging it behind him as he came closer. “Didn’t feel like being subtle tonight?”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have an answer — not one he’d believe. Not with how hot you were under the thin fabric of your shorts. Not with how your thighs pressed tight together.

Chris crouched in front of you, shirt clinging to his back, one hand sliding up your leg. His touch was lazy, warm, like he had all night. “You were lookin’,” he murmured, thumb brushing just under the hem of your shorts. “Didn’t even try to hide it, hm?”

You swallowed, the heat between your legs starting to pulse. “I wasn’t—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hands were already moving, grabbing your waist and tugging you into his lap. You straddled his thigh instinctively, and the second your hips settled against him, you felt it — the slow, steady flex of muscle beneath you, and the unmistakable press of him hard against your leg.

Chris exhaled slowly, eyes dark. “You needy, baby?”

You bit your lip, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

He shifted his thigh, grinding it up against the softest part of you. “Sittin’ there starin’ at my cock all night, wearin’ those little shorts... you didn’t even wanna wait ‘til we got home, did you?”

You whimpered, your hips already starting to rock without thinking. The fabric between you was too thin — every drag sent a tremble up your spine.

Chris leaned in, his lips brushing your jaw. “Feel what you do to me?” he muttered, his cock rutting slowly against your thigh. “You get me so fuckin’ hard, ma. All it takes is one look.”

Your grip tightened on his shoulders, your breathing uneven. He was dragging you along his thigh now, guiding you with both hands at your waist — slow, deliberate, letting you feel everything.

“You gonna come like this?” he whispered, voice low and steady. “Just grindin’ on me like... hmm...little thing who couldn’t wait?”

You couldn’t even answer. The friction, the heat, the way his thigh pressed right against you — it had your body tingling, legs shaky, hips chasing more on instinct. You pressed your forehead against his, breath stuttering.

He groaned softly, rocking his hips up, letting his cock rub harder against your skin. “Let me feel it,” he said. “C'mon, ma. Get messy for me.”

You whined, hips moving faster, the pressure building sharp and thick inside you. Chris held you tight, his thigh flexing beneath you, his lips parted against your cheek, and then—

You came quietly, shivering, your body tensing as you gasped against his neck. And Chris didn’t stop moving — didn’t stop rutting against your leg, chasing his own release with low, breathless groans until he stilled under you, trembling as he let go.

The night air felt hotter than ever.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips. “We’re not even halfway through the night, ma,” he murmured, fingers sliding beneath the back of your shirt. “You wanna see what I can do when we really take our time?”

♡⠀⠀LUMMA ⠀© 2025⠀⠀/ && 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 comment if you want part two with your favourite emoji⠀ ⊹ㅤ @sturniolo-szn2 @slvt4subchratt @grace-sturnz @starsashley00 @cayleeuhithinknott @courtenaybird @rriverscuomo @ifwdominicfike @mattsplaything @whore4-chrissturniolo @bernardsbendystraws @h8aaz ㅤ. .ㅤ. @tezzzzzzzz ⠀!

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something about this day holy fuckkkk

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how about a rock on my finger?

a part of you remembers a time when chris told his brothers— nate included,— and their whole platform that he would simply not cry during his wedding, and that he didn’t understand the hype in general.

but now, standing face to face with that same man, it’s seems he was a total liar.

you look at him in awe as the lights twinkled around you two, family and friends surrounding the floor that the two of you stood on. iris by the goo goo dolls hummed through the speakers in varying spots around the room— successfully submersing you in the moment.

your arms were hooked around his neck while his hands rested gently on your waist, but he still somehow managed to make you feel like you’d never be let go despite his soft mannerism.

swaying in unison as everyone’s attention was focused solely on you guys, you watch chris’ eyes fill with love and devotion. his suit jacket was long forgotten— laying on the backrest of his chair, which left him in his half-unbuttoned button up and black tie. you saw the way his eyes periodically shifted to your white dress, flowing gracefully across the floor.

“im so in love with you…” you hear him whisper faintly in your ear. what you’re not certain if you heard, however, was the tiny sniffle that came with it.

you maneuver your head to catch the small glint on his cheek, rolling like a delicate raindrop. the corners of your lips twist into a smile— but not in the teasing way, in the most purest, tender, intimate way.

