bluestriips

[bluestriips]

─ ⋮ ⌗ THE WEIGHT OF LETTING GO. . . ⟢ ARTIST.ᐟCHRIS ᵎᵎ

chapter 15

CONTENTS: heavy angst, terminal illness, grief + more…. WC: 5.4k

as always, but this time more than ever—this chapter belongs to this song. keep it on repeat.

a mother’s worst fear is losing her child.

 from the second they’re placed in her arms, nothing else matters. not sleep, not time, not the parts of herself she used to guard so closely. she gives it all away, gladly. she’s there for the first cry, the first laugh, the first fever that keeps her up all night. she learns how to translate every sound, every shift in their breath. she shows up to every game, every concert, every parent-teacher meeting with circles under her eyes and a heart that stays cracked open. she’s the one who knows where the missing sock is, what night the science project is due, how to braid hair in five minutes flat. she catches them when they fall, and when she can’t, she’s the one who teaches them how to get back up. her life folds around theirs so completely, she forgets what it was before them.

a mother’s love truly knows no bounds. 

it doesn’t hesitate. it doesn’t ask why. it just shows up every single time, no matter how tired, no matter how much it costs her. she’ll go without so her child doesn’t have to. she’ll soften her voice even when the world has made her hard. she’ll carry guilt that doesn’t belong to her just to make things easier. her body changes, her mind bends, her whole life reshapes itself around someone else’s needs without a second thought. and she does it all quietly, without needing recognition. because to her, that love isn’t a choice. it’s built-in. bone-deep. unconditional. it’s there in the way she worries, the way she gives, the way she never once thinks of herself first.

but the crueler truth, the one no one wants to name, is what it feels like to leave them behind. to watch the world keep spinning while your children are still learning how to stand on their own. to wonder if they’ve learned enough. if you’ve said the right things, taught the right lessons, loved them the right way. if they’ll know how to handle the nights that stretch too long or the mornings that start too quiet. if they’ll reach for comfort and find it missing. there’s no guide for that kind of goodbye. no moment where it suddenly feels okay. just the unbearable weight of not knowing how much more time you’ll have to remind them they were never alone.

unfortunately for evelyn, that fear has already begun to take shape. not in the way she once braced for — not with sirens or accidents or a phone call in the middle of the night but slowly, cruelly, in reverse. it’s her they’ll lose. her who’s running out of time. and there’s nothing she can do but watch from across the room as the people she loves most learn how to live without her. chris doesn’t know it yet, but she’s been studying him. holding onto every small softness that slips out when he’s not looking. the way his hand brushes lila’s hair behind her ear. the way he listens when star speaks. how he lets himself laugh, quietly, like it still surprises him. she watches all of it and wonders if it’ll be enough — if these moments will stay with them long after she’s gone. that’s the part no one tells you. how hard it is to let go when your love was the thing that held everything together. how it feels to fade out while they’re still figuring out how to stand. and how it breaks something deep in you, knowing they’ll be okay…but you won’t get to see it.

she sees it happen in real time. star pressing a kiss to lila’s hair, then slipping across the room without a word. she doesn’t make a sound as she folds herself into the space beside chris, knees tucked under her, shoulder brushing his. they don’t look at each other, don’t need to. their voices stay low, far too soft for anyone else to hear. but evelyn doesn’t need to hear them to understand. she watches chris lean in, watches the way his body loosens, how his jaw unclenches, how his hand finds its way to her knee like it’s done it a hundred times before. this is not the version of her son the world knows. not the guarded boy with heavy eyes and heavier shoulders. not the one who flinched when she reached for his hand after the diagnosis. this is the boy she raised. the one who used to crawl into her lap just because. the one who once believed the world could be good. and somehow, this girl — the one from the trailer park, the one who showed up like a storm and stayed like sunlight — has brought him back to her. not all at once. not fully. but in pieces. and evelyn, lying still in her bed, watching from across the room, holds onto that like it might be the last good thing she gets. because if she has to go, let it be with that image burned into her. her boy, soft again. her boy, loved. her boy, safe.

she turns her head toward lila next. her baby. her last. knees splayed out behind her on the floor, tongue poked out in concentration as she colors the corner of some half-finished picture. evelyn watches her hum under her breath, twisting the marker cap on and off, one sock already halfway off her foot. and it hits her all at once, how little time they’ve had. how the world gave her this bright, beautiful girl, only to start taking pieces of her away before evelyn ever got the chance to fully know her. seven years. that’s all she got. and three of them—three— were already eaten up by this sickness. hospital rooms. missed birthdays. cancelled sleepovers. the smell of antiseptic instead of cookies. the sound of machines instead of lullabies. evelyn worries that’s all lila will remember. not the pancakes shaped like hearts. not the songs she used to sing during bathtime. not the way she danced in the kitchen with her in her arms. just the tired version. the weak one. the mom who had to lie down. the mom who couldn’t come. the mom who faded too fast. and that’s the part she can’t shake. the guilt of being someone lila might spend her life trying not to forget. or worse—trying to forget it all.

she blinks slow, lets her eyes drift toward the ceiling, lets the weight settle in her bones. it’s been months since she left this room. months since she felt the sun on her face without a pane of glass between them. the last time was christmas. six months ago. the last time she pushed through the pain, the exhaustion, the tightness in her chest that made it hard to move, hard to breathe, hard to laugh without breaking into a cough that left her ribs sore for days. but she wanted that moment. just one. one last normal memory. she helped decorate the trailer, strung up dollar store lights around the windows, tied ribbon to every cabinet. lila helped her hang mistletoe in the doorway, giggling the whole time, plotting how to trap chris and star underneath it. and for a little while, it worked. the house was full of warmth and noise and too much sugar. she remembers sitting back on the couch, a blanket over her legs, and just watching. soaking them in. chris making pancakes in the kitchen. lila bouncing on the balls of her feet. star fixing the crooked star on top of the tree.

the morning of, she watched lila open her gifts in a flurry of tissue paper and taped-up boxes. the ones marked from santa, sure—but there were others, too. smaller ones. labeled in chris’s handwriting, but signed from mom. and it tugged at her in a way she couldn’t name. because she hadn’t shopped. hadn’t wrapped. hadn’t done anything but lie in bed and hope she’d still be there by morning. but chris had done it anyway. filled in the blank. made sure lila didn’t feel the absence. made sure she was still there, even when she couldn’t be.

by the time the sun had come up, she couldn’t hide the coughing anymore. it rattled through her like her body was hollow, like her lungs had finally had enough. and she remembers the look on chris’s face. the way the joy drained out of him all at once. the way his hands shook when he grabbed the keys. the drive to the hospital was a blur. a heaviness in her chest like a family of elephants had taken up residence there. it felt as though every breath came with a cost.

it’s the end of june now.

and she hasn’t been home since.

but of course, the quiet doesn’t last. it never does. 

it starts low in her throat, barely there at first — a dry tickle, the kind she’s learned to swallow back. but this one builds. a cough that rips through her like it wants to take something with it. her whole body jerks forward, lungs squeezing against ribs that don’t bend the way they used to. and just like that, the moment fractures.

chris is up before she can blink, already at her side, one hand steadying her shoulder, the other reaching behind her to adjust the bed. he moves on instinct now. like he’s been rehearsing this. like he’s afraid if he fumbles it, she might disappear. lila’s voice goes quiet as she scrambles up from the floor, her little hands gripping the blanket over evelyn’s lap, eyes wide, lips pressed into a tight line. star is beside her next, calm but quick, straw already tucked into a cup before evelyn’s finished coughing. she doesn’t say anything. just holds it out, waiting. evelyn takes it with shaking hands, breath hitching around the rim, the worst of it passing, but the weight still sitting heavy in her chest.

she hates this part. the way everything else falls away. the way they all look at her when it happens. like she’s already half-gone.

“you want me to get a nurse?” chris asks, voice low but tight, already half-turned like he’s ready to bolt.

evelyn shakes her head, slow and stubborn. “no. m’okay.”

he doesn’t look convinced. she can see it in the way his jaw twitches, in the way his hand hovers at the edge of the call button like it’s burning through his skin.

“chris,” she says gently, forcing the words through what’s left of her breath. “sit down. i’m okay.”

star doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just keeps her hand curled loosely around the cup in case evelyn needs more. lila’s still holding onto the blanket, eyes trained on her like she’s waiting for permission to stop being afraid.

evelyn breathes in slow, shaky. 

“just went down the wrong pipe,” she adds, offering the lie like it might still work. like they’re the kind of family who can afford to pretend.

no one believes her and the room goes quiet again. not the kind of quiet from before, not soft or warm. this one feels tight. stretched thin. chris stays standing, arms crossed now, like he doesn’t trust himself to sit. evelyn leans back against the pillows, trying to catch her breath without letting it show. and lila—sweet lila—has gone still beside her, eyes bouncing between the two of them like she knows something’s about to crack and she doesn’t know how to stop it.

star feels it deep in her bones.

the tension. the weight. the way hospitals trap you in the space between what is and what might be. it settles deep in her stomach, dredging up memories she doesn’t want to think about. she swallows it down, smooths her expression, and leans toward lila with a small smile.

“hey bug,” she says, nudging her gently. “you wanna go give some of those drawings to the nurses? bet they’d love to hang ‘em up.”

lila looks up, hesitant, eyes flicking to her mama, then to chris. star reaches for the pile of papers on the floor, fanning them out in her hand.

“come on. we’ll pick the best ones.”

it’s a gentle out, a quiet offering. not just for her and  lila, but for chris and evelyn too.

and after a second, lila nods.

they slip out without much noise. just the soft shuffle of lila’s sneakers, star’s hand on the door, the whisper of papers in her other arm. the click of it closing behind them sounds louder than it should. final, almost.

evelyn shifts slowly, wincing as she adjusts the pillows behind her back. her hand moves to the empty space beside her and pats it gently, eyes lifting to find chris still standing where he was.

“c’mon don’t make me beg,” she says, a weak smile tugging at her mouth.

he huffs something quiet, barely a sound but after a second he moves carefully, like he’s afraid to break something, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. then closer. until he’s lying beside her, head resting soft against her chest, arms drawn in like he used to when he was small. except now, he’s almost twice her size.and she’s smaller than she’s ever been. her skin like paper. her limbs frail and foreign, like she’s been whittled down to nothing by the months of medicine and waiting. she brushes her fingers through his hair, slow and careful. and for a moment, it’s just them again.

her hand stays in his hair, light and rhythmic, the same way it used to be when he’d crawl into her lap after nightmares. her voice breaks the silence, soft like she’s afraid to disturb the moment but knows it can’t stay untouched forever.

“i remember when i found out i was pregnant with you,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “i was so excited. and absolutely terrified.”

“i’d never been more sure of anything and still had no idea what i was doing. i used to lie awake at night with my hand on my stomach, just hoping i wouldn’t mess it up. hoping i’d be good enough for you.”

her fingers trace absent circles along the side of his head. her eyes are somewhere far off now. not in the room. not in the bed but back in that tiny apartment with the leaky faucet and the ugly carpet. back when she was barely older than chris is now.

“i told james in the parking lot of a grocery store,” she adds, the name slipping out before she means to. “thought he was gonna pass out right there between the cart return and the lottery machine.”

she feels it then. the way chris stiffens just slightly against her chest. not enough to pull away but just enough to remind her where the line is. how deep it still runs.

so she stops there and lets the memory hang without shape. 

“but when they handed you to me,” she says quietly, steering back toward him, “everything got quiet. you looked up at me with that little wrinkled forehead and that tiny scowl like the world had already pissed you off. and i just… i knew. no matter how scared i was, no matter how much i didn’t have… i knew you were mine. and i was yours.”

she pauses, thumb brushing his temple.

“i still feel that way, y’know. every day. even now.”

her fingers move gently through his hair, like she’s memorizing the feeling again.

“i remember you used to line your toy trucks up in perfect little rows across the hallway. i’d step over them every morning on the way to the kitchen. god forbid i moved one—threw your whole day off.”

she smiles to herself, chest barely lifting with the breath.

“and you hated shoes. refused to wear them unless you absolutely had to. barefoot all the time. even outside. used to come in with dirt between your toes and pretend you had no idea how it got there.”

a soft laugh escapes her lips, small but real. chris doesn’t move, but she feels the weight of him shift just slightly, settling deeper into her side.

“you used to carry around that red bucket, remember? never filled it with anything in particular. sometimes rocks. sometimes string. once, i think you put one of your dad’s lighters in it. scared me half to death.”

she pauses again, smile fading only slightly.

“you were such a funny kid. serious, but so full of wonder. always building something. always asking how things worked.”

her hand slows in his hair, eyes drifting to the window now. the world still moving out there. still going on without her.

“i’ve been going back to those days a lot. in here,” she taps lightly against her temple, “when it gets too quiet. when the nurses change shifts and the tv’s playing the same damn cooking show for the third time in a row. i just… i close my eyes and pretend i’m back in that little hallway, stepping over your trucks. yelling at you to put your shoes on. making pancakes while you sat on the counter and stole chocolate chips out of the bag when you thought i wasn’t looking.”

she sighs softly. 

“those were the best years of my life, chris. not because everything was easy. it wasn’t. but because i had you.”

“you know when i first realized you were gonna be an artist?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper now, like it’s just for him. “you were four. maybe five. you’d found a pack of crayons under the couch and drew all over the wall by the front door.”

her hand stills for a moment, resting gently on the side of his head.

“it wasn’t scribbles either. it was a whole scene. a house, a tree, a little stick figure with crazy hair—me, i think. and this tiny sun in the corner, smiling like it knew something i didn’t. was supposed to be mad. hell, i wanted to be. but i couldn’t stop staring at it. even then, you were saying things without having to say them. that’s always been your way.”

she looks down at him, the weight of her hand returning to his hair.

“every time you drew, i could see it. what you were too young—or too stubborn—to say out loud. when you were happy, your lines were light and fast. when you were angry, the whole page went dark. when you were scared, everything shrank. even now, when i see your sketches, i know. before you tell me anything. before you say a single word. your art… it’s always been the truest part of you. and the one thing that never shut me out.” her breath catches slightly, just enough for him to notice. and when she speaks again, her voice is different. 

“you changed after your dad left,” she says, the words rougher now. thinner. like they’ve been hiding in her chest too long. “i think i did too.”

her eyes blink slow, her gaze still set somewhere far away. it takes effort now to keep going.

“it was like everything fell apart at once. the bills, the house, the noise. and lila was so small… she didn’t understand why he wasn’t coming back. i mean neither did i.”

chris listens to the way her heart pounds against her chest as she takes another deep breath before continuing. 

“but you—god, chris, you didn’t even flinch. you just… stepped up. like it was nothing. like it was your job to hold everything together when i could barely get out of bed some mornings.you were sixteen. you should’ve been worrying about grades and girls and how much gas was in your tank. not whether your mom could keep the lights on. not how much chemo was gonna cost. not how to tell your little sister that her dad wasn’t coming home.”

her voice cracks, just barely.

“you were a kid.”

there’s a long pause. long enough that chris finally speaks, his voice low, steady, but full.

“you don’t have to feel guilty for that ma,” he says. “i’d do it all again.”

but she cuts him off,“no,” she says, shaking her head. “no, baby. it wasn’t your job. sickness or not. none of it should’ve been on you. you were my son, not my safety net. not lila’s father. just my sweet boy cleaning up his mom’s mess.”

her words hang heavy in the air, thicker than anything else in the room. chris doesn’t move at first. just lies there, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. he’s spent years carrying it. all of it. the pressure, the responsibility, the fear. and he never once let it show.

his fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, slow at first, then tighter. his shoulders shake before his voice does.

“i didn’t know what else to do,” he says, barely audible. “you got sick. he left. lila needed someone. i didn’t know what else to do.”

his voice breaks on the last word, and he ducks his head into her chest like he used to when he was little, like if he hides there long enough, none of this will be real. he swallows hard, breath hitching, and for the first time in what feels like years, he lets himself fall apart.

“i was scared.”

the words barely make it out. swallowed by the fabric of her shirt, by the weight of everything he’s never said. a muffled sob follows, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. the kind that doesn’t sound like it belongs to a grown man but to a boy who’s been holding his breath for years.

evelyn feels it. all of it. the way his body curls into hers, the way his fingers fist into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping him from slipping under. and god, she wants to make it better. wants to lift the weight off his shoulders, wants to take it all back — the sickness, the fear, the too-many times she watched him choose responsibility over childhood.

“i know, baby,” she whispers, her voice catching. “i know you were.” she presses a kiss to the top of his head, eyes stinging, throat thick.

“you didn’t deserve any of it. not one second. and i’m so sorry i put you through that.”

he doesn’t answer. can’t. the sobs are quiet, but they don’t stop. and evelyn just holds him. rubs his back in slow circles. lets him cry the way he never got to. the way he never let himself.

she closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, the warmth of him pressed against her. he’s too big to fit like this anymore, but she holds him anyway. like she used to when his legs were still short and his fears were smaller. like nothing in the world could touch him as long as he was in her arms.

she wishes that were still true.

“you were never supposed to carry it all,” she says softly. “i should’ve told you that sooner.” her hand finds its way back to his hair, brushing through it with the kind of tenderness only a mother has. 

“but i saw you, chris. every single day. i saw how hard you tried. how much you gave. how much you hid, just to make everyone else feel okay.” her voice trembles again, but she doesn’t stop.

“you kept this family together. and i know that came at a cost.”

his shoulders still shaking, and she presses another kiss to his hairline. lets her lips linger there.

“i just want you to know… you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. not anymore.”

“i don’t know how to do this.” he doesn’t look at her when he says it. can’t. his gaze stays somewhere on her blanket, like if he looks at her face, he’ll fall apart all over again.

“i don’t know how to let you go.” his breath hitches, thick and unsteady, and the words tumble out faster now, like they’ve been waiting years to escape.

“i try to act like i’m fine, like i’ve got it handled, but i’m not fine. i’m not. i’m fucking scared all the time. i wake up every day and feel like something’s sitting on my chest and i can’t get it off. i keep thinking about lila and how the hell i’m supposed to be both her brother and her parent. i keep thinking about what happens when you’re not here anymore and no one else knows how to hold us together.”

he finally looks at her, and it’s all there on his face. the fear. the guilt. the sheer exhaustion that’s lived under his skin for far too long.

“i’m so tired, ma.” 

his voice breaks on the last word. not just cracked—shattered. like it’s taken everything in him to say it. he swallows hard, knuckles pressed to his mouth like he’s trying to shove the rest of it down.

“i don’t know how to do this without you.” he’s quiet after that. not because he’s done feeling—but because he’s said it now. all of it. everything he’s been carrying in silence. and for the first time, it’s not just his anymore.

evelyn’s quiet, like she’s gathering the right words from somewhere deep inside her. 

“you won’t have to do it alone.”

chris’s brows pull in just a little, his eyes still puffy and red. evelyn smiles faintly, barely there, and lets her fingers trace the curve of his ear like she used to when he was a baby.

“i haven’t been around for everything,” she says gently. “not the way i wanted to be. not these past few months. but i’ve seen enough. i saw it the second she walked through the door.”

“that girl loves you,” evelyn says. “and you love her.”

his jaw tightens, just slightly.

“you can’t deny it,” she adds. “i know you haven’t told her. i know you probably haven’t even admitted it to yourself. but i’m your mother, chris. i know more about you than you know about you.” he blinks slowly, then glances away toward the window, toward the hallway where star and lila disappeared.

evelyn keeps going, “i’ve watched the way you are around her. the way your face softens. the way you listen. the way you breathe easier when she’s near. and i don’t mean just comfort. i mean peace. real peace. the kind that only shows up when you’ve found your person.”

he shifts again, shoulders curling inward, almost like he wants to argue — but he doesn’t.

“she brings out my little boy again,” evelyn continues, softer now. “the one who used to laugh at his own jokes. the one who asked a million questions about everything. she makes you soft again. in the best way.”

“i’m not—” chris starts, but it’s barely a protest, and evelyn cuts him off with a look.

“don’t,” she says gently. “don’t lie to me, not about this.”

his mouth opens like he might try again, but it just closes around a breath instead. 

evelyn leans her head back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut for a second, 

“you tried so hard to act like you were fine without her when everything happened,” she murmurs. “but you weren’t. and that’s okay. no one wants to live without the person who makes them feel like home.”

he swallows hard, his throat aching.

“you don’t have to be scared of loving her,” she says. “you already do.”

silence falls over the two of them again, chris’ thoughts swarming in his head. 

“yeah.” his voice is rough, but there’s no hesitation.

evelyn opens her eyes, turning them toward him.

“yeah?” she repeats, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

he nods once. exhales like something he’s been holding just let go.

“i do,” he says. “i love star.”

the words sit in the air for a moment. 

evelyn lets out the softest breath of a laugh, not surprised. not at all.

“told ya so,” she whispers.

chris rests his head back on her chest, eyes fluttering shut, letting the silence settle in again. and for the first time in a long time, he feels like maybe he’ll be okay. maybe not for a while but someday because she’s right, he won’t have to do it alone.

the door creaks open a few minutes later. not loud, but enough to pull chris’s eyes open again.

star steps in first, holding the drawings like a stack of fragile glass. lila trails just behind her, one arm wrapped around star’s leg, the other clutching a blue crayon she must’ve stolen from the nurse’s desk. her hair’s a little messier than before, her cheeks slightly flushed, but her eyes go straight to the bed.

“hi mama,” she says, voice still small but steadier now.

evelyn turns her head toward them, smiling soft. “hey, baby.”

lila crosses the room quickly, her sneakers barely making a sound against the tile, and climbs up onto the edge of the bed without waiting for permission. she curls herself into evelyn’s side, opposite of chris, careful like she’s learning how to be gentle. her little fingers pick at the hem of evelyn’s blanket.

“i gave nurse julie the one with the hearts,” she says. “she said she’s gonna tape it to the coffee machine.”

“did she?” evelyn murmurs. “she’ll think of you every time she gets her caffeine.”

lila grins a little at that and leans her head down.

star doesn’t say anything at first. just lingers near the foot of the bed, eyes flicking from evelyn to chris and back again. but there’s something knowing in her expression. not pity. not worry. just awareness. like she can feel the air in the room has shifted — like something unspoken passed between them while she was gone.

her eyes land on chris last. his face is still a little blotchy, his lashes still damp, but his shoulders are looser now. his grip on the blanket has eased. he looks at her like he knows she knows. and she does. but she doesn’t ask, just gives the smallest nod, like okay i’m here.

evelyn watches it all unfold from her place in the middle. her boy beside her, her baby girl tucked into her side, and this girl—this unexpected, remarkable girl—standing at the edge of the bed like she’s always belonged there. 

“come here, sweetheart,” evelyn says softly, reaching a hand out. it trembles a little, but it stays steady enough to hold.

star walks around to the other side and lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, just near chris. she doesn’t speak, doesn’t look away and her hand finds evelyn’s and squeezes. chris doesn’t move, but his arm shifts just enough to brush against hers. lila yawns quietly and snuggles deeper into evelyn’s side, her thumb grazing the edge of the blanket, her body warm and familiar and safe. and for a moment, no one says anything. they just stay there, pressed close & quiet. together.

because even if the world outside keeps spinning, even if everything is about to change, right now, in this small hospital room with the lights dimmed low and the machines humming steady, they still have this.

this — this is what every fear had always come down to. the leaving. the letting go, the knowing they’d have to figure out how to live without her. but as she lies there, her son pressed to one side, her daughter curled into the other, and star’s hand wrapped gently in her own, evelyn feels something she hasn’t in a long time.

relief.

because yes, a mother’s worst fear is losing her child and for a while, that’s what she braced for. every appointment, every scan, every late-night ache in her bones felt like a countdown to being taken from them too soon.

but this…this is different.

she knows now that it won’t be the end of them. not even close. chris will be okay. he’s tired, but he’s still here. still loving. still showing up. and he’s not alone anymore. lila will be loved. raised in a house where someone knows her favorite snack and which nightlight she refuses to sleep without. and star—star will be the one who softens the edges when grief gets too sharp. who reminds them how to laugh and how to breathe.

evelyn lets her eyes close, the weight in her chest still heavy, but not so crushing anymore.

they’ll be okay without me.

authors note: welp! this took almost a month to write? kept pushing it off cause well…!

[bluestriips]

𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓 | 𝐂.𝐒 & 𝐌.𝐒 ― 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃

▶︎ ၊၊||၊ P power , GUNNA & Drake

chris sturniolo! & matt sturniolo! x f!reader

WARNINGS : smut, dom!chratt, kinda eiffel tower, p in v, unprotected sex, tittyfucking, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, spitting, creampie, aftercare, (no incest obv, usage of "slut" and talk of "milking"

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝟏𝟖+

You’re on all fours—back arched, chest slick with spit, thighs trembling from how long they’ve had you like this.

Chris is behind you, one hand planted on the small of your back, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise. His cock is buried deep, thick and pulsing inside your soaked cunt as he fucks you with long, punishing thrusts. He drags out slowly until only the swollen head sits inside you, then slams back in—sharp, deep, possessive.

“Listen to that,” he groans, hips slapping into your ass hard, over and over, obscene squelching filling the room as your pussy clenches around him. “Fucking messy, baby. You hear how wet you are for me?”

Each thrust punches a moan out of you, your arms shaking beneath you, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth as Chris uses you like he owns you. His cock hits every perfect spot inside, your body twitching when the head of him brushes your cervix just right.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, sweat dripping from his brow. “Gripping me like a fuckin’ vice, baby god—”

In front of you, Matt is lounging—shirt open, belt undone, cock hard and twitching as you squeeze your tits around it. He’s been letting you work him with your chest while Chris destroys your pussy from behind, and he looks wrecked. Face flushed, chest rising in sharp breaths, eyes glued to the sight of your tits bouncing while his cock slides through them, wet with your spit.

“Fuuck,” Matt groans, his hips twitching up gently into the softness of your breasts. “Do that again. Spit on it, baby.”

You glance up at him, breathless, then tilt your head and let a slow string of spit fall right onto the head of his cock. It drips down, thick and warm, mixing with the sheen already smeared across your chest. He hisses, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“That’s it. Shit—makes it slide so easy,” he pants, fucking his cock through your tits harder now, your cleavage hugging every inch. “So fuckin’ hot. You like my cock between these pretty tits?”

Your smile is lazy, fucked out. “You tell me,” you whisper, then lean forward just enough to drag your tongue over the leaking tip.

Matt groans like he’s been punched, eyes fluttering shut. “Jesus Christ, you're fuckin' perfect—our fuckin' pretty good girl, huh?”

Behind you, Chris is panting harder, pace turning feral. His thrusts are brutal now, fucking up into you with loud, wet slaps, cock bullying your cunt deeper with each snap of his hips.

“You gonna come on my cock again?” he growls, leaning forward to slap your ass once—then again, harder.

“You feel that? Feel how deep I am in this tight fucking pretty pussy?”

You choke on a moan, body jolting forward. Your legs are shaking, cunt fluttering around him. He can feel you starting to lose it—starting to fall apart completely, all around him.

Matt pulls his cock from your tits, eyes dark with hunger. “Open that mouth, baby. Wanna feel that sweet throat.”

Your mouth falls open immediately, still leaking spit from the mess you made earlier, and Matt wastes no time. He grabs the back of your head and shoves his cock forward, pressing past your lips and into the tight heat of your throat with one deep, smooth thrust.

You gag—just slightly—but take him anyway, relaxing around the intrusion, tongue pressing against the underside of him as he holds you there.

“Fuck—fuck yes,” he hisses, hips trembling. “So warm… fuckin’ perfect mouth. Don’t move. Let me use it.”

Chris growls low at the sight, slowing just enough to watch Matt fuck your throat while he drives into your cunt. He stares at the way your face looks stretched and ruined around Matt’s cock, your spit clinging to his shaft every time he drags it out before thrusting right back in.

“She’s gagging on it,” Chris groans, grabbing your ass tighter. “You’re making her choke.”

“Good,” Matt spits. “She can take it.”

You’re moaning nonstop now—muffled around Matt’s cock, back arching as Chris pounds into your soaked cunt harder, deeper, rougher. Your pussy clenches, your throat tightens, and your whole body burns.

Chris leans forward, breath hot on your spine. “You want it?” he grunts. “Want us to fucking fill you up?”

You nod as best you can with Matt buried down your throat, a soft whimper slipping from your lips.

Matt thrusts once more, then pulls out just enough to let you breathe—only to shove back in, rough and deep, groaning as he hits the back of your throat.

Your lips stretch wide around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as you gag softly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He doesn’t slow down—his grip tightens in your hair, controlling the angle of your head, hips rolling forward with practiced force.

“Fuck—yeah, just like that,” he pants, watching your throat bulge around the thickness of him. “God, you’re fucking choking on it.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs for stability, body shaking from the force of it—Chris still pounding into your dripping cunt from behind while Matt ruins your throat from the front.

You’re caught between them, filled in every way, stretched and fucked and held in place like their favorite toy.

Matt groans low in his chest, teeth clenched, eyes glued to your flushed, tear-streaked face. “You love it, huh? Mouth so goddamn wet for me. So pretty with your throat stuffed full.”

Chris loses it first.

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come,” he growls, hips slamming into you one last time as his cock throbs, spilling inside you. His cum fills your pussy in hot, heavy spurts, dripping around his cock and down your thighs. “Take it. Take all of it, fuck.”

You scream around Matt’s cock, shaking, sobbing, coming again as Chris fucks his warm come deeper and deeper into your cunt, covering your walls.

Matt jerks out of your mouth, fisting himself fast and messy. “Open up,” he pants. “Tongue out.”

You do—eyes half-lidded, tongue coated in spit—and Matt groans as he comes hard, thick ropes hitting your mouth, chin, tits, even your throat. “Fuckfuck, take it—just like that.”

You swallow what you can, dazed, messy, gasping for air.

Chris spreads your pussy with two fingers to watch his cum leak out of you, while Matt smears the last of his release over your tongue with the tip of his cock.

They both stare at you, wrecked and perfect on your knees, your mouth and pussy used, your chest painted in spit and cum.

“Fuck,” Chris breathes. “She was made for this.”

Matt smirks, voice low and wrecked. “Gonna keep her like this.”

Your limbs feel boneless—shoulders slumped, thighs trembling, mouth raw, cunt aching, every inch of your skin humming from where they touched you.

“Shit,” Chris breathes, voice much softer now as he brushes a hand down your spine. “You okay, baby?”

You nod faintly, cheek resting against the cool pillow beneath you, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

You’re wrecked—thoroughly fucked-out—but you’re okay. More than okay.

Matt’s already tucking himself back in, but not before grabbing a warm towel from the bathroom. You barely notice until something soft and wet presses to your chest, wiping away the mess he left behind with slow, careful strokes.

“Still breathing?” he teases lightly, crouching in front of you, his free hand cupping your jaw. “You did so fuckin’ good.”