“you big baby,” you coo, your own eyes filling with tears of love. he smiles back, rubbing your lower back with his hands.

“if i had all this to do over again… i’d find my way back to you, over and over baby, i promise.” he professed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

a small pout of warmth spread on your face, causing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. his hand came up to rest on the back of your head, caressing it gently.

“im just so happy its you.” the whisper came out of your mouth as you lifted your head once more, reaching a hand up to brush a salty tear that tried to escape from his cheek. you shook the dot of runny sodium off your finger before placing a gentle kiss where the tear previously stood.

you swayed slowly as the world seemingly condensed down to just the two of them, but that’s all that mattered anyway.

a/n — work song started playing while writing this and now im lowk crying? anywho ! is this ass? idk

[adoreechxmpion]

THE SPACE BETWEEN | PT 1 之间的空间

WARNINGS: HEAVY ANGST. AMNESIA / MEMORY LOSS. HOSPITAL SETTING. GREIF. HEARTBREAK.

you always imagined the phone call would come at night.

something about the dark made tragedy feel more fitting—quiet, cinematic, devastating. but it's 3:42 in the afternoon when your phone lights up with nick's name, and for a split second, you almost don't answer. almost let it ring out while you finish folding laundry or refilling your water bottle or whatever stupid, meaningless thing you were doing just before your world cracked in half.

he doesn't start with hello. just your name—sharp, panicked, and broken.

"matt—he was driving back from filming one of his surprises for tour and—fuck—some stupid drunk fuck ran a red light. t-boned him. they're takin' him to the hospital. s'bad."

you don't remember much after that. not how you got there. not who drove. not the way your hands trembled so violently you couldn't hold your phone still. only the way the emergency room lights were way too bright and how chris was pacing in the corner with tears streaming down his face like he didn't even notice them. you do remember the doctor, though. a man with tired eyes and a voice too gentle to be delivering news like this.

"he's lucky," he said. "considering the impact, it's a miracle his injuries weren't fatal. fractured ribs, dislocated shoulder, concussion—pretty severe. he's unconscious now, but we're monitoring for brain swelling. he should wake up soon."

he's lucky.

you wanted to punch something when you heard that. lucky? is that what you call it when someone's car gets crushed by an SUV and they get dragged out of it unconscious with blood in their hair and glass in their skin? is that what you're supposed to feel—luck—while you sit outside a hospital room for hours, praying that the love of your life doesn't die before you can tell him that you'll never forgive yourself for almost not picking up the phone earlier that day?

the first time you see him, he looks like a stranger already.

matt's body is still—too still. like something out of a wax museum. his curls are matted against his forehead, half-dried blood crusting the tips. bruises bloom purple and yellow down the side of his jaw. there's a monitor beeping steadily behind him, and an oxygen tube threaded beneath his nose. and all you can do is stare at him through the glass, one palm pressed to the barrier like it might carry warmth if you just held it there long enough.

chris walks up behind you quietly. he doesn't say anything at first, just slides down the wall beside you, arms curled around his knees.

"he's gonna be okay," he says eventually, voice hoarse.

you nod. not because you believe it—just because you need to believe something.

it's the next morning when he wakes up.

nick had gone to grab coffee. chris was asleep in the chair beside you, curled into himself, hoodie drawn up like a shield. you were half-awake, legs aching from sitting too long, when you heard it—the shift in air. a rustle of sheets. a choked, rasped sound that made your heart spike before you could think.

your eyes snapped to the bed.

matt's hand twitched.

he blinked up at the ceiling, slow and heavy, like it hurt to move. his lips parted around a dry breath. for a second, he didn't say anything—just winced, shifted slightly, and let out the faintest whisper of sound.

"chris...?"

the name punched the air out of your lungs. not because he said it—but because he said it first. before anything else. before even registering the pain or the machines or the room. chris shot up immediately, nearly tripping over the blanket as he scrambled to the edge of the bed.

"matt? holy shit, matt—dude, you're okay, you're awake, okay—fuck, hold on, let me call—"

but you didn't move.

you just sat there, frozen, waiting. waiting for his eyes to land on you. waiting for the moment his expression would soften, the way it always did when he saw you. that little smile, the one that barely curved his mouth but always showed in his eyes.

it didn't come.

he looked at you—but not at you. more like through you. confused. cautious. and then, something worse than anything else you'd prepared yourself for:

"who's that?"

two words. clean, quiet, and curious.

chris stopped mid-sentence. his eyes flicked to you, then back to matt, mouth parting like he was about to correct him—but didn't. you were already standing by then, slowly, like if you moved too fast, you'd shatter.

"matt," you said gently, stepping closer. "it's me. baby, it's—it's me."

and god, you hated the way your voice cracked on that word. baby. the name he gave you. the one he said a thousand times in a thousand different ways—sleepy, breathless, teasing, wrecked. and now he was looking at you like you were a stranger who just wandered in off the street.

his brows furrowed. his head tilted slightly. "m'sorry," he said, "i—i don't know you."

you didn't cry right away.

you nodded, like it was fine. like it made sense. like your fucking chest wasn't splitting open, rib by rib. you said it was okay. you backed away. let chris handle it. sat back down in the chair and folded your hands in your lap so no one would see how bad they were shaking.

and then you just… watched.

watched him take water from a nurse. watched the way he smiled politely when chris cracked a joke. watched his eyes skip past you every time they scanned the room.

he remembered his brothers.

he remembered his name.

he remembered everything—except you.

and somehow, that was worse than if he'd forgotten it all. because he was still him. still matt. still the same voice, same laugh, same way he fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist when he was thinking too hard. but none of it was yours anymore. none of it belonged to you.

and he didn't seem to notice the hollow it left behind.

you stayed. of course you did. chris and nick said it would help, that familiar faces might trigger something. you slept in that awful chair by his bed. brought him his favorite snacks. talked to him like you always had, telling stories he used to love, trying not to crumble when he'd smile politely and ask, "when was that again?"

like you hadn't lived it together.

like he hadn't pulled you into his lap on the roof of your apartment that night, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his phone, begging you to tell the story again even though he already knew the ending.

now he just nods. thanks you for the memory. like it's something you borrowed from someone else.

on the third day, you bring him the hoodie he always used to steal from your closet. it still smells like your detergent—still has the little bleach mark on the sleeve where you accidentally leaned on the stove. you hold it out to him like a peace offering, heart thudding, stupidly hopeful.

"thought you might want this," you say softly. "you used to wear it all the time."

he takes it. fingers the hem. frowns a little. "oh. uh… thanks."

he doesn't put it on.

he folds it carefully, sets it on the bedside table, and turns back to the tv like nothing happened.

and you nod again. because that's all you seem to know how to do now. nod. swallow. pretend.

you tell yourself it's not personal. that it's the head injury, the trauma, the healing. but at night—when the nurses dim the lights and chris passes out in the chair and nick finally goes home to shower—you sit there in the dark and stare at him, and you wonder if maybe it is personal.

maybe some part of him, deep down, chose to forget you.

because the truth is—you were always the softest part of his life. the most fragile. the one he let see all the ugly pieces. maybe that's why his brain protected him from you. maybe forgetting you was the safest thing it could do.

and god, if that's true…

then what the hell are you still doing here?

you ask yourself that every morning, in the echo of your bathroom mirror, in the hallway outside his room, in the sterile quiet between check-ins from the nurses. you're not family. you're not listed on any of his forms. not a girlfriend, not a fiancée, not a wife. just a name he doesn't recognize and a face that makes him frown like he's trying to place it in some half-formed dream.

but you stay. you stay because you don't know how to leave him. because even if he doesn't remember you, you remember everything. every birthday. every 3am conversation. every whispered i love you against your neck. it's all still living inside you, gnawing at the edges of your chest.

he catches you crying one night. the room is quiet—chris stepped out to call their mom, and matt's flipping through hospital channels with the volume turned low. your face is turned away from him, hidden behind your sleeve, and you think you've managed to stay quiet enough.

until you hear it:

"did we… used to be something?"

you freeze. slowly wipe under your eyes. glance at him.

he's not smirking. not teasing. he's dead serious, mouth drawn tight, brow furrowed—not with suspicion, but guilt. like he already knows the answer, and he's afraid to hear it.

you nod. "yeah," you say, barely above a whisper. "we were."

his throat bobs as he swallows. he sets the remote down slowly, like he's afraid it might break. "for how long?"

you hesitate. part of you wants to lie—to protect yourself from the humiliation of the truth. but the other part of you is tired of pretending. tired of tiptoeing around the pieces of something that used to be whole.