You hum weakly, letting your eyes open enough to meet his. His gaze is calmer now, still intense—but not hungry. Just focused. Attentive. Like he’s trying to see if he pushed too far.

Behind you, Chris eases his cock from your pussy, exhaling low through his nose when he sees just how much of him spills out with the motion. He watches it for a moment, then reaches for another towel, gently parting your legs to clean you up with quiet reverence.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly. “C’mere.”

He doesn’t ask—you’re already reaching for him before he finishes speaking. He helps flip you over gently and pulls you into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist as he rocks you close. His lips brush your temple. “That was a lot,” he murmurs. “You were so good for us.”

Matt slides in beside you on the bed, arms folded behind his head as he watches you snuggle into Chris’s chest. Then he lifts one hand, brushing some hair out of your face. “Gotta say… never seen someone take both of us like that before.”

You laugh hoarsely—just a breath of sound—and Matt smirks.

Chris rests his chin on top of your head. “We’re not done with you,” he says, voice low but gentle. “But right now? You just stay here. Let us take care of you.”

You nod against him, completely limp and content, body sore and blissful.

Matt leans in to press a kiss to your shoulder. “We’ll get you some water, baby,” he says. “Then we’ll hold you all fucking night.”

And they do.

well good morning from me everyone !! noticed a weird lack of chratt fics lately soo..

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

🐚 - @chriss-slutt @55sturn @chrysiie @il0vey0um0st @trustinsturniolos @ivydre4ms @raes-library @mattsplaything @emely9274 @pip4444chris @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga @courta13 @divinesturn @aaliyahsturniolo @chris-hallelujah @mi-co-uk @ivysturnss @sweetpeabreezyree @christophersgf @bluestriips @angelic-sturniolos111 @shadowthesim237 @moond0llie @eeyoresturnz @ellssturn @fratbrochrisgf @teddystvrns @pvssychicken @ribbonlovergirl @chrisspussygang @vanteguccir @tits4matt @bambisturns @luvs4matt @delilahsturniolo @fadedstvrn @ariieeesworld @oopsiedaisydeer @rubyychriss @babyt0matoes @kenah-sturniolo @desturns @ifwdominicfike @sturns-mermaid @pair-of-pantaloons @bbgirlmatt @backwardshatnick @gregs-child <3

[bluestriips]

to do list

smut, voice message format, dumbification, dilf!matt, spanking, degradation

ib: this delicious blurb by @phone4pills

word count - 500ish

“you have one new voice message, please press 1 to listen”

“message received at 10:19 pm on Monday the 16th of June 2025”

[wet slaps echo in the background. his voice is low and smug, breathless but controlled]

“Hey. Just leaving this now… since you’ll be too dumb to think straight after.”

[grunts, sharp slap, high whimper]

“God, listen to yourself. So fucking loud. What if the kids wake up, huh? Can’t even shut up with my cock in you. Didn’t like being told to shut up, remember? But look how good you’re taking it now.”

[he laughs, rough and mocking. you moan again, choked off when his hand closes around your throat.]

“Anyway. To-do list for tomorrow.” 

[another slap.]

“One: pack their lunches — properly this time. Not just chips and yogurt, sweetheart.”

[a muffled “yes, daddy” can be heard]

“Two: laundry. And if I find my shirt still dirty, you’re getting bent over the dryer next.”

[another thrust. you cry out softly. the audio crackles like the phone’s being jostled.]

“Three: pick up more milk. And four…” 

[a slick squelch, her gasping]

“Fuck, you're soaking. Look at the mess you're making.”

[the thrusts slow, Matt's voice dropping to a whisper.]

“When they nap, you’re gonna come find me. No panties. Something short, something that rides up every time you bend over, like my slut.”

[you moan again, breath ragged, almost crying.]

“You act so innocent when they’re around, but look at you now. Bent over, drooling on my fucking floor, begging for it. Think you’re fooling anyone?”

“P-please… I—”

“Oh, now you wanna beg?” 

[laughs under his breath.] 

“You should see yourself. Mascara everywhere, mouth open, clenching around me like a whore.”

[he growls, pace quickening, thrusts louder. you sob his name between moans.]

“Number five: mop the bathroom. You made a mess on the floor. Dripping all over like a bitch in heat. Pathetic.”

“Can’t… think—”

“Didn’t ask you to. Just do what you’re told, yeah?” 

[slaps your ass again.]

“You don’t get to have a brain when I’m inside you. Just a tight little hole and a to-do list.”

[the sounds escalate — sharper, wetter, filthier — until his voice falters slightly. you cry out beneath him as he buries himself deep one last time.]

“Mmm. There it is. Gonna fill you up, make you leak through that pretty dress all day tomorrow.”

[the recording crackles, quieter now. you hear his hand slide down your back, a lazy smack to your thigh.]

“Alright. That’s all. Oh almost forgot – last thing.

“If you don’t have everything done by dinner, I’m fucking you over the kitchen counter next time. And I won’t be nearly this nice.”

“…oh and if you save this message, you better play it on repeat while you're cleaning up. Maybe touch yourself a little. But don’t you fucking cum. I’ll know if you do.”

[click]

“you have reached the end of your messages. to delete, press seven. to save, press nine.”

[dial tone]

[silence]

dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more ꨄ

a/n: daddy

thanks for reading!!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated 💌

[bluestriips]

helping him clean his glasses

smut, public setting, fingering, pussy slapping, teasing, prof!matt is a dilf

word count - 1k

She reaches for his glasses without asking.

Matt flinches — a small, surprised twitch of his brows — but lets her slide them off his face anyway.

"Relax," she teases, breath ghosting the lenses, "I'm not gonna break 'em."

He doesn’t say anything, just watches. Her fingers are delicate, but she’s doing a shit job. Circular motions with the hem of her sleeve, fog still clinging to the corners. She exhales again, and this time the breath feels hotter — thicker. Maybe it’s in his head. Maybe it’s not.

"You're supposed to use the cloth," he mutters, voice low. Clipped.

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You keep it in that messy laptop bag. I’m improvising.”

Matt swallows. Hard.

It’s the fourth time she’s lingered after class this week. The library’s quiet. No one’s around. She’s close. Too close. Her knee brushing his, the faint scent of her shampoo. His glasses are still in her hands and so is every ounce of his self-control.

"You're not supposed to be here," he says, though he doesn't take a step back. Doesn’t ask for his glasses, either.

She tilts her head. “It’s Friday. You said office hours go till four.”

“It’s five.”

She grins. “Guess you’ll have to discipline me, then prof.”

That’s when it snaps, all his restraint, professionalism, every well-meant boundary he’s clung to since she first wandered into his 300-level seminar with a tote bag and a slow smile. Her laugh dies in her throat as he pushes her back against the desk — not rough, just decided. The kind of movement that says you wanted this, didn’t you?

“Yeah?” he murmurs, mouth at her ear. “Bet you’d love that.”

His glasses are still in her hands when he lifts her onto the desk, fingers skating up her thighs beneath the hem of her skirt. She’s flushed, breath catching, but doesn’t shy away. Instead, she lifts his glasses delicately — and slides them back onto his face.

“Better,” she whispers, letting her knuckles graze his cheek. “Didn’t wanna miss this view.”

His jaw tenses. She can feel the scratch of his stubble when he leans in, just short of kissing her. His hand stays planted on the desk beside her hip, like he’s still pretending he might stop.

And then she says it.

“Not my fault you’re a dilf, prof.”

That’s it.

He doesn’t kiss her — not yet. He just lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh and pulls her panties aside instead, fingers dragging through the heat of her, slow and devastating.

“Fuck,” Matt whispers. “You’ve been thinking about this?”

She’s already trembling. “Y-yeah—”

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes. Yes, I have.”

Matt’s eyes are darker now, almost unreadable behind his lenses. But his voice? Still sharp. Controlled. Unshakable.

“You don’t come into your professor’s office,” he murmurs, voice low and hot in her ear, “close the door, climb on his desk, and act like that. Understand?”

Her lashes flutter. “I didn’t climb—”

He tugs at her underwear, snaps the waistband against her skin. Just once. Just enough. Then, without warning, delivers a sharp little slap to her cunt — not cruel, just enough to make her jolt, to make her thighs twitch around his wrist.

“Understand?” he repeats.

She nods.

He waits.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes flash at that. Not surprised. Pleased. Darkly so.

“Attagirl.”

He spreads her open again, one hand keeping her legs spread, two fingers dragging through her folds — slow, slick, then another slap, firmer this time. She gasps, moans high in her throat, hips bucking toward him.

“Messy already,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You like that, huh? Being treated like a little slut on my desk?”

She doesn’t answer — can’t — not when his fingers are back on her clit, not when he’s curling them just right.

He leans in, mouth grazing her jaw.

“Been walking around campus in that little skirt all week,” he murmurs, “like you don’t know what it does to me.”

She whimpers. Actually whimpers. It sounds like it escapes her without permission.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he asks, tone steady but cruel in its calm. “Thought I wouldn’t see you biting your lip when I call on you in class, or the way you cross your legs when I’m talking?”

She shakes her head — no — but it’s not convincing. He knows it. She knows he knows it.

Another slap. Wet and firm, her whole body twitching from the sting and the sound.

“Bet you touch yourself after lectures,” he continues, dragging his fingers in tight circles, teasing her with barely-there pressure. “Bet you say sir when you do.”

“M-Matt—”

“Sir,” he snaps, sharp enough to make her jolt again.

That does it. She whines the word this time, desperate and soaked and teetering. He leans in, stubble scraping her neck.

“Say it again.”

“Sir.”

“Louder,” he says, slapping her pussy again, harsher this time.

“Sir— please—”

The shift is immediate. He’s no longer teasing. One hand keeps her steady while the other works her in tight, practiced circles, fingers dipping in and curling just right, just deep enough, punctuated by the occasional slap that makes her whole body shudder.

All she can do is grip the edge of the desk and try not to fall apart too fast.

But he wants her to. He likes it like this — messy, breathless, hers and his at the same time.

When she finally breaks, moaning out his title like it’s his name, he doesn’t say anything. Just kisses her shoulder, slow and smug, the kind of kiss that says we’re not done.

Not even close.

He pulls back, adjusts his glasses, squinting through the smears and fog.

“You’re gonna clean these properly this time,” he mutters, unbothered by the wreckage of her still spread across his desk. “Kneel first.”

She swallows, cheeks flushed, thighs still trembling.

“Y-yeah. Yes, sir.”

Matt just smiles, already pulling her back down by the hips.

dividers by @bohnerrific69 ꨄ

a/n: i came up with this idea bc my glasses are always dirty soooo

thanks for reading!!!!!!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated 😇

[bluestriips]

❝𝑪’𝒎𝒐𝒏, 𝒅𝒐 𝒊𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇.❞

starring 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

⟡ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕! ⋆ established relationship ⋆ pet names ⋆ handjob ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ praise kink ⋆ more. «𝒑!𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌»

Chris was never really the sub type.

And it wasn’t because of toxic masculinity—he begged when you wanted him to. He was more comfortable taking charge most of the time.

But sometimes, he’d let you take control—like now.

Your hand pumped his length slowly on purpose, each jerk of his hips only making you want to tease him more.

"More, please," he whispered, looking at you with those hooded, vulnerable eyes.

You nearly gave in but you wanted him to work for it. And instead of giving him what he wanted, you settled on a mean demand.

"Do it yourself."

A low whine left his lips before he could stop himself. "Why?"

You smirked and leaned closer until your lips were just an inch away from his ear. Your hand stopped moving, now just gripping his base, enough to have his hips twitching.

"C’mon, Chris, do it yourself." You whispered in his ear, purposely grazing your lips along the shell of it, making him shudder.

You smirked at his shudder, your hand tightening ever so slightly around his shaft. "I’m sure it’ll feel soo good..."

"You’re—mmfh—being so unfair," he whimpered, completely unraveling under your touch.

Despite his half-hearted protest, Chris found himself moving his hips, his body reacting before his brain and chasing the pleasure you promised.

"Look at you... Such a good boy," you cooed, "ain’t you?"

"I am... fu-fuuck, baby-" Chris moaned against your neck, his breath stuttering as he fucked your fist, his hips bucking faster.

"I’m gonna-- shit-shit! Ohh—fuck!" He scrambled to hold onto something, anything, as the pressure in his tummy slowly unraveled, sending white-hot pleasure through his whole body.

Chris’s eyes rolled back into his skull and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as the first rope of cum shot out of his tip, followed by longer and thicker ropes, painting his thighs, stomach and your hand in his warm, pearly seed.

His hips rolled languidly, milking himself in your tight grip and riding out his high.

The last little spurt of cum slid down his shaft and onto your knuckles, the sensation causing his length to twitch weakly.

He let out soft whimpers, hips twitching, and chest heaving with ragged breaths. His highs trembled ever so slightly, eyes now closed with pure bliss etched onto his face.

Chris looked completely undone.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

⟡ 𝟎.𝟑𝒌 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 ⸝⸝ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆!

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𝖎𝖘𝖆’𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘 ་༘࿐ Chat, I’m somewhat back to posting. I dunno if this is any good tho (I suck at writing anything sub related). Anyway, tulips on this dick please ☺️

[bluestriips]

✿ — successful . . . mafiaboss!matt

in which . . . you have a winning week, and matt rewards his successful girl the only way he knows how.

warnings . . . smut , unprotected p in v , lots of dirty talk , creampie

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #6

you don’t even knock.

you never have to. your name is in the gate code, your favorite snacks are in the kitchen, your lipstick stains the rim of his wine glasses. this is your place too. and tonight, as you step through the double doors, little heels clicking against the marble and soft perfume trailing behind you, it feels like the house itself already knows you’re here.

so does matt.

he doesn’t come to the door. doesn’t need to.

you catch him as you pass the entryway—standing near the window with a glass of bourbon in one hand, the other tucked casually into his pocket. he’s wearing black slacks and a silk shirt, the top buttons undone and his gold chain barely visible beneath. his loose curls are still damp from a shower, eyes half-lidded like he’s already been thinking about you for hours.

his gaze drops down your body the second he turns. slow. appreciative. jaw tight.

you don’t even say hi. you just smile.

“well, you look proud of yourself,” he says, voice low and smooth.

you shrug, walking toward him with that soft sway in your hips you know he loves. “maybe because i am.”

he sets his drink down and meets you halfway, crowding into your space, fingers brushing the side of your waist like he’s already claiming you. he decides to ask about it, although he’s already prepped to reward you for your success he’s noticed this week. “tell me, sweetheart.”

you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “sold out of peonies before noon. two custom wedding orders. and a new supplier gave me half off just ’cause they said they ‘like the way i talk!’”

matt laughs under his breath, clearly impressed. “knew you’d have ‘em eating out of your hand.”

you tilt your head. “jealous?”

his hand slides down your back, firm and slow. “never jealous. obsessed, maybe.”

it’s not a joke. he says it without blinking.

you feel the heat bloom under your skin, feel the way his body shifts closer, more focused, more deliberate. like something in him has clicked into place.

“okay soooo…what now?” you ask, voice light, playful.

his eyes darken just a little. “now i reward you.”

you blink, heartbeat skipping.

“bedroom,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your jaw. “i left something for you.”

you open your mouth to ask, but he gently nudges you toward the hallway with a palm to your lower back, and you don’t push it. not when his touch lingers. not when his voice drops like that.

the bedroom lights are low.

candles flicker on the nightstands—soft, warm, golden light spilling across the bed. and there, lying on top of the covers like a gift, is the lingerie set you mentioned to him once, in passing, three weeks ago. deep red. lace. sheer in all the right places.

your breath catches.

you change slowly. deliberately. let the silky material cling to your skin, hugging every curve, teasing every edge. the whole room smells like cedarwood and roses. it’s warm. intimate. expensive.

and when matt walks in, the door clicking softly shut behind him, his whole body stills.

you don’t even look up at first. you’re sitting at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, touching your earrings like you have all the time in the world. but you can feel his stare.