"almost four years."

his eyes widen. like that number is too big to fit inside his head. "fuck," he murmurs. "i… i had no idea. no one told me."

"they didn't want to overwhelm you," you explain. "i asked them not to. figured it'd be easier if you remembered on your own."

he's quiet for a second. then:

"m'sorry."

you nod again, but it doesn't mean anything anymore.

"did you... love me?" he asks, voice softer now, almost boyish.

you blink, stare at him. your chest burns like someone lit a match in your throat.

"still do," you say. "every second."

matt's eyes drop to the blanket over his lap. his fingers twist in the fabric, tugging gently at the threads.

"i wish i could say the same," he says quietly. "i wan' to. but i don't… i don't feel it."

you don't respond.

what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

it's not his fault. you know that. he's not cruel. he's not doing this on purpose. but still—it lands like a car crash. like the moment of impact, all over again. only this time, he's the one behind the wheel.

and you're the one watching it all happen in slow motion. the moment he opens his mouth. the way the words hit you. the way you still smile through it because you don't want him to feel bad for something he can't control.

you go home that night, but not because you want to.

nick is the one who says it—gently, carefully, like he's trying to unwrap a bomb without making it explode.

"you've been here since the first day," he says, hand on your shoulder. "jus' for a few hours. go home, shower, sleep in your bed. we'll text if anything changes. he's stable now."

you nod. not because you're ready to leave, but because you know they won't stop asking until you do. so you pack your things slowly. the hoodie he didn't wear. the half-eaten granola bar he said thanks for and barely touched. your charger, your notebook, your silence.

matt's sitting up in bed when you step toward the door. awake, alert, flipping through some tv channel with the volume down low again. his eyes flick to you, just for a second.

but he doesn't say anything.

doesn't ask where you're going.

doesn't say come back soon, or be safe, or see you later.

just nods at you—cordial, distant, polite.

like a fucking stranger.

you whisper a soft, "bye," anyway. like maybe, maybe something in him will twitch. some reflex will fire. some small part of his muscle memory will reach for you.

but nothing happens.

so you leave.

the hallway outside his room is colder than usual. the walls feel too white, like they're glowing, and every footstep sounds like a punch to the gut. you press the elevator button and tell yourself not to cry until you get to your car, but you don't make it that far.

you barely make it to the lobby before your knees go weak and you have to sit down. not because you're tired—but because everything in you feels like it's slipping. like gravity isn't holding you the same way anymore.

it's stupid. pathetic, even.

you weren't in the crash. you weren't the one who almost died. you weren't the one who forgot.

but you're the one grieving.

grieving someone who's still breathing. who's still alive. who still looks at you with the same eyes—but doesn't know who he's looking at. doesn't feel anything when your name is spoken. doesn't even miss you, because how can you miss something you've never known?

that's the part that kills you the most.

he's okay.

and you're not.

you go home. sleep for five hours. stare at the ceiling for three more. your apartment smells like him, faint and haunting, like he walked out only minutes ago instead of forgetting you days ago.

you change your clothes. grab a new hoodie. brush your teeth with a hand that won't stop shaking. and then you go back.

you don't even think about it. just get in your car and drive like your body's on autopilot. because what else is there to do? sit at home and not think about him?

you'd rather die.

when you walk into the hospital room, matt's awake again. sitting up straighter now. hair messy, curls flattened against the pillow, eyes on the window. he turns his head when you step in and gives you the same soft, polite smile he's been giving everyone lately. the one that says thanks for coming, but not i missed you.

you sit in the same chair.

he looks at you for a beat, then says it—calm, casual, like he's just making conversation:

"y'didn't have to come."

and it doesn't even register at first.

you blink. "what?"

"i mean," he shrugs, "i don't want you to feel obligated or anything. i know you and i were… something. but if this is hard for you, s'okay. y'don't have to keep showin' up."

you want to scream. want to say obligated? you think i'm here out of obligation? like this is a favor? like i wouldn't crawl through fire just to sit beside you for five minutes?

but instead, you smile.

you fucking smile.

because what else can you do? he's not being mean. not trying to hurt you. he's just being honest.

and that's the worst part.

you look down at your hands, voice flat. "i want to be here."

matt watches you for a second longer, then nods, satisfied. like that's all he needed to hear.

and just like that, you're back to being the girl who brings snacks and sits in silence and listens to stories she already knows the ending to.

now it's a few days later.

he's stronger. laughing more. his bruises are fading, and he's started asking for his phone, getting restless. which means people start visiting. people who knew him before you. people who don't have to tread carefully when they speak.

you walk into the room that afternoon and stop cold in the doorway.

there's a girl sitting in your chair.

one of his old friends—someone from high school maybe, or one of those mutual circles you never really crossed paths with. she's got her feet tucked under her, a smoothie on the tray beside her, and she's saying something that makes matt laugh.

like—actually laugh. head back, nose scrunched, eyes crinkling at the corners.

you haven't seen him do that in a week.

and something inside you fractures.

you stand there for a second too long. long enough that she notices you. she waves, casual. "hey! you're the one who's been coming by a lot, right?"

you nod. matt glances over. he smiles again, same one as before.

thanks for coming. not i missed you.

"hey," he says, like it's nothing.

like you didn't spend last night crying into the same hoodie he once said made you look like home.

"i brought your charger," you murmur, holding it out.

"oh—thanks." he takes it. sets it beside the smoothie. doesn't invite you to sit. doesn't scoot over. doesn't say stay.

you take a step back, heart caving in on itself. "i'll come back later," you say, voice light, too light. you smile again—god, you wish you'd stop smiling—and back out of the room.

he doesn't stop you.

doesn't even look up.

you close the door quietly behind you, the hospital's cold fluorescent light replaced by the soft hum of the parking lot. your hands are shaking so hard you fumble for your keys, finally gripping the wheel and sinking down into the driver's seat.

the world outside blurs as tears spill over, uncontrollable. you bury your face into the steering wheel, hot and raw, sobs shaking your body with a force you didn't know you had left. the loneliness of the empty car swallowing you whole, and for a moment, you wonder if you'll ever find your way back.

you don't notice nick creeping up beside the car until his voice breaks through the darkness, soft and hesitant.

"hey," he says, knocking lightly on the window.

you wipe your face quickly, but it's useless. the evidence is there—red eyes, fucked up hair, shoulders trembling.

nick sighs, pulling the door open and sliding in beside you without waiting for an invitation. he looks over at you with that worried, almost guilty expression he always wears when things get real.

"m'sorry,” he says, voice low. "you didn't deserve this."

you blink, confused.

"what?"

"matt," nick starts, rubbing his neck. "he's not… he's been asking about you."

your heart stutters. "asking?"

"yeah. about us. about everything you told him. but—" he hesitates, biting his lip. "he says it feels like a story he's reading, not something he lived. like someone else's life."

you swallow hard. "so?"

"so," nick says, eyes dark, "he's scared. scared he won't ever get it back. scared that maybe… maybe he's already lost you."

the words hit you like a fist to the ribs. your chest tightens until it feels like you can't breathe.

"but he doesn't know how to fix it," nick continues, voice breaking just a little. "he doesn't know how to get you back."

you stare out the windshield, heart shattering into pieces too small to gather.

"i don't know if he ever will," you whisper. "and i don't know if i can keep pretending."

nick nods, silent for a long moment.

then he reaches over, squeezing your hand like he wishes he could fix everything with a touch.

"whatever happens," he says quietly, "we'll be here. okay? you're not alone."

you nod again, the tears starting up once more.

because sometimes, that's all there is.

you sit in the car long after nick leaves, the parking lot emptying until you're alone with the quiet and your racing thoughts. every memory of matt—the way his laugh used to fill rooms, the way he used to pull you close like you were the only person in the world—feels like a cruel joke now, a story you're desperate to rewrite but can't.

the next morning, you walk back into that hospital room with a hollow ache tightening your chest. matt’s there, but not really—he's a ghost of who you loved. the light in his eyes is distant, flickering, like he's searching for something just beyond reach.

he looks at you and for a moment, there's something—recognition? hope?—but it's fleeting.

"m'sorry," he says quietly, voice cracking. "i wan' to remember. i wan' to feel what you feel. but s'like tryin' to catch smoke with my hands."

you swallow the sob that rises in your throat, forcing that small, broken smile. "i know."

he reaches out, but his fingers don't quite find yours. the space between you feels wider than ever—an invisible wall made of forgetfulness and grief.