“oh, you actually wore it,” he says, almost like he can’t believe it.

“well, you bought it,” you counter softly, glancing up.

he crosses the room in a few long strides, stops right in front of you. his thumb lifts to trace your bottom lip—slow, careful. “didn’t think you’d remember.” you mumble.

you kiss the pad of his thumb. “i remember everything when it comes to you.” he mumbles.

you audibly moan.

fuck.

that earns a low groan. he’s on you in seconds.

he pushes you back onto the mattress gently, then climbs over you like he’s done this a thousand times—but it still feels new. his hands explore like they’re relearning. like every curve of you is different now that you’re wearing this, now that your confidence is glowing out of every pore.

his voice stays low.

“you look so fuckin’ good like this.”

your legs fall open slightly, instinctively.

he presses a kiss to your knee, then your inner thigh, then higher—taking his time, not rushing. just savoring.

“all dressed up, all successful…and mine,” he murmurs, dragging his hand up your leg. “my girl.”

you reach for him, fingers slipping under the collar of his shirt, nails grazing his skin.

“i like when you say that.”

he smirks against your thigh. “i like saying it.”

then he pulls his shirt off in one motion and tosses it aside, his chain catching the candlelight as he leans down, chest brushing yours. one hand pins your waist gently to the mattress, the other cupping your jaw like you’re something precious.

“you been feelin’ good all week?” he asks softly, like he’s checking in.

“yeah,” you whisper. “really good.”

he kisses you once, slow and deep.

“good,” he says. “now let me make you feel better.”

his hand slides between your thighs, fingers brushing the lace, and your hips jump just slightly.

he smiles. “already wet.”

you blush. “you planned this.”

“course i did,” he mutters, dragging his fingers higher, slower. “my girl’s killin’ it out there. i had to match the energy, baby.”

your body arches under him instinctively, and he lets his weight settle just a little heavier between your thighs, his belt cool against your skin, his hands now braced on either side of your head.

you breathe him in. everything about him is heat and control and overwhelming sweetness wrapped in silk and sin.

“you’re gonna let me show you how proud i am?” he murmurs, voice rough, eyes locked on yours.

you nod.

he grins—slow and dangerous.

“then spread your legs, baby.”

you do. without hesitation.

and when he lines himself up, hand tight on your thigh and lips brushing your ear, everything feels quiet—like the only thing that exists in the world is this bed, this room, this moment.

you earned this.

and now? he’s going to give it to you.

his chest presses flush to yours, warm skin against silk and lace, his gold chain brushing your collarbone with every breath. one hand braces beside your head, steadying himself, while the other stays firm on your thigh, holding you open, wide, right where he wants you.

his grip is tight, possessive, thumb digging into the soft flesh like he's anchoring himself there. and when he shifts his hips, adjusting just enough to angle deeper, you gasp and your whole body arches up into him, breath catching like it's the first time all over again.

he hisses as your walls clamp down on his length, starting to thrust in and out of you at a steady pace. “fuck..look at you, takin’ all of me…” he grunts, his hips snapping into yours over and over again. he’s already so deep you can barely even think.

a sharp shriek tears out of you as your legs snap around his waist, ankles locking tight at the small of his back like you’re trying to pull him even deeper. your body trembles, already overstimulated and aching, and your nails find his shoulder blades in the chaos—digging in, dragging down.

he groans at the sting, but you don’t let up. you’re clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded, like letting go isn’t even an option.

then he taps your cheek, gentle but firm, reminding you. “look at me, baby,” he murmurs. “i meant it. wanna see you.”

your lashes flutter open, teary and dazed as your eyes meet his—and the second you do, his whole expression softens, like he’s falling apart just from the sight of you.

“that’s it,” he breathes, voice low. “atta girl. just—just let me reward you, yeah?”

you nod frantically, the sounds of your moans, his grunts, and skin on skin mingling together in the air. the head of his cock bruises your cervix deliciously with each passionate thrust, sending your eyes into the back of your head and matt into a breathless state.

“this is what happens when you work that pretty little ass off,” he grits between each thrust, “you get fucked like you deserve—so fuckin’ proud of you, baby.”

you feel his cock pulse inside of you, each snap of his hips feels more precise, more rewarding—like he’s trying to bury every ounce of pride and possession he has straight into your body. you can’t even speak at first, too overwhelmed by the way he fills you, stretches you, owns you.

but when he shifts the angle just slightly, hitting that spot that makes your stomach clench and your toes curl, you gasp—sharp and broken.

“matt—fuck, don’t stop,” you cry out, nails dragging across his back again. “please don’t stop.”

he growls at that, burying his face in your neck, breath hot and heavy. “not gonna. not when you’re takin’ me so good. not when you’re squeezin’ me like that, baby—shit.”

you can barely think, barely breathe. every word he gives you feels like a reward, every thrust like a promise. he’s relentless, praising you through it all, his voice warm and raw right against your skin.

the knot in your stomach tightens, desperately needing to release. and you can tell by the fact that matt’s pace is growing ragged and sloppy that he feels the exact same way.

he’s panting now, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his brow as he fucks you through it—like he needs it, like you’re the only thing in the world keeping him sane.

“you gonna give it to me?” he growls, cock kissing your cervix so delightful that you’re seeing stars. “gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?”

your moan breaks off into a gasp, your whole body tensing beneath him. “matt—oh my god—yes, yes, please, so close—”

he slams his hips into yours, eyes locked on your face as he pushes you right to the edge. “that’s it. fuck. there she is,” he grunts, continuing his deep ministrations, “my perfect fuckin’ girl—look at that, cummin’ on my cock again like you need it.”

your mouth falls open in a silent cry as the orgasm hits—blinding, violent, everything. your nails sink into his back and your legs lock around him again as your entire body shudders beneath the weight of it.

“fuck, baby—that’s it,” he chokes out, losing rhythm completely, thrusts stuttering as he watches you fall apart underneath him. “god, you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

your body trembles beneath him, overstimulated and wrecked, and matt swears under his breath as you clamp down around him again—rhythmic, needy, so goddamn warm he nearly blacks out.

your nails drag down his back, and that’s it. he lets go.

his rhythm stutters once, then again, then he’s grinding deep into you with a shudder, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you with a broken moan. “fuck, baby—fuck.” he pants into your neck, jaw clenched, arms shaking as he rides it out.

you can feel every throb, every twitch, every ounce of his release as it fills you—hot and overwhelming.

for a few seconds, everything stills.

his weight sinks onto you, not heavy, just there, like he couldn’t bear to let go yet. you feel his heartbeat thudding against your chest. his nose brushes your cheek.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice all honey and rasp, still breathless.

you nod, still dazed, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

“good,” he murmurs. “you were so good for me.”

he slowly pulls out, careful and gentle, one hand smoothing down your thigh where he’d been gripping it so tightly before all this started. and even though your legs are still wrapped around his waist, he doesn’t rush you to move. he just strokes along your skin, grounding you.

“you need anything?” he asks, thumb brushing under your jaw like you’re fragile. “water? warm towel?”

you hum, and he kisses your forehead again.

“stay right here. i’ll take care of you.”

he’s up for barely a minute—grabbing a warm cloth, cleaning you up with patient hands, whispering soft praises the whole time.

“can’t believe you’re mine,” he mutters. “my pretty girl. my successful girl. fuck, i’m so proud.”

once you’re clean and settled, he crawls back in beside you, pulling you flush against his chest, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist like he needs the contact.

and when he kisses your shoulder this time, it’s not hungry—it’s home.

author’s note . . . HI in honor of father’s day here’s matt being daddy 😙

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @mattybsgroupie @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @cutseylady @iconiccolo @sturnsblogs

© cayleeuhithinknott

[bluestriips]

almostlove!au headcanons - part two ...with sexhotline!reader and goldenboy!chris

fluff, light angst, smut, mentions of masturbation, fantasies, anonymous relationship

ib: the ever so lovely headcanons by @kiemiu !!! also a quick note!! these are set in the future, after daisy and chris finally meet :)

word count - 500ish

goldenboy!chris who keeps her voicemail from the night before they met saved in his notes app. it plays like a prophecy. she said, “don’t be nervous, golden boy. i already like you.” and he listens to it when he forgets how to breathe.

goldenboy!chris who still calls her every night, even though she’s in the next room. “go to sleep, daisy,” he mumbles. “i’ll be there in a sec.” but he stays on the line until she dozes off, just to hear her sigh.

goldenboy!chris who records the moment she walks into that café for the first time. her laugh, her voice, the way she says his name like she’s tasting it. he replays it every time she leaves the house without him.

goldenboy!chris who leaves her voice notes just to say “i missed you today,” even if they spent all day together. because she smiled at a stranger and he got jealous. because she looked at the sky and forgot to look at him. because missing her is just part of loving her now.

sexhotline!reader who still calls him “sun” when he’s sad. only now, she gets to kiss his hair and hold his hand when she says it.

sexhotline!reader who leaves messages like: “you forgot your charger, dummy. it’s on the nightstand. come home soon. i made pasta.” and his stomach flips because home is a word he only just started believing in.

goldenboy!chris who moans her name into her voicemail just to see if she’ll bring it up later. “you left me alone, daisy,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “how am i supposed to sleep without you wrapped around me?”

goldenboy!chris who sends her messages in the morning that start sweet and end filthy. “you looked so pretty sleeping beside me,” he says. “i wanted to wake you up with my mouth. tomorrow maybe.”

sexhotline!reader who teases him over audio, whispering: “remember the way you sounded last night? i do.” then plays a clip of him groaning into her shoulder, saying her name like a prayer.

sexhotline!reader who leaves him a message right after they’ve hooked up, while he’s in the shower. still breathless. still warm. “you ruined me,” she says. “do it again.”

sexhotline!reader who moans into the mic when she’s on her period just to torment him. “hurts,” she pouts. “but maybe you could make me feel better, baby. with your mouth. your fingers. anything.”

goldenboy!chris who still sends her audio files of him jerking off when she’s out of town visiting her family. he pants her name like it’ll summon her. begs her to come back. whines, “daisy, please,” like he might fall apart without her.

sexhotline!reader who once left him a two-minute recording of her moaning into his pillow while wearing nothing but his hoodie. he didn’t speak to anyone all day. just replayed it. hand between his legs. lips parted. ruined.

goldenboy!chris who cries a little the first time she rides him and says “i missed your voice.” because now he doesn’t have to imagine it. now he gets everything. the sounds. the touch. the fucking realness of her.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: here they are 😇 ik no one asked but um! idc! have more hcs :p

thank you so much for reading!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated :)

[bluestriips]

pick me up, put me down ...with officecrush!reader and officeworker!matt

slow burn, mutual pining, office romance, romantic tension, miscommunication, jealousy, unresolved feelings, longing, subtle angst, yearning

word count - 1.1k

Matt’s been weirdly bold all morning.

Not loud bold. Not flowers-on-your-desk or serenading-in-the-breakroom bold.

Just… Matt bold.

That very specific kind of half-joking, half-serious, very confusing thing he does where she’s not sure if he’s flirting or just trying to be annoying.

He smirks when she walks in ten minutes late with one AirPod in and a muffin that’s clearly been through a lot. Tells her she’s got “banana on her cheek,” even though she definitely doesn’t. Leans over her at the printer like he’s trying to get a closer look at the toner, even though she saw him fix a paper jam blindfolded last week. And when she says something under her breath about how double-sided printing hates her, he murmurs, “You always smell like sunflowers,” so quietly she almost thinks she imagined it.

She doesn’t ask what that means. Doesn’t want to ask what that means.

She just laughs, too high and too fast, and tells herself it’s nothing.

It’s always nothing.

And yet — when he tugs on the sleeve of her cardigan as she passes by his desk and says, “That’s a new sweater, right? Looks suspiciously like mine,” it’s like something shifts.

Her stomach tightens a little. Not in a bad way. Just… noticeable.

“I don’t even like your style,” she shoots back, quickly, maybe too quickly. “You dress like a substitute teacher.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “Hot substitute teacher, though.”

She snorts. It’s not a flattering sound. “You wish.”

He grins like he’s won something anyway.

And for a second, they’re just standing there — not talking, not moving, not smiling quite as much as before.

It lingers too long.

She walks away before it gets weird.

It happens around lunch.

Dotty’s balancing a tower of flimsy paper cups from the breakroom, humming something under her breath, when Matt suddenly appears behind her. Close. Closer than usual.

She doesn’t even hear what he says — something dumb probably, something like you’re going to drop those — but then he’s grabbing her from under her arms and lifting her, completely off the ground, and her body reacts before her brain does.

She shrieks. Loud.

The cups scatter to the floor. Her legs flail. And she’s laughing — real, uncontrolled laughter — trying to twist out of his grip as his fingers press against her sides in quick, chaotic tickles.

“Matt—Matt, stop! I’m gonna—! Stop, oh my god—!”

She can’t breathe. She’s still laughing but it’s getting frantic, her cardigan riding up awkwardly, cheeks flushed red now.

He’s laughing too, somewhere behind her, totally pleased with himself. She can feel it — the ridiculous, warm smugness of him. It’s stupid and loud and so them.

Until it isn’t.

Until she sees them — two coworkers by the kitchenette, one of them watching with wide eyes, the other whispering behind a coffee mug. Their faces unreadable. But their gaze feels heavy.

And suddenly it’s like the air shifts.

Like everything she thought was fine suddenly isn’t.

“Matt,” she says again. But this time her voice is sharp. Not breathless. Serious. “Put me down.”

He startles — not a lot, but just enough — and slowly lowers her until her feet hit the ground.

She smooths down her sweater without looking at him. Doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t say anything. Just bends down, quietly, to pick up the cups. Her hands are shaking. Her eyes won’t meet his.

And then she’s walking away, posture shrunken and stiff, shoulders tight, eyes fixed on the floor.

Matt’s left standing there, still half-smiling like maybe it wasn’t real. Like maybe she’s going to turn around and laugh again and tell him he’s stupid. He scratches at the back of his head.

But she doesn’t.

And the weight in his chest settles thick and sour.

It’s quiet by four.

Most people left early, half-hearted excuses about traffic and school pickup and “treating myself”, the kind of Friday energy that makes it easier to pretend this place isn’t made of beige walls and weak tea.

Dotty’s still at her desk. Typing something she already typed twice. Fixing something that doesn’t need fixing. She hasn’t looked at Matt since lunch.

He’s noticed.

He’s been noticing all day.

Eventually, he walks over. Slowly. Like if he makes too much noise she might vanish.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and careful. “You busy?”

Dotty looks up. Her face is blank in that way that isn’t angry, but isn’t quite open either. “Kind of.”

Matt nods like that’s fair. Like he’ll go. But he doesn’t.

“I, um.” He fidgets with the string on his hoodie. “I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. I didn’t mean to…”

She doesn’t say anything, but her hands stop moving.

“It’s fine,” she says, but not in a way that sounds fine.

Matt swallows. “It didn’t look fine.”

A pause.

Dotty exhales, slow and shallow.

“I just… I didn’t like people watching. It felt—” She presses her lips together. “I didn’t like how it looked.”

Matt nods too quickly. “Yeah. No. That makes sense.”