"maybe," he whispers, "we're meant to be strangers now."

and with that, the last thread between you snaps.

you nod, tears spilling freely now. "maybe we are."

you stand, looking at him one last time, every heartbeat screaming how much you want to stay, how much you want to fight for a love that's slipping away.

but sometimes love isn't enough.

you walk out of that room, and the door closes behind you with a finality that echoes through your soul.

you leave without looking back.

the hallway stretches out before you—endless, empty, and cold. your footsteps feel too loud, too real, in the hollow space. you don't look back. you can't.

because some goodbyes aren't meant to be spoken.

some loves aren't meant to be remembered.

and some losses don't heal at all.

you step outside into the pale morning light, the world moving around you but somehow feeling completely still.

and in the quiet, you let the tears fall again.

because this is what forgetting feels like.

not the erasure of memories, but the breaking of something too fragile to fix.

and somewhere deep inside, you wonder if matt is crying too—somewhere you can't reach, somewhere you'll never find.

but you carry the weight of him with you, always.

like a ghost that never leaves.

author's note. inspired by my emotional instability and an alarming amount of silence in my apartment. consider this a group therapy session except no one heals. kisses.

taglist. @sugarraez @dominicfikeenthusiast @mi-co-uk @zenithsturniolo @tezzzzzzzz @bbgirlmatt @courta13 @grace-sturnz @salaciousxsturniolo @eyesonmattyb @matts-wife @ariieeesworld @mattybsgroupie ꒱ ₊˚⊹ .ᐟ

to be added to my taglist, please refer to this post.

[adoreechxmpion]

i wanna be one of those accs where anons talk to them about everything like omg yes girl that one bitch won’t stop talking shit about u and i love gambling as well like yes

also side note i’m on tumblr so much it’s in my dreams. and so is chris. not gonna elaborate further.

[adoreechxmpion]

sighhh….

oh how i miss these days…

[adoreechxmpion]

𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝟑 [𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒆] ✧ 𝑴.𝑺

𝒃𝒔𝒇.ᐟ𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕! Eating you out before fucking you silly. "Fuuck, you taste sooo sweet... I can eat this pretty pussy forever."

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. «𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏» «𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕» «𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕»

𝒘𝒄. 𝟐.𝟏 𝒌

𝒂𝒏. Since the last part ended on a cliffhanger and I felt motivated to finish this mini-series, here’s the third and last part. Love you all, be happy and be horny 👅

𝒑𝒔𝒂. English is not my first language! || Every part can be read as a standalone!

Your hips rolled forward, chasing the friction and the wet warmth of his mouth. Matt’s fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you closer to his face as he sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin.

"Sh-shit-- I’m so close-" Your breath hitched, followed by a soft cry when Matt began to suck on your clit, his fingers curling inside you just right.

He knew exactly what to do to drive you crazy.

Your fingers tightened on his silk bedsheets and his fluffy brown locks, your eyes glazing over and nearly rolling back but still trying your best to keep looking at the delicious sight of his face buried between your legs, feasting on you like you were the most delicious thing he has ever tasted.

𝟓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓

Matt’s hands gently parted your thighs, his palms running up your inner thighs to part them further. He was just about to take off your pants when he suddenly paused.

He looked into your eyes with his soft blue ones, searching yours. "You sure about this?"

"Yeah, I am." You replied, slightly breathless. "I mean if you’re sure about it-"

"Of course I am." He cut you off, maybe a little too quickly, betraying his eagerness to taste you—his best friend.

"I’ll make you feel soo good, sweetheart."

With that promise, he slid off your pants and you instinctively parted your thighs, your breath hitching when the cool air hit the wet fabric of your underwear.

Matt bit back a groan when his eyes zeroed in on the dampness of your panties—the proof of your arousal. His hands shook subtly with desire as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his eyes snapping up to meet yours again, silently waiting for permission to take them off.

Seeing you nod, he slowly pulled down your panties, in awe with every inch of skin being revealed before tossing the soiled fabric aside, his hands gently parting your knees to reveal your core.

Matt gulped softly, almost salivating when he saw your wet pussy glistening so prettily in the dim lighting of his room.

He could smell the sweetness of your arousal, the scent making his dick stir back to life in his boxers. Inching in slowly, he looked up at you through his lashes, making sure you were comfortable before diving in, his tongue eagerly darting out to get a taste of you.

A soft noise slipped past his lips, something between a moan and a groan, when the taste of your juices exploded on his tongue.

He shifted, almost laying on his stomach, trying to get into a more comfortable position so he could really eat you out like he wanted to.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he relished in the taste of you—sweet, and musky.

Your head fell back against his pillow, eyes fluttering, lips parted, your inhales heavier and exhales shakier.

Hearing your soft moans spurred him on, making him more enthusiastic. His fingers prodded at your entrance before sliding inside your warmth with ease thanks to how wet you were.

His dick throbbed against his boxers at the sensation of your pussy enveloping his digits, making him involuntarily roll his hips—grinding against the mattress.

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕

Your thighs shook around Matt’s head, your orgasm washing over you in strong, unrelenting waves. It almost felt like you were high—the pleasure making your brain short-circuit and mind fog.

Your hips rolled, grinding against his face, but not with the intention for more—rather trying to escape from his tight grip and hungry mouth.

"M-matt--- enough! I can’t—ffuuckkk—I can’t!" You cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair, trying to push it back as your back arched, eyes rolling back when he closed his lips around your oversensitive bundle of nerves, sucking hard like he wanted to suck the damn thing off of you.

He felt your grip on his hair tightening again, this time pulling his head closer to your core instead of pushing it away, and that made him moan against your sensitive flesh.

He could feel your velvety walls flutter around his digits, which were still buried deep inside your sopping wet cunt, occasionally sliding in and out as if to remind you of their presence.

Your thighs tightened around his head, your moans growing more louder and desperate when you felt the bands in your stomach grow more and more taut with each flick of his tongue.

Before you could warn him about it, you were already coming hard—enough to have you seeing stars, sparks lighting up behind your eyes.

Matt licked and sucked you through your orgasm, his digits gently petting your quivering walls. He finally pulled away after your body went boneless, sated, shuddering subtly with aftershocks.

When he sat on the bed beside you, legs spread and head against the wall, you noticed his painfully hard length straining against his boxers, a wet patch already having formed from his precum.

He noticed you staring and adjusted himself. "Don’t worry about it. It’ll go away soon."

But your eyes stayed trained on his bulge, unable to look away, your thighs slowly clamping shut as you imagined how his hefty length would feel inside you.

"Hey..." He chuckled softly in amusement. "If you keep looking at it like you wanna devour it, I might do something we’ll both regret."

"Like what?" You challenged, smirking despite the subtle heaving of your chest, still catching your breath after the back to back orgasms.

Matt groaned softly, running a hand through his messy brown locks—which was sticking out in all directions thanks to your hands pulling and tugging at the strands.

"Are you sure about it?"

"About what?"

Matt looked at you with a deadpanned look, but his lips twitched at the corners, finding your dumb act more amusing than irritating.

"Stop it with the act, I know you’re not this stupid." He muttered, looking down at you who was still laying, looking at him with mischief sparkling in your eyes.

"Fine. You want me to spell it out for you?" He sighed, shifting slightly where he sat. "I want to fuck you, make you come on my dick, have you moan my name until your voice is hoarse and have you unable to walk the morning after-"

"Okay, okay, I get it." You interrupted, your cheeks heating up.

Matt watched with a smug smirk as you looked away, flustered by his brief but explicit description of what he wanted to do to you.

"See, you don’t-" "I do."

He stared at you for a moment. "You didn’t even hear what I was gonna say." He mumbled, blinking at you.

You simply tugged at his arm, making goosebumps appear on his skin at the sudden contact. "I promise I won’t regret it." You said, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

"I just... I need you."

Matt’s desire won over his rationality, and he nodded slowly, breathing out a far too breathless "alright" as he moved from his spot.

He settled between your eagerly spread legs, deliberately pulling down his boxers slowly to tease you, watching with a smirk when he saw the way you shifted restlessly on the bed, as if you were aching to be filled by him.

Finally, after a few agonizing seconds, he pulled down his boxers just enough to have his dick spring out, the tip glistening with precum and veins bulging and pulsing along his shaft.

You held your legs apart for him, leaving your greedy pussy exposed for him to use it.