She shifts in her chair, then finally says it, the part that’s been sitting like a stone in both their throats.

“I don’t want to be a joke.”

He looks at her then. Really looks. And his heart kind of hurts a little, because she’s still chewing on the inside of her cheek and her eyes are darting around like she wishes she hadn’t said anything at all.

“You’re not,” he says softly. “You never are. Not to me.”

Dotty swallows. “It just felt weird. And with Luke, and the way people talk, I just…” She trails off. “I don’t know.”

Matt nods again. Slower this time. “I got carried away,” he says. “I thought I was being funny.”

“You usually are,” she says, so quiet he almost misses it.

He smiles, kind of sadly. “Not this time.”

There’s a silence. It stretches.

Matt shifts on his feet. “I won’t do that again,” he says, and it’s not performative, or defensive — just plain. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll be better.”

Dotty nods. Her fingers tug at a loose thread on her sleeve.

“…Okay.”

She still doesn’t smile. But she doesn’t turn away either.

So Matt, with an awkward little flourish, slides a fun-size Kit Kat onto her keyboard. Like a peace offering. Or a bribe.

Her mouth twitches.

“Trying to win me back with chocolate?” she asks.

“Shamelessly,” he says.

And she still doesn’t smile properly, not yet, but her face softens, and that’s enough for Matt.

For now it dulls the ache.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: they're back!!!!! rewatched some edits of that moment from the office to get inspiration but i still feel like i didn't get the mood quite right. anyways i hope u guys like this <3

thank you so much for reading!!! likes, comment and reblogs are much appreciated :)

[bluestriips]

almostlove!au headcanons ...with sexhotline!reader and goldenboy!chris

fluff, light angst, smut, mentions of masturbation, fantasies, anonymous relationship

ib: the ever so lovely headcanons by @kiemiu !!!

word count - 1k

goldenboy!chris who uploads photos to instagram with songs he told daisy about, in the hope that somehow, some way, she’ll see them and know.

sexhotline!reader who calls him after midnight, when her shift ends and her voice is hoarse. “god, my throat is killing me,” she murmurs, wrecked and sleepy. he groans when he hears it. not because she means it sexually—but because she doesn’t.

goldenboy!chris who used to hate summer till she started called him sun, now he wakes up excited to see the sun rise and set.

sexhotline!reader who talks to sun like he’s real. like he’s more than a voice. “you’d laugh at me today. i tripped over my charger and fell face first into the laundry.” she knows that sun would probably laugh, but chris would also kiss her forehead after. pick her up gently and make sure she didn’t bruise.

goldenboy!chris who sends her long audio messages while he’s cooking, cleaning his room, brushing his teeth. just mundane sounds, sweet and soft and domestic, because he wants to feel like she lives there too.

sexhotline!reader who starts leaving him goodnight messages because she knows sun struggles to fall asleep. ‘brush your teeth. stop thinking so much. the world can wait ‘til morning.” daisy’s voice is quiet, like she’s whispering under the covers beside him.

goldenboy!chris who tells daisy he can tell when she’s tired. daisy just laughs, says to him that she fakes orgasms for a living. chris tells daisy she doesn’t have to be fake with him. that he doesn’t ever want her to be.

sexhotline!reader who once said, quietly: “i think i’d sleep better if you were here.” he hasn't been the same since.

goldenboy!chris who doesn’t care how many people have heard her voice. he says “they don’t get the real thing”. “neither do you”, daisy tells him. “but I want to” he tells her.

sexhotline!reader who laughs so sweetly into the phone that it makes chris blush. “you’re such a dork,” she giggles, and he will play it back five times just to hear the way her smile curls around her words.

goldenboy!chris who aches when she takes too long to reply. refreshes his messages like it’s a lifeline. when she finally does respond, he rereads the whole thing three times before replying. wants to get it right.

sexhotline!reader who giggles when he asks what she’s wearing. “sun. i just took off my bra. it’s sitting on the heater.” daisy says it so casually. he nearly drops his phone.

goldenboy!chris who holds the phone like it’s her hand. runs his thumb across the screen while she talks, eyes closed, swearing he can feel her if he listens hard enough.

goldenboy!chris who listens to her ‘work voice’ and wants to ruin it. not out of jealousy—but devotion. he wants to be the one who undoes her. makes her stutter. makes her real.

sexhotline!reader who moaned his name in the middle of a hotline call once and had to mute herself. daisy called him later, breathless, flushed, whispering: “that one’s your fault.” 

goldenboy!chris who jerks off to the sound of her laughter, then feels guilty after. he doesn’t even need the moans anymore. just her, breathless and teasing. just her voice cracking when she says his name, the one she gave him. sun. he finishes with her name on his lips, then buries his face in his pillow like he did something wrong.

sexhotline!reader who touches herself to the things sun says by accident. like when he murmurs her name too softly. or when he laughs. or when he tells her he had a good day and sounds proud. she slides a hand down and stifles her moans into her pillow like he’s the one doing it.

goldenboy!chris who wants to fuck her slow just to hear what she sounds like when it’s not performative. “no scripts,” he’d whisper. “just us.” and he’d take his time. worship her voice like a hymn. make her forget every other man she’s ever spoken to.

sexhotline!reader who sends him audios of her whimpering his name. not dirty—desperate. voice high and breathy, like she misses him. “you make me feel so full,” she whispers, “and you haven’t even touched me yet.”

goldenboy!chris who sends her audio of himself, low and desperate, saying her name between ragged breaths. he doesn’t say what he’s doing. doesn’t need to. she can hear it in the strain of his voice. the pause. the swallow. “i can’t stop thinking about your mouth,” he admits.

sexhotline!reader who records herself in the shower. not the splash of water—just the steam in her voice. soft little sounds. humming something slow and low. she knows what it does to him. she wants it to.

goldenboy!chris who dreams about her sitting on his lap, arms around his neck, whispering all the filthy things she usually says to strangers—but just for him. he wakes up hard. aching. lonely.

sexhotline!reader who says, “you wanna know what i’m wearing?” just to tease. and when he stammers, she laughs. says, “nothing you wouldn’t ruin anyway.”

goldenboy!chris who gets on his knees when he’s been touching himself for too long, trying to picture daisy’s body beneath him. imagines painting her body with his cum, covering her ass, stomach, thighs, her sticking her tongue out to clean him, warm, wet and loving.

sexhotline!reader who listens to his shaky messages in the dark and presses her thighs together. he thinks he’s being subtle. she knows exactly what he’s doing. and she likes it.

goldenboy!chris who tells her, quietly, “i don’t want you to sound hot. i want you to sound mine.” and it’s not a demand. it’s a plea.

sexhotline!reader who calls him after she comes just to let him hear how soft she sounds. “you’d like the way i look right now,” she sighs. “messy. ruined. yours.”

goldenboy!chris who swears her voice alone could make him come. "don’t even need to touch me," he’d say. “just talk, baby.” and she would. low and sweet and teasing. until he’s panting into the receiver like it’s her skin.

sexhotline!reader who wants him to fuck her and mean it. not just get off. want her. want her voice. want her mouth. want her bent over his bed whispering, "i've been thinking about this for months.”

goldenboy!chris who leaves her a 3am voicemail that sounds half-asleep and wholly feral. “daisy,” he groans, breath catching. “i wanna kiss down your spine. slow. teeth and tongue. you’d sound so pretty, i know it.”

goldenboy!chris who still wants to hold her after. who would rest his head between her thighs, listening to the way she breathes. whispering, “still with me, sweetheart?” because he doesn’t want just the sex. he wants her after.

goldenboy!chris who finally says, “i don’t want to be a voice anymore, daisy. i want to see you. for real this time. can i?”

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: these were sooooo fun to make!!!!!! i made another part which kinda hints at their dynamic in the future, so lmk if u like these and i'll post the rest of my hcs 💌

thank you so much for reading!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated :)

[bluestriips]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 | 𝐂.𝐒

▶︎ ၊၊||၊ OFTEN , THE WEEKND

chris sturniolo! x f!reader ― word count : 2k

WARNINGS : smut, dirty talk, remote controlled vib (so public) fucking yourself in front of him, sex toys, fingering, slight overstim, brat tamer! but with praise, usage of “toy”

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝟏𝟖+

The vibe in the restaurant was low-lit, romantic, filled with soft murmurs and clinking silverware—but you could barely breathe.

Not because of the atmosphere. Not because of the wine.

But because of the small, merciless sleek vibrator pulsing inside you—deep and insistent—controlled by the man sitting right across from you.

Chris.

Smirking. Lazy in his seat, phone in hand like he was scrolling through some feed, but you knew better. His thumb hovered over the controls, and every now and then, he’d tap something, and you’d jolt—legs twitching under the table as another wave of vibration tore through your already dripping pussy.

“Stop squirming, baby,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, and soaked in that Boston accent that made your thighs squeeze together even tighter. “People are gonna notice, hmm?.”

You wanted to throttle him. Or kiss him. Maybe both.

Your fork trembled in your hand as you tried to stay composed, eyes darting to the couples beside you—still talking, thank God—before whispering through clenched teeth, “You’re such a fucking menace.”

He chuckled, tapping the screen again. A higher setting.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“I warned you not to wear a dress if you didn’t want to be my little toy tonight,” he said, casually taking a sip of his drink. “But you looked so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t help myself.”

Chris tugged you through the front door of the apartment by your wrist, your chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. Your thighs were slick, trembling with frustration. The moment the door clicked shut, you turned toward him, eyes wild.

“Are you gonna fuck me now, or are you gonna keep being a dick about it?”

Chris just laughed. That deep, infuriating, knowing laugh.

He cupped your cheek gently, rubbing his thumb over your lip, his eyes full of something wicked and soft all at once. “You think you’ve earned that already?” he asked. “After how you were eye-fucking me all night, moaning into your wineglass like a desperate little whore?”

You opened your mouth, ready to fire something back—but he kissed you first. Slow, warm, indulgent. Like he had all night.

And then he pulled away, licking his lips softly.

“Go sit on the toy for me, baby.”

You blinked. “Chris—”

He shook his head, already backing toward the couch, phone in hand again. “Nah, no arguing. Go fuck yourself on it, like a good girl. I wanna watch that pussy stretch before I give you anything.”

You swallowed hard, stomach twisting with arousal. “You’re so fuckin’ dirty, Chris.”

“And you love it,” he grinned, sitting down and patting his thigh, like he was settling in for a show. “C’mon, sweetheart. Show me how desperate you really are.”

You could barely peel the dress off fast enough. The toy—a dildo fixed to the edge of the soft couch—waited for you where he left it earlier, like it had been part of the plan the whole time. You stepped out of your panties, flushed all over, knees trembling as you straddled it slowly.

Chris’s eyes raked down your body, shameless and hungry. “Mmm, there’s my girl. Fuck, look at you…”

You lowered yourself inch by inch, moaning at the familiar stretch. It was good—too good. Not as thick as Chris, but enough to press against your walls, make your mouth fall open and your head roll back.

“You like that?” he asked, voice dropping as he got up, walking over. His hand slid up the inside of your thigh, slow and warm and possessive. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this. Bouncin’ on that toy, tits all out, lips all swollen.”

You whimpered, grinding down harder, letting your chest bounce with each roll of your hips.

Chris knelt behind you on the couch and pressed a kiss between your soft tits.

“Nah, don’t just fuck it. Ride it, baby. Like it’s me. Ride it like you mean it.”

You did. You pushed your hips down, rocked against it harder, dragging sweet friction against your clit as Chris’s hands found your waist, guiding you, encouraging you.

“Yeah,” he breathed against your ear. “Just like that. God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect. You know that? Look at this ass.”

He gripped both cheeks in his hands, spreading them slightly as you gasped. Then came a firm smack—sharp, echoing—and another, followed by his mouth pressing a gentle kiss right where he’d hit.

“You’re fuckin’ made for this,” he whispered. “Takin’ cock like you were born to do it. And these tits—fuckin' hell ma.”

He slid his hands around your chest now, cupping you fully, thumbs brushing your nipples in slow circles, rolling them between his fingers until you moaned his name. “You like that, baby? You like ridin’ and gettin’ felt up, hmm my pretty girl?”

“Y-Yes, Chris,” you gasped, rolling your hips faster now. “Please, please—”

“Please what?” he asked, mouthing along your neck now. You felt the soft sting of a hickey blooming right under your jaw. “Use your words, sweet thing.”

“I need more,” you begged. “I need you.”

He growled low, pulling you up just enough to lift you off the toy with a wet squelch. You whimpered, empty now, clenching around nothing.

“Lay back,” he ordered, already lowering you to the rug in front of the couch. “Spread those pretty legs for me.”

You obeyed instantly, desperate and aching, heart hammering in your chest as Chris laid between your thighs. His hands rubbed over them slowly, lovingly, thumbs stroking soft circles into the sensitive skin.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. “So soft. So mine.”

He kissed lower, then higher, teasing everywhere but where you needed him most. His fingers finally brushed over your slick folds, spreading you open, and you gasped—body twitching at the first real touch.

“Drippin’ for me,” he whispered. “Fuck, baby. You were so good for me tonight, lettin’ me play with you in public like that. You deserve this.”

Then he pushed two fingers inside—slow, thick, curling just right as your back arched and your lips parted in a silent cry.

He groaned as he felt your walls clench around him. “Goddamn. So tight. Still so fucking tight, even after that toy.”

Chris leaned down and pressed another hickey into the curve of your breast now, his free hand massaging and squeezing your tit, fingers tweaking your nipple while the other hand worked inside you, fingers curling deep and dragging along your g-spot.

You whimpered. “Chris, I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, kissing your chest with reverence, with fire. “You’re so close, I can feel it. C’mon, baby. Cum for me.”

He sped up his fingers, his thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect motions now, his mouth hot and open against your throat.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful like this,” he growled. “All messy and desperate. My perfect fuckin’ girl. You feel that, baby? That pressure building?”

“Let it go. Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

The orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling, thighs clamping around his head as your moans echoed off the walls. Your hands gripped the rug, nails clawing for something to anchor you as your back arched high and your pussy clenched desperately around his rough fingers.

Chris didn’t stop right away—he rubbed you through it, murmuring praise against your skin, kissing the tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl. You’re fuckin’ perfect. God, you’re so good for me…”

When the tremors finally slowed, he slid his fingers out carefully, watching as your cum dripped down your folds, sticky and glistening.

He licked them clean, groaning at the taste. “Better than anything I’ve ever had.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and breathless. “Chris…”

He laid beside you, tugging you into his arms, one hand still rubbing your thigh like he couldn’t get enough of touching you.

“I’ll fuck you next time,” he promised, grinning as he kissed your temple. “But tonight? I just wanted to watch my baby fall apart for me. And damn, you didn’t disappoint.”

You smiled through the afterglow, curling into his chest as he nuzzled into your hair, both of you still soaked in heat and satisfaction.

And you knew, deep down, this wouldn’t be the last time you’d let him ruin you like that.

Not even close.

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

🖇 - @chriss-slutt @55sturn @chrysiie @il0vey0um0st @trustinsturniolos @ivydre4ms @raes-library @mattsplaything @emely9274 @pip4444chris @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga @courta13 @divinesturn @aaliyahsturniolo @chris-hallelujah @mi-co-uk @ivysturnss @sweetpeabreezyree @christophersgf @bluestriips @angelic-sturniolos111 @shadowthesim237 @moond0llie @eeyoresturnz @ellssturn @fratbrochrisgf @teddystvrns @pvssychicken @ribbonlovergirl @chrisspussygang @vanteguccir @tits4matt @bambisturns @luvs4matt @delilahsturniolo @fadedstvrn @ariieeesworld @oopsiedaisydeer @rubyychriss @babyt0matoes @kenah-sturniolo @desturns <3

[bluestriips]

✿ — sweetener . . . clawd!chris

in which . . . chris has the worst day imaginable, the full moon is messing with his head, and the only thing that calms the storm is getting on his knees for you.

warnings . . . smut , oral (f receiving) , kinda sub!chris , that’s it really

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #5

he doesn’t text you.

no “on my way,” no “today sucked,” no “save me some of that lip balm you use!” (which is a text you get a lot from him) just radio silence all afternoon—until the sound of your dorm door unlocking makes you glance up from where you’re standing against the wall.

he steps inside without a word. no shoes, no greeting. just drops his bag somewhere by the door and heads straight for you, dragging his hoodie off by the neck and letting it fall to the floor. his hair’s a mess, eyes heavy and shoulders tight like he’s been carrying every ounce of his stress on them all day.

you don’t approach him right away, you just watch him—watch the way he moves like his body doesn’t feel like his, like it’s running on fumes. there’s something desperate in his walk. not angry. not dramatic. just quiet. like he’s come here for one very specific reason and there’s nothing in him left to say about it.

you shift a little, standing up straighter against the wall. “hey,” you say, voice soft, “bad day?”

he nods once, still not meeting your eyes.

he makes it across the room, and the second he’s close enough, you reach up to brush your fingers through his loose curls. it’s slow and gentle, and you expect him to fall forward into your touch like he usually does. but he doesn’t.

he sinks to his knees.

his hands come up to your thighs, and his head follows, resting there like it’s the only place he wants to be. you feel him exhale deeply. a long, shuddering breath that makes your chest ache. he doesn’t even try to say anything—just noses into the soft skin like he’s trying to melt into it.

your fingers slip into his hair again, and this time, he does lean into it.

“talk to me,” you murmur.

he shakes his head. “don’t wanna talk.”

you sigh and run your nails lightly across his scalp.

“everything just too much?”

another nod.

“and tomorrow’s the full moon,” you say softly, more a statement than a question. you feel him tense just barely, like the mention of it makes everything inside him claw a little harder. you knew chris’s brain went crazy when a full moon was nearing. it sucked.

“yeah,” he mutters. “feels like i can’t breathe.”

your heart clenches. your poor boy.

you shift a little more, letting your legs fall open slightly as he presses closer, arms now wrapped around your thighs, face buried against your skin like he’s been starved of touch all day.

“you came straight here,” you whisper. “didn’t even say hi.”

’’cause i needed you,” he breathes. “needed this. please.”

you don’t tease. you just nod, stroking his hair back, fingers curling around the strands he always lets you tug on when he’s like this.

“okay,” you murmur. “you’ve got me. i’m right here.”

his grip tightens like he’s scared you’ll pull away. like he needs this more than air. and when he looks up at you—lips parted, flushed, desperate—he finally meets your eyes.

“lemme stay here,” he says, voice hoarse. “just…let me.”

you lean back against the wall, opening your legs wider, and he follows without hesitation, hands already trailing up your thighs.

you feel the warm press of his mouth on your inner thighs, the way he sighs when he kisses your skin, the way his fingers dig in like he’ll never have anything else to hold onto. he’s shaking slightly. from frustration, from need, from the sheer exhaustion of feeling too much all day and having no release.

your hand finds the back of his neck, guiding him closer, and his breath stutters.

he kisses higher. slower. his breath hot and uneven. one hand coming to grip your waist, the other bracing lightly against the wall beside your hip.

you smile just a little, voice soft and warm. “this what you needed, baby?”

he moans, low and wrecked, and nods against your skin.

you hum. “thought so.”

your back presses fully against the wall now, his shoulders sliding between your thighs like he belongs there—and he does. his head peeps beneath your skirt, lips hovering right where you want him, and he looks up one last time for permission, hands already trembling with how tightly he’s holding on.

you nod once.

chris presses a hot kiss to your clothed clit, then laps at your folds through your panties. he hooks his fingers under the waistband of them, pulling them down but leaving your skirt in it’s place. you’re so, so fucking pretty.

he buries his face between your plush thighs, inhaling deeply before his tongue darts out to lick a flat stripe up your drooling slit. your fingers tighten in his hair, causing him to groan into your cunt. words could never ever describe how much he loved this.

being on his knees for you, with his head between your legs. this sure was making his shitty day a hell of a lot better.

his grip tightens on your waist, like you’ll fade away if he loosens it even a little. he eats you messily, trying not to let his sharp canines get in the way. he locks his lips around your puffy clit, sucking on it hungrily.

he reaches his thumbs up to your slick folds, parting them so that his tongue can explore anywhere he desires.

your head falls back with a soft cry, thudding gently against the wall. your reaction encourages chris even more. your thighs clench around his head, a feeling he loves more than anything.

“chris, baby—“ before another word can slip out, his lips find your sensitive, throbbing clit again, the wet muscle moving in slow circles against it. a moan escapes your lips, hips subconsciously rolling into his face.

chris buries his face further into your soaking heat, groaning, "you're all i wanted. all day. fuck."

and you knew that. anytime there’s a full moon nearing, all he craves is you. your taste. your scent. your proximity. your existence.

he devours you, slurping up your juices and lapping at your heat. his thumb finds your clit momentarily, making your hips twitch. he trails his hand closer to your weeping entrance, slipping his index finger inside of you. you gasp at the sudden intrusion, fingers tightening in his unruly hair.

he slips his middle finger into you as well, the squelching sound like music to his ears. "you make me feel so—so good, i'm—fuck—“ you stumble over your words. you’ve always been the dominant one in this relationship, chris being your puppy. literally. but, he loves knowing he can make you feel this way, despite knowing you’re in charge.

and he doesn’t say it out loud—but deep down, chris loves knowing you’ll always be the sweetener to his bitter days. when a full moon creeps closer and everything inside him starts to ache, it’s you he turns to. soft hands, softer voice, and the only thing in this world that ever really calms the storm. right now, he’s buried between your thighs, mouthing at his favorite meal like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth, and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

author’s note . . . HI sorry this is really short, not proofread, and a little late! oopsie..after this there’s gonna be 3 matt fics in a row…im sorry chris girls but i have to feed my matt girl instincts

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @mattybsgroupie @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @cutseylady @iconiccolo @sturnsblogs

© cayleeuhithinknott

[bluestriips]

SUCH A SHAME - matt sturniolo

warnings; this is a CHEATING FIC. i do not condone cheating, this is just fiction. p in v (unprotected), nicknames - (baby, sweetheart, big girl, smart girl.), spitting in mouth, drunk sex, grinding against each other, use of y/n, i think thats all??

creds to anyone who has done cheating fics before!!!

3,162 wc.

it was a constant routine between you and chris. you guys argue, mean words being thrown back and forth, you two have makeup sex, and you move on without another word about what you guys were actually arguing about and never actually fixing the problem.

one night after an argument, you had enough and grabbed a couple of club clothes— ignoring the yells being thrown at you from chris, and walking past him, storming off to your car outside of his apartment.

it was around 9:30 already, and you started driving to a nearby bar you’ve been going to for a while. sometimes you, and chris and his brothers would go out and have a great time. but tonight, it was just you.

you pull out your phone as you stop at a red light and text chris’s brother. matt.

matt had always been eyefucking you ever since you and chris even became friends. sly words said to you in secret, small, intimate touches, but nothing ever actually being done about it, as you and chris started dating.

of course you knew matt had a thing for you, but you couldn’t really do anything as chris was your boyfriend and you loved and adored him. tonight was different. you wanted to make chris mad, or at least in your head.

“come to the bar, right now. i’m by myself.” you quickly type out to matt, stuffing your phone into the center console, beginning to drive again. you know matt wouldn’t pass over an opportunity to see you, and that’s coming in handy tonight.

you get to the bar and check your phone again, matt responding almost instantly after you texted.

“omw”

you grab your clothes and your bag and head into the bar’s bathroom, changing into the clothes— which were more revealing than chris would ever let you out in, and touched up some of your makeup. matt texted you about 3 minutes ago saying he was here and sitting at the bar.

you walk out, and see matt sipping a drink. you set your bag down next to him and grab his cup out of his hand, taking a sip. “i’ll be right back, gotta put my clothes back in my car.” he smirks and nods, and you head out. you have a shot bottle in your car, and drank it all, wincing at the taste.

you put your clothes in the backseat before closing the door and heading back into the bar.

matt was faced towards you, smirking the whole time you walked towards him. “so what’s got you all upset, pretty? ‘nother argument with chris?” you nod, rolling your eyes as you sit down in the chair, which was closer to matt than you realized. he had bought you a drink, to which you happily drank before answering his question.

“yeah, some fuckin’ dumb shit again, he’s always starting arguments recently and i’m sick of it.” he tsks, letting his hand fall to your knee, rubbing it softly.

“he’s dumb, i know. don’t let it get your pretty head though, you’ll drive yourself crazy.” you hold his hand above your knee, rubbing his knuckles.

“i love him, i do, but— i don’t know,” you sigh, taking another sip— already feeling the effects of the alcohol flowing through your system. “it’s just a constant cycle and i hate it. we used to never be like this, y’know that, and then something just switched inside of him to always have a problem with every little thing i do.”

you noticed matt’s demeanor has changed, and he seems more considerate with you. it’s not like him flirting, but he genuinely does seem to understand.

“he’s just going through shit, i don’t know. i wish i could help, but he’s barely talking to me or nick recently, and nick’s pissed off by it too. so i get where you’re coming from, even if you don’t think i do.”

you look back at matt, really look at him, and smile softly. “thank you, i feel like i am actually going crazy. my words never seem to go through chris, it’s like they go through one ear and out the other and he’s just never actually listening to me anymore— but you’re making me feel listened to.”

you tighten your hand around matt’s hand, to which he smiles back at you, squeezing your thigh a bit tighter than before.

he orders another round of drinks for the both of you, the conversation flowing between you two easily. you haven’t seen him in a little while—on behalf of chris, as he knows matt thinks you’re attractive and doesn’t necessarily trust him around you. huh, ironic. it’s been about an hour of both of you being here, and it seems like it’s been 10 minutes.

of course you know matt’s attractive, him and chris look alike. but it’s not even that, it’s also his personality. the way he carries himself, his way with words, the way he can make you feel better in an instant without even trying, and that’s why you can feel so comfortable around him.

it was like that with chris too, since about a month or two ago where you don’t know if something happened at work or what— but his whole self just completely changed and his personality that you know and love just completely vanished.

“but enough about me, how’s your life been? any new girls or anything?” you ask matt, giggling softly. the both of you are already at the brink of being drunk, the way words flow out faster and easier than before, and the way you two have drifted closer to each other, without either of you noticing.

he shrugs a bit, taking a big gulp of his drink, finishing it and asking the bartender for another. “eh, not too much. had a thing with this girl named emma, but shit kinda fell through. she made this excuse about being busy at work all the time and kept canceling our dates. she works as a lifeguard, by the way.” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, to which you let out a little laugh.

“i mean lifeguards are very busy, especially now, in october.” you continue laughing, your head falling against his chest, to which his hand moves up your back, rubbing you gently as you continue to drunkenly laugh at your own joke. “i know, crazy busy.” he adds. “so i just kinda broke things off gently, y’know? but she wanted to fuck one last time before she left and that’s what we did. that was about 3 weeks ago, and we were around each other for like 2 months i think?” he sighs, as you sit back up, finally calming down a little bit. your hair was all messy now from leaning against matt and he chuckles a little bit as he reaches up and smoothes down some of your hair. “crazy girl.” he mutters as he examines your face.

“i didn’t say it before, but i really am sorry about what’s happening between you and chris, you don’t deserve that at all, sweetheart.” he says with another sigh, drinking a couple more sips before looking back at you. you shrug, following his actions and taking another sip. “i can’t do anything about it, im jus’ gonna let it be and kinda distance myself until he figures his shit out, because it is affecting me like crazy. i can barely sleep anymore, and all i do is cry about it. i love him so much but his words hurt me so badly, y’know?” he nods, taking your hand in his and rubbing it gently. he nods for you to continue, to which you shake your head.

“i don’t really wanna talk about it anymore, i came here to have a good fucking time with you, and that’s what we’re gonna do. c’mon let’s dance a little bit.” your mood starts to improve a lot more, as you stand up, still holding your hand in his as you try to drag him to the dance floor. “you’re insane if you think i’m dancing right now, honey. i’m probably gonna knock someone over, and that someone being you.” he smiles, looking at your little pout that you give him. “fine, 10 minutes.” you whoop, holding his hand tighter as he finally stands up, following you to the floor.

he hasn’t let go of your hand since the second you grabbed it. he let you take the lead, and you pulled him into a small crowd— maybe 15 or 20 people and started dancing close to matt.

the music was blaring through your ears, and you started looking up at matt with such admiration, as he held your waist tight. you moved against his body to the beat of the music, each beat causing you to get a little closer to matt until you two were right against each other. “careful, sweetheart. you’re dangerous, and i don’t know if chris would like what i’m thinking right now.” you giggled a bit, letting your fingers run through his hair— tightening them every once in a while. “well chris isn’t here, is he? tell me your thoughts, matt. i’m open ears.”

he laughed, shaking his head, his fingers gripping into your hips. “i can’t, because it’s gonna lead us somewhere we might both regret.” you rolled your eyes, taking and moving his hand more up your waist. “i’m not gonna regret anything, matt.” you lower your voice, hoping matt could still hear you, and he smirked— confirming that he did.

“you’re drunk.” he slurs out. “you are too!” you laugh as you continue dancing against him, your hand running through your hair and across his body after. matt took your hand, grabbing it firm, but not too hard and walking the both of you back to the bar.

“are you okay?” you ask, looking up at him as he pays the bartender, and thanking him as he grabs your purse in the process.

he looks down at you and even in the dark lighting of the bar, you could tell— he was hungry for you. “i need you so fucking bad right now, y/n. will you let me drive us back to my place? i walked here and i’m not super drunk to not be able to drive your car. it’s a quick drive, i promise.”

you can see in his face and the way he’s holding onto you tight that he’s desperate. you can’t help but have a flicker of chris in your head before you agree, knowing what was gonna happen between you and matt.

“yeah, yeah. let’s go.” you say fast, nodding. he smiles, saying one last thanks to the bartender before pulling the both of you out of the restaurant. once you unlocked your car, he opened the passenger side seat door, holding it for you to which you smiled and thanked him, sitting inside. you realized you left your phone in the car while matt opened the driver’s side and sat down.

once you unlocked your phone, a crazy amount of notifications came through, all from chris. “chris texted and called me probably a hundred times.” you mutter to matt and he lets out a small curse. “listen, we don’t have to do this, i can just drive you home, it’s okay-“ you interrupt him before he gets another word out. “no, i want to do this matt. i’m drunk, you’re drunk, let’s just fucking do it. i’m sick of chris’s bullshit and i need some relief.”

he looks at you for one more confirmation and you nod, to which he smiles at you, as he starts the car. you take one last glance at the notifications still coming through from chris, before powering it off.

he starts driving carefully, as you watch the views out the window. you and matt stay silent, both overwhelmed with the sexual tension between you two, only the faint sound of the car and the radio in between it. after about 10 minutes of driving, he finally comes to a stop in front of his complex. “we’re here. i’ll open your door.” he’s already out the door before you could even move an inch, your laugh filling the car.

he opens your door, grabbing your hand and kissing it gently, pulling you up.

he grabs your hand again and directs you through the lobby and up the elevator, starting to kiss your shoulder and nibble at it.