One of his hands held the base of his cock and the other gripped your thigh, teasing his tip along your slick slit before circling it on your swollen and throbbing clit, making you moan softly.

Your responsiveness was making his mind cloud with lust, his breath shaky as he lined himself up with your entrance, which was already sooo slick and ready thanks to your previous orgasms.

Both of you moaned lowly in unison when he slowly pushed inside, stretching you open deliciously. He languidly pulled back before thrusting back in slowly, gradually picking up pace.

Matt quickly found a steady rhythm, trying to control himself and not fuck you too hard, worried he’ll somehow hurt you. But the words tumbling out of your mouth had his hips stuttering and his self-control snapping.

"Oh-oh my God! You’re soo fucking good, harder... Please, Matt- I, I need—mmph-ahn—need you to go harder." You moaned, your nails digging into his back, eliciting a low moan – of pleasure and pain – from him.

A wolfish grin slowly spread across his lips at your plea.

"Harder? You want me to go harder?" He asked, amusement oozing out of every word.

He waited for you to confirm so he could fuck you like he wanted to, and seeing you nod and mumble out another desperate, needy plea for him to go harder, had his dick twitching inside of you.

All the worry faded away, replaced by pure hunger as he straightened up, throwing your legs over his shoulder and wrapping his arms around them before picking up pace. He tilted his hips to repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside your gummy walls—the one that made your eyes roll back and toes curl.

Your hands fisted in his silk sheets, overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock unrelentingly rutting into your sweet spot, giving your brain no time to process the pleasure.

Then he suddenly took your legs off his shoulder, pulling them wide open and back before leaning forward, pushing your thighs into your chest with his body weight. His hips blurred as he fucked you into the bed, going deeper than he did before—no doubt bruising your cervix with each harsh thrust.

You were definitely going to have a limp tomorrow.

𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒇 𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

Your muffled moans filled the room, face pressed against Matt’s silk pillowcase, hair tangled and wrapped around his hand as he pushed your head further into his pillow, trying to muffle your moans in fear of Nick or Chris potentially hearing it.

But they probably already know what’s going on in his room by now. Thanks to his bed creaking like it’s about to fucking fall apart and the bedframe slamming against the wall with such force that he wondered how the wall was still in tact.

His other hand tightened its grip on your wrist that was pressed against your lower back, his hips slapping against your ass with obscene wet smacks.

You were being fucked into oblivion, your eyes rolling back with each deep thrust, not even remembering how many times you have come already.

Matt felt his orgasm quickly building up at the base of his spine, making him groan loudly. "Fuuck, I’m gonna cum!"

His pace faltered, hips stuttering as he squeezed his eyes shut, brows bunching in pleasure when he felt your pussy squeeze him like a vice.

With great will power, he pulled out his dick and began fapping over your ass, his hips moving in rhythm with his hand, fucking it as he felt his balls draw tight.

He bit the back of his hand as he came, hips jerking and cock twitching, spurting out his release on your ass and some even landing on your back.

Matt collapsed beside you after the last little rope of cum, his breath heavy and uneven, chest heaving and heart pounding in his chest.

"You know..." You began breathlessly, still on your stomach with his release all over your ass and back. "Next time, you should come inside." You teased, turning your head to look at him with a subtle smirk playing on your lips.

Matt’s eyes widened slightly, his dick twitching and already growing hard despite coming just recently. His face slowly flushed a soft hue of pink, the post-orgasmic state making him feel open and vulnerable.

"I don’t know... I mean, it’s not a no, I’d love to... But it’s too-"

"Too risky?" You finished his sentence for him, and he nodded, taking his shirt that had fallen on the ground and using it to wipe his cum off your lower back and ass.

"Yeah... Can’t really knock you up, can I?" He haphazardly tossed his shirt back on the floor. "You serious though?"

You chuckled and rolled over, now laying on your back, staring at the ceiling. "Maybe... You’ll just have to find out for yourself."

Matt rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the attraction he felt for you. He tucked you into his side, his arm casually wrapped around your waist as your head laid on his chest. It wasn’t just the sex for him—it was something far more deeper.

But he decided to keep his feelings to himself for now, not wanting the change just yet.

Maybe next time.

𓆩 𝑭𝒊𝒏 𓆪

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