”we’re not even all the way up yet, you needy boy.” you giggle. he hums against you, sending chills through you. “couldn’t resist, baby.” he mutters. the elevator ride feels like an entirety before it finally stops at his floor. he stands up, grabbing your waist and pulling you through the hallway before stopping at his door and opening it.

the second he shuts it, he can’t keep his mouth and hands off you.

he’s pushing the both of you to his bed, gently pushing you down on it. “tell me i can do this.” he says as he wraps his fingers around your skirt. you nod, and he tsks. “i need an actual ‘yes’.” you whine, bucking your hips up. “yes, yes you can, please.” he smirks, finally pulling your skirt down to your ankles. “so needy, hm?”

he grabs your top, pulling it over the top half of your body, leaving you only in panties. “no bra? almost like you expected me to bring you up here and fuck you, baby.” you smile a bit, grabbing his neck and pulling his face close to you before you whisper, “maybe i did,” he groans, finally leaning in and kissing you deeply. he’s waited so long to finally be able to touch you, and the fact you’re doing this in secret turns him on even more.

”you’re so beautiful,” he mutters against your lips before letting his tongue enter your mouth, exploring every part. his hands move up to your boobs, massaging them deeply, and playing with your nipple. he lets his lips move onto your left nipple, swirling it around with his tongue, earning a moan out of you. he moves his mouth to your right nipple with a satisfying pop from your left, latching onto the right. his right hand moves down your stomach and your thighs, moving his fingers soft against your already-wet panties. “so wet already?” he says against your boob, leaving marks all over, knowing exactly who will see them later. “mhm, all for you, matt,” you whimper out, causing him to push just a little bit harder against your clothed clit, making you squirm.

“poor chris doesn’t know what his sweet girlfriend’s about to do with his own brother, jus’ because of his own, dumb actions. such a shame, isn’t it baby?” he mutters, chuckling at the thought, looking up at you as you nod. your eyes are already shut, even from his little actions. “open your eyes.” you open hesitantly, looking down at him.

he started kissing your thighs, his right hand still massaging your boob. his left moves your thigh to angle it where he can kiss the inner part, biting them gently. he mouths your clothed pussy, already growing hard himself and grinding against the edge of the mattress, trying to relieve at least some of the ache away. he hums against you, sending more chills through you. “matt, please— do something,” you whine and he hums.

he moves up again, grinding himself against you, causing you to gasp. “y’like that, huh?” you nod, whining a bit still. he taps your cheek with his hand a couple times before gripping your jaw and shaking your head condescendingly. your jaw falls open, and he spits on your tongue—to which you happily swallow. “didn’t even have to tell you anything, y’just know exactly what to do, such a smart girl,” he leans in, kissing you gently before biting your lip playfully, letting it go.

he leaned down and swiftly unbuckled his jeans, letting them fall to his ankles, and stepping out of them. he pulls down his boxers, releasing his cock— which was already painfully hard.

you gasped a bit, and he looked up at you smirking. “y’scared? don’t worry, it’ll be alright, you’re a big girl.” he finally hooks his fingers to the top of your panties, pulling them teasingly slow, before finally letting them fall right above your skirt. he moves his dick through your folds, moving it up and down and pushing it against your clit numerous times.

“matt, stop teasing, please—“ you choke out before he finally gives in, pushing into you slowly. your breath hitches in your throat at the way he’s stretching you out, and by the fact he is bigger than chris. he finally bottoms out, and his hand runs across your face and chest, soothing you down. “i’m gonna start moving, jus’ let me know if you need a break.” you nod, allowing him to move.

he goes in and out slowly as he grabs your hand, putting it up next to your head, interlocking your fingers with his. he goes a bit faster as he realizes you’re moving also, and he grips your hip with one hand tightly, starting to dig deeper into you. your leg is still bent, allowing him to hit a spot you didn’t even know existed.

incoherent words and babbles immerse from your mouth and he sticks his middle and index finger in your mouth, which you immediately suck on.

“there ya go, jus’ needed something in your mouth, yeah baby?” he’s going faster now, the sound of skin slapping together filling his apartment. his groans becoming louder and deeper, and his thrusts becoming sloppier. you gag a bit against his fingers and he almost cums on the spot from the sound and the feeling.

he pulls them out, gripping your hand again. “fuck— i’m gonna cum, where d’you want me?” he says breathless, and his chain slapping against your chin repeatedly pulls your attention back.

“inside, please.” you whine out, and he nods. he feels you start clenching around him, and your squirming. he puts his face closer to yours, looking in your eyes. “cum with me, baby.” you nod fast and he finally puts in a couple more fast, sloppy thrusts into you before finally halting inside, filling you up. your thighs are shaking and moans erupt loudly as you finish with him.

after a bit of time, his dick spluttering inside you, he finally falls on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you tight. “that sobered both of us up.” he whispers, chuckling with it. you nod, giving a lazy smile. he carefully pulls out of you, both of your releases spilling out onto his sheets. “eh, it’s alright , i’ll clean it up later. let’s go pee and take a shower, and you can stay the night.”

[bluestriips]

“a dog is supposed to sit there and be a good boy” he’s speaking from experience

[bluestriips]

✿ — god is a woman . . . sub!matt

in which . . . matt worships you like it’s the only thing that matters. because to him? it is.

warnings. . . smut , begging , praise kink , oral (f receiving) , face sitting , MATT THE MUNCH

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #4

you were feeling amazing tonight. despite being in simple pajamas and having no makeup on, you looked amazing. and matt thought so, too.

oh, he really thought so.

and you know that because he has been absolutely desperate for your attention, for your touch, for your pussy. god, he wanted—no, needed a taste so, so bad. he just wanted to be beneath you. to worship you. more than anything in the world.

he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night. not even once. it’s like he’s under some kind of spell. like the way you exist has him in a chokehold and he doesn’t even want to try to break free.

his hands keep twitching where they rest on the blanket beside him, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. like he’s holding himself back from grabbing at you—from getting on his knees and begging.

you move across the room and his breath catches.

literally just that. just you walking.

you smirk a little, settling down beside him on the bed like you don’t notice how red his cheeks are. like you don’t notice the way his thighs press together tightly, like he’s trying to keep himself from getting hard just from your presence alone.

but he already is.

you can see it. painfully obvious under the fabric of his sweats. and he’s trying so hard to be good—to wait for you, to be patient, to earn it. poor thing.

you lean back against the pillows and he follows you instinctively, settling beside you with his chin tilted toward you like he’s trying to silently beg for your attention without saying a word.

his eyes flutter when you run your fingers through his loose, soft curls, and you swear you hear him whimper just from the soft scratch of your nails against his scalp.

“mama,” he breathes, so quiet you barely catch it.

you hum, smiling. “yeah, baby?”

he doesn’t answer right away. he’s too busy trying not to fall apart from just the sound of your voice.

your fingers trail down to his jaw, tilting his face toward yours, and god—he looks ruined already. flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, lips parted like he’s about to cry if you don’t touch him soon.

“you’ve been so good for me tonight,” you murmur, letting your thumb graze the corner of his mouth. “haven’t even touched yourself once.”

he nods quickly. too quickly.

“n-no,” he whispers. “i haven’t. i swear.”

you laugh softly. “i know, baby. i can tell.” your eyes flick down to his growing bulge, an ephemeral glance, barely there.

your hand trails lower, ghosting down his chest, and he shudders under your touch like it’s the first time anyone’s ever touched him. he’s so responsive, so eager, so fucking desperate.

and you love it. you love knowing you have this much control. that just a look, just a word, just a soft “good boy” from your lips can make him melt. god, he worships you.

his breath hitches when your hand dips beneath the waistband of his sweats—not even really touching him, just resting there—and he whimpers again, hips lifting ever so slightly like his body’s begging even if his mouth won’t.

you press a kiss to his cheek. then another to his jaw. then one right under his ear. he’s shaking now.

“please,” he whispers, barely audible. “mama, please.”

you pull back just enough to look at him. his pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon.

“what is it, baby?” you ask, voice soft, sweet. “you want something?”

he nods fast, embarrassed. “wanna touch you,” he admits, breathless. “wanna—wanna taste you. need it. need you.”

you lean back slightly, fingers sliding into his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you. your voice is low, but sweet-laced with that same softness that always makes him shiver.

"then come here, baby," you murmur. "lay back and let mama take a seat."

his lips part, breath catching in his throat like he can't believe what he's hearing. his eyes are wide, already glassy, chest rising fast with each inhale.

"you want that, don't you? want mama to let you taste?"

he nods immediately. desperate, reverent. like he's praying for it.

"good boy."

and just like that, he's pulling you closer like he's never needed anything more.

you smile, stroking his cheek. “lay down, baby,” you whisper, voice all honey, “i want you to taste how good you’ve been.”

matt immediately obeys, settling his head on the pillows. you pull your pajama shorts off deliberately slow, your baby blue panties following close behind. matt’s tongue darts out to wet his parted lips, his eyes fixating on your glistening pussy in awe.

you get up on your knees, steadying your palms on his chest. you swing your thigh over his neck, pussy hovering above his desperate face. when he realizes what you’re doing, his eyes light up. "thank you. thank you. oh my god—thank you." matt locks his arms around the plush flesh of your thighs. usually, you’d scold him for not asking first, but the look on his face…you couldn’t.

he sticks his tongue out, waiting for you to lower yourself onto his face. “that's it, baby...tongue out. make mama proud."

finally, you give in to his neediness, sitting on his face. but, not fully. you were hovering slightly, not wanting to drown the poor boy. a muffled whine vibrates into your drooling pussy, causing you to look down at him.

“please…” he mumbles against you. you cock your head to the side, egging him on. “just sit. all the way. please…don’t care if i can’t breathe.”

a wicked grin tugs at your lips, and you thread your fingers through his hair. following his desperate request, you plop all of your weight onto him. “tap me if you need to breathe, sweetheart.”

matt immediately gets to work. dragging his tongue up and down through your folds, getting the taste he’s been absolutely dying for. the sensation is electric, waves of pleasure flowing through your body already.

he locks his lips around your clit, sucking on it with fervor. a moan escapes your lips, hand tightening in his unruly hair. his hands come up to your hips, holding onto them.

matt trails his attention down to your drooling hole, dipping his tongue inside of it, moaning into your cunt. you shudder at the feeling, hips subconsciously grinding down onto his nose. yeah, you loved his nose because it looked so hot. but fuck, did you love to sit on it.

his grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging bruisingly into your flesh as he absolutely worships your pussy. matt could suffocate and die right here and be glad this was his last meal.

“shiiit—that mouth’s good for more than just begging, hm?” you purr, voice more shaky than you intended. you just couldn’t help it. he’s making you feel so, so good. matt groans into you, shoving his tongue as deep inside you as it’ll go. you start to grind down onto his face even harder.

you squeeze your eyes shut as he trails his tongue back to your clit, flattening the muscle on it. “god, this is where you belong, huh? all messy beneath me…fuck,” you hiss as he locks his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves. the string in your tummy is fraying at the edges, threatening to snap.

“fuuuck baby—gonna cum all over that handsome face,” you groan, tossing your head back. matt hums into your wetness, a sound of pride and satisfaction, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure through you, head to toe. you couldn't help but let out a soft whimper, a sound of pure delight.

matt starts slurping up your pussy like a man starved, and you know you can’t last any longer as the string inside you snaps like a rubber band. your finger curl in his hair, tugging at it as a violent tremble runs through your body. you shriek, an overwhelming wave of bliss taking over.

at the same time that you release on matt’s face, you hear a choked, muffled whimper escape his lips, vibrating into your pussy. he just came in his pants. from having you sit on his face.

god, you’re never getting rid of him.

you feel your release coating matt’s face as he slurps up the most he can, lapping at your cunt like it’s the last thing he’ll ever eat. you pant above him, steadying your hands on his shoulders and slowly lifting yourself up to hover above his face.

his face is ruined.

lips shiny and parted, cheeks flushed all the way to his ears, and his eyes—glassier than ever, wide and begging, like he’s still in a haze. his stubbled jaw’s glistening, soaked and twitching slightly as he blinks up at you, utterly dazed. he still looks starved. like you fed him paradise and snatched it away too fast.

matt loves worshipping you. truly. and somewhere in that wrecked little head of his, he knows—if god is a woman, she’s sitting right above him.

his hands twitch against your thighs like he wants to pull you back down so bad, but he won’t without permission. he knows better.

his voice is hoarse, whiny, a desperate little plea barely held together by breath,

“mama—please, please sit back down, i wasn’t done.”

author’s note . . . sub!matt again oops! this isn’t proofread. anyway im really debating making a chratt au like i have this idea that will not go away

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @snuffbut @strnilolover @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @mattybsgroupie @zenithsturniolo @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @cutseylady @iconiccolo

© cayleeuhithinknott

[bluestriips]

oh my god.

MIRROR. . . BUNNY!MATT.

He looks so pretty.

Sweaty pieces of hair sticking to his forehead, bitten lips pink and swollen, eyes low and heavy.

He whines loudly, ruined as he bucks into your hand. "Oh, cmon bun." You push his hips down, tilting his head back towards the mirror. "You know the rules."

"M'— mhh— msorry— I-I—" He gasps, throwing his head back to your shoulder as you blatantly tease his tip. "Bunny," You tilt his head back to the mirror, "Gotta listen to me if you wanna cum, can't you look at how pretty you look?"

Matt whines, biting his already swollen lips. "But— mhhhh— so embarrassing—"

More and more sultry and needy moans fall from his lips as you stroke his length, eyes threatening to roll back into his head with each stroke.

You smirk, pressing a soft kiss to his neck as you stop your hand on his cock. "Nooo— nononono— please—" He pants out, eagerly trying to chase your touch. "Need to cum— p-please mama—"

You coo at him, stroking him but not in the way he wants, the way he needs. "Look at yourself for me then, okay, pretty?"

He nods obediently, eyes immediately glued on the mirror place in front of him. "Ohmygod—" He lets out the whinest, pathetic moan you've heard from all night when you begin to pump him.

"Mama— m' so close— holyshit— please— please!" You giggle as you watch his hips buck erratically into your hand, "Yeah? Gonna cum all over the mirror?"

"Yesyes— ohmy— haah— ohfuck—!" He comes with a loud cry, back arching off of your back as he clutches your thighs with all his might.

You tilt his head towards you again, slotting your lips together. "Good bunny."

a/n: i missed my man!

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @domizmez @drewswife @strnilolover @sirensdollesque @courta13 @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @sugarraez @sweeethrt @moond0llie @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns @iloveduckssm @oopsiedaisydeer @sturnsflirt @cayleeuhithinknott @h3arts4nat @angelyearner @pink1man @sturnsblogs @mi-co-uk @slvt4subchratt @tezzzzzzzz @chrisbratt333 @izzylovesmatt @chrisowenmuncher @bluestriips

[bluestriips]

✿ — r.e.m. . . . sub!matt

in which . . . matt can’t stop dreaming about you—and one hazy, late-night confession turns into something unforgettable.

warnings . . . smut , dry-humping , matt cumming in his boxers , praise kink , lots of “mama” and “good boy” , matt being a cutie patootie

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #3

he’s warm—almost too warm. the kind that wraps around him like a weighted blanket, sticky and heavy with need. he’s somewhere soft. maybe your bed. maybe his. he can’t tell, and he doesn’t care. all he knows is that you’re there. on top of him. straddling his waist, your nails dragging down his chest in slow, lazy lines. he hears you chuckle—sweet and knowing—and he swears he could cry at how good it feels when you roll your hips against his.

“so pretty like this,” dream-you murmurs, voice like silk. “you gonna cum just from a little grinding, baby?”

“mm—mama,” he whimpers, arching under your touch, hands gripping at nothing.

you lean down and kiss him, messy and hot, your tongue curling into his mouth, hand sliding between you to cup the ache in his sweats. “so sensitive, huh? poor baby.”

his hips jerk. “please,” he breathes. “feels so—”

but he never finishes the sentence, because that’s when real you stirs. you feel it before you even open your eyes—his twitchy hips against yours, the soft, desperate sounds leaving his mouth. you blink, groggy, and then your brows furrow as you realize matt is…humping you in his sleep.

and not subtly.

“matt?” you mumble, shifting beside him.

he whines, face nuzzling into your neck. “mama…”

oh.

you stifle a laugh and sit up slightly, reaching to brush his hair back from his forehead. “matthew.”

“don’t stop,” he breathes.

“baby,” you whisper, voice laced with amusement as you gently shake his shoulder. “matt. wake up.”

he gasps when he blinks awake, disoriented, eyes wide and glassy like he just got yanked out of a different dimension. it takes him a second, and then the realization hits him hard—he’s still pressed against you, hips nestled into yours, body burning hot.

“shit,” he whispers, immediately trying to roll off you. “oh my god—i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to—i was dreaming—”

you giggle and pin him back down. “mhm. i noticed. sounded like a really nice dream.”

he hides his cherry-red face in his hands. “kill me.”

you just grin and straddle his hips, settling on top of him with a little hum. “nuh-uh,” you pull his hands down from his face. “i wanna hear more.”

his breath catches. “you…you don’t think it’s weird?”

“weird that my pretty little boy was dreaming about me and humping me in his sleep? no,” you say sweetly, running your hands down his bare chest. “kinda hot, actually.”

he groans in embarrassment, arms flopping back dramatically. “god it’s so over for me.”

you chuckle, leaning down to kiss him, soft and slow. your fingers lace with his, pinning his hands above his head as you grind down just enough to make him squirm.

he moans into your mouth, dazed and needy, completely at your mercy. “mama…”

“been dreamin’ about me a lot, huh?” you murmur, brushing your lips along his jaw. “is that why you’re always hard in the morning, baby?”

he nods helplessly, cheeks flushed. “every night. i swear. it’s always you.”

you smile and kiss him again—longer this time, deeper. his thighs twitch beneath you as you roll your hips again, just enough to make him gasp. “i’m real, you know,” you whisper, teasing. “you don’t have to just dream about me.”

“i know,” he breathes, eyes half-lidded. “but it still feels like a dream.”

you lean down and nuzzle his nose. “then don’t wake up.”

his hips twitch under you when you grind down again—slow, deep, right where he needs it. you can feel how hard he is beneath you, straining through the thin fabric of his boxers like it's hurting him not to be properly touched. matt feels the humiliating amount of precum oozing from his slit beneath the unsubstantial fabric.

he lets out a quiet, choked whimper, fingers flexing against your grip like he's trying so hard to be good.

"mama..." his voice cracks, all breath and desperation. his brows knit together, chest rising and falling like he can barely breathe. "f-feels too good..."

you hum, tilting your head just a little as you watch his face. he's so flushed, so dazed, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you like you're not even real. "you close already, baby?" you murmur, leaning down till your lips are ghosting over his cheek. "mmm…and i've barely even touched you."

"i-i can't help it," he gasps. "been dreaming about you every night...every night, mama, i swear—"

you smile, soft and teasing, brushing your nose against his. "i know you have, sweetheart,” you whisper. "y’keep waking me up like this. grindin’ on me. whimpering. sayin’ my name."

his whole face goes red, like a cherry popsicle. his eyes shut like he's embarrassed. but his hips roll up again, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more you.

you tighten your grip on his wrists, pressing them into the bed gently, leaning up just enough to move again, your drenched panties dragging against his cock in a way that makes him want to sob. "don't hide from me, baby. wanna see that handsome face when you fall apart."

he whines, high-pitched and airy, and you swear it goes straight to your throbbing clit. his body's trembling, hips stuttering against yours like he's already close—already on the edge.

"gonna cum like this?" you ask, soft but smug. "just from me humpin’ on you through your boxers? you really that needy for mama, huh?"

his head nods frantically. "y-yeah—please, i can't...please don't stop, mama, i'm gonna—i'm gonna—“

you keep your rhythm steady, grinding in slow, hard, steady waves. "shh, i got you. be a good boy, let go for me."

his eyes roll back. his balls draw tight and he can’t stop it. his mouth drops open as his whole body tenses, and then he's gasping, cumming hard in his boxers with the sweetest, most broken sound you've ever heard.

you can feel it, the way he jerks beneath you, his release soaking through the thin cotton, hips twitching under your weight as he rides it out.

you don't stop moving, not yet. but you do slow down, letting him come down gently as you rock your hips in soft, lazy circles. his wrists go slack under your hands, and he's just staring up at you, lips parted, pupils blown wide, completely blissed out.

you brush his hair back from his forehead, cooing down at him. "there he is. such a good boy for me."

he whimpers, blinking up at you like he still doesn't believe you're real. "mama..." he breathes. "please don't leave."

poor thing’s so scared that he’s still dreaming.

"m’not going anywhere, sweet boy,” you whisper. "you're all mine, remember?"

he nods slowly, dreamy and overwhelmed. "feels like i'm still dreamin’..”

you lean down and kiss him, soft and slow and deep, and he melts under you like you're the only thing tethering him to earth.

his breathing finally starts to steady, whimpering tapering off into breathy little sighs against your lips. you smile into the kiss, then pull back just enough to brush the sweaty, loose curls off his forehead.

“good job, baby,” you murmur, voice all sweet and praise-drunk as your fingers trail down to the waistband of his soaked boxers. “let’s get these off you, yeah?”

he nods, eyes heavy and glossy and so far gone. “mhm…please, mama…”

you help him out of them gently, slow and careful as you ease the fabric down his legs. he’s still twitching a little, flushed and sensitive, but he lets you take care of him, pliant and soft beneath your touch. once the boxers are off, you grab the hoodie you’d tossed aside before the two of you went to sleep and slip it over his head. he barely lifts his arms, too blissed out to function, but you do it all for him anyway. you get up, navigating his underwear drawer and grabbing a new pair for him, returning to tug them up his legs.

you tug the blankets up, then curl your body around his, pulling him close so his head’s tucked under your chin. he sighs again, even softer this time, and lets his arm wrap around your waist.

“you’re so good to me,” he mumbles sleepily, voice muffled against your chest.

you press a kiss to the top of his head. “always, baby. now go to sleep.”

he hums, already drifting off, and you hold him tighter, his skin still warm, his body still trembling slightly from the high. he relaxes fully into you, like he finally feels safe again.

and for a second, you think he’s asleep, until he whispers, just barely audible, “don’t go anywhere, okay?”

you smile, heart fluttering. silly boy.

“never.” you promise.

and just like that, he’s out again. safe, loved, and wrapped up in you. almost like the dream never ended. and soon, he’ll fall right back into the state of r.e.m., lost in another hazy fantasy of you. soft skin, soft voice, soft love. the cycle resets, and he’ll wake up wanting you all over again.

author’s note . . . YAY FIRST SUB!MATT OF THE MARATHON!! ignore how this is so short and absolute ass..i wrote it in like 3 seconds because i procrastinated and i am far too tired to proofread it!

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @snuffbut @strnilolover @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @mattybsgroupie @zenithsturniolo @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @cutseylady @iconiccolo

© cayleeuhithinknott

[bluestriips]

on my knees

smut, oral (m!receiving), teasing, slight switch vibes, established relationship

word count - 1.6k

“You remember when you first fell for me?”

You’re curled into Chris’s side, warm skin against warm skin, both of you half-dressed and wholly lazy in the afterglow of doing absolutely nothing all day. His fingers are tracing lazy shapes on your hip, your leg slung over his. Outside, the sun’s setting, golden and slow, but in here, it’s just the two of you, tangled and content.

Chris hums. “Don’t know if I ever had a moment, really.”

You pull back just enough to squint up at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, teasing. “I think I’ve just always liked you.”

“Liar,” you accuse, grinning. “Everyone has a moment. I had a moment.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Mhm. Like, a week after we met. You were wearing that stupid hoodie and trying to get me to dance with you. You got all flustered when I complimented your hands, and then you gave me the rest of your Slurpee even though you’d just opened it.”

He laughs, eyes creasing, but you’re not finished.

“Oh, and when I tripped over the curb and nearly ate shit and you caught me by the back of my shirt? Yeah. That too.”

“So you fell for me because I saved your life and gave you sugar.”

“And because you looked at me like I wasn’t just some girl you were becoming friends with,” you say softly, quieter now. “You looked at me like I was already yours.”

Chris doesn’t say anything for a second, just blinks at you, stunned, a little breathless. “You’re not fair, you know that?”

You smirk, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You, on the other hand, don’t even know when you fell.”

He shakes his head, then grabs his phone off the nightstand. “Alright. Fine. Maybe I do.”

You frown, confused, until he opens his camera roll, scrolls a bit, then holds it out for you.

It’s a short video that he clearly filmed without you noticing.

You’re laughing, hard, in the middle of the kitchen at night, practically doubled over. You drop to your knees, breathless, clutching your stomach and gasping for air between giggles. You’re glowing under the light from the open refrigerator, eyes wet, looking up at him like he’s the only person in the world who exists.

Your voice on the video, “You’re such an idiot.”

His voice, quietly, only just loud enough for the camera to hear, “But I’m your idiot.”

The video cuts out.

Chris doesn’t say anything. He just watches you watching it.

You blink. “You filmed that?”

He nods, quiet now. “Didn’t even realise what I was doing. Just… couldn’t not.”

You’re quiet for a second, then, of course, you can’t help yourself.

“So let me get this straight,” you say, dragging a finger slowly down his bare chest, playful, teasing him. “You fell in love with me while I was on my knees?”

He groans, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But that’s what happened,” you whisper, mouth brushing his, voice overly sweet. “You saw me on my knees, looked down at me, all wide-eyed and flushed and looking up at you, and you just… folded.”

His hands are already sliding down your waist, gripping tighter. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You straddle him slowly, deliberately, your thighs framing his hips. “It’s true though, isn’t it? You liked it. You saw me down there and thought, ‘yep, that’s the one.’.”

He licks his lips, gaze locked on yours. “Yep. You had me. Right then.”

“Bet you’ve thought about it since,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth, then the hollow of his throat. “Me looking up at you like that.”

Chris lets out the softest fuck under his breath as your hips shift against his. His hands slide under the hem of the hoodie you’re still wearing, and rest on the backs of your thighs, grounding you.

You smile against his neck. “You gonna fall for me all over again?”

“Only if you stay down there,” he mutters, breath hitching.

You grin, starting to sink lower. “That can be arranged.”

Chris leans back against the headboard, letting you move how you want, but his hands don’t leave your body. One lingers against your jaw as you kiss his chest, the other grips your thigh as you slide between his legs. There’s something possessive in the way he touches you, even now, like even when you’re the one taking the lead, he wants to remind you who you belong to.

“You love this, don’t you?” you murmur, trailing your fingers up his thighs. “Me like this. Looking up at you.”

Chris exhales hard, head tipping back. “Yeah. I do.”

Your hands move to his waistband, slow and sure. “You gonna be good for me?”

That gets his attention. His head snaps forward, eyes dark, jaw tight. “Careful.”

You blink up at him, mock-innocent. “What?”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll put you on your back instead.”

You smirk, clearly unfazed. “Maybe I want to watch you try to stay quiet while I’ve got your cock down my throat.”

Chris groans, softly, wrecked, and lifts his hips just enough to help you drag his boxers down. You watch, deliberately slow, as the waistband dips beneath the sharp line of his hips, revealing the trail of soft hair that disappears below. And then he’s bare, his cock springing free, flushed deep at the tip, thick and already twitching with need. Veins pronounced, heavy against his stomach, the kind of sight that makes your mouth go dry and water all at once.

You pause for a moment, just to look at him, how hard he is for you, how pretty he is like this, breathing unevenly, eyes dark and half-lidded as he watches you watching him.

“God,” you murmur, wrapping your fingers around him. “You’re so pretty like this.”

He swears under his breath, hips twitching into your palm.

You stroke him slow, teasing, cruel, letting your thumb circle the head, watching the way he breathes through it, like he’s trying to stay composed for as long as he can. But you can see it in the tension in his legs, the slight tremble in his hands, he’s already fighting it.

You lean in, kiss the tip.

Then lower your mouth just enough to take him in, warm, wet, deliberate.

Chris’s hand flies to your hair, not guiding, just holding. His voice is hoarse. “Fuck. You feel, baby—”

You hum low in your throat, eyes locked on his. That’s what undoes him most. Not the pressure of your tongue or the hollow of your cheeks. It’s that look. Soft, slow-blinking, pupils wide, like you were made for this. Like you want to ruin him. Like you know exactly how.

“Jesus, baby,” he pants, breath stuttering as you take him deeper. “Don’t stop. Please—”

You don’t. You keep your pace torturously slow, twisting your hand at the base while your mouth works over the top, letting spit trail down your fist, moaning soft and sweet when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come like this—”

He’s trying so hard to keep control, his knuckles white against the sheet, his jaw clenched, hips twitching. You pull off just enough to breathe, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, then press a kiss to his thigh.

“I’m not even close to done with you,” you whisper, voice wrecked with need. “You always fall apart so easy for me.”

He growls low, grabbing you gently by the chin and forcing your eyes back to his. “Say that again.”

You grin, licking the tip of him. “You fall apart so fucking easy for me, Christopher.”

That’s it.

His fingers tighten in your hair as he thrusts up slightly, just enough to make your eyes water as he slides back into your mouth — not rough, never rough, but firm, like he’s taking what you’ve been teasing him with.

Still not quite content, he stands up slightly, angling his hips so that you take him deep enough that he can even feel his tip hitting the back of your throat, your mouth sucking him in and swallowing around him in time with his thrusts. Your eyes are wide and a little teary, lips puffy as you take him.

You moan around him, letting him fuck into your mouth slowly, rhythm building. His eyes are wild now, locked on your face, watching the spit on your lips, the blush on your cheeks, the way you’re so focused on him.

“Look at you,” he groans, voice breaking. “Messy and beautiful and fucking perfect.”

He’s close. You can feel it, the way his thighs tense, the way he starts to mutter your name like a prayer, breath coming in desperate gasps. So you suck his tip harder, deeper, not letting him go this time, letting him fall all the way apart.

“Fuckfuckfuck.”

He comes with a stuttered gasp, fingers tangled in your hair, hips trembling beneath you. You swallow around him, slow, holding him there while his entire body shakes.

When you finally pull back, he’s flushed, chest heaving, hair sticking to his forehead. You kiss his hip bone, then his stomach, then crawl back up into his lap with that same smug look.

Chris cups your face and kisses you deep, tongue and teeth and still-shaking hands, like he needs you, even now.

“I hate you,” he mutters breathlessly against your mouth.

You giggle. “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t think you know what you do to me,” he breathes, voice rough with everything he feels.

You smile, brushing his hair back. “I think I do.”

He laughs softly, exhausted and happy, tugging you closer until you’re fully in his lap, wrapped up in his arms like he never wants to let you go. He kisses your shoulder, then your cheek, then your temple, whispering sweet nothings like he’s the one on his knees.

dividers by @cafekitsune ꨄ

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a second:>

thanks for reading!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!!