chriss-slutt

[chriss-slutt]

I WANNA KISS ALONG HIS JAW PLEASE

[chriss-slutt]

preach!

penis

[chriss-slutt]

He’s so cute

I’m gonna bend him over

WOAH WHO SAID THAT???

[chriss-slutt]

(A/N: We are gonna try this. This is chapter 1. Depending if this flops or not, there might be a chapter 2.. :))

TW: implied violence and murder, discussion of graphic crimes, gaslighting, manipulation, psychological tension, suspension (If i forgot any, I'm SORRY)

CHAPTER 1; Eyes in the shadows

Casey wasn’t the paranoid type.

She prided herself on being level-headed, even when things around her got weird. And lately, Boston had gotten really weird. The news was full of blood—murder after murder, all connected, all brutal. All marked by that same mask: Ghostface.

But even with all the horror piling up on the front page, Casey’s nights with the Sturniolo brothers always felt like a break from the madness. Their apartment was a second home—cramped, chaotic, and full of the kind of warmth that made her forget how dark the world was outside.

Or at least, it used to feel that way.

It started small.

That night, she’d shown up a little early. Matt had texted her to come by, but when she got there, the door was slightly cracked. She knocked, called out, but no one answered. Thinking nothing of it, she pushed it open and stepped inside.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the blue flicker of the TV. The usual clutter was there—hoodies draped over chairs, empty energy drink cans on the counter—but something was off.

She noticed it right away.

The hallway light was on, and the door to Matt’s room wasn’t fully closed. Voices filtered out—quiet, urgent. She recognized them instantly: Matt, Chris, and Nick. But it was the way they were talking that made her freeze.

“…it’s not clean. I told you not to leave it like that,” Matt said. His voice was low, sharp.

“I didn’t, bro, I swear,” Chris snapped. “You saw me. I wiped everything—”

“Not everything." That was Nick. Cold. “The mask was on the floor, Chris. The floor.”

Casey’s stomach dropped.

Mask?

She stepped back quietly, heart racing. Her heel knocked into something on the floor—an empty beer bottle that rolled forward with a clink.

The voices stopped.

In a flash, the door opened. Matt stood there, his face unreadable, expression smooth as ever. But his eyes—his eyes looked different.

“Case?” he asked, his tone casual, like she hadn’t just heard something she clearly wasn’t supposed to. “You good?”

She blinked. Forced a smile. “Yeah, sorry—I thought no one was home. Door was open.”

Matt stepped into the hall, closing the bedroom door behind him with a soft click. “We were just talking about something stupid. Chris being dramatic, per usual.”

Behind him, she heard hurried movement—Nick’s voice muttering something she couldn’t make out.

Chris emerged a second later, too loud, too bright. “We are dramatic, babe, that’s why you love us.”

Casey let out a forced laugh, but her hands were clammy.

Matt led her to the living room like nothing had happened, and Nick offered her a drink like everything was normal. And maybe it was.

But when she glanced down the hallway a few minutes later, she saw it: the edge of something white peeking out from under Matt’s door.

A sliver of plastic. Like the curve of a mask.

She said nothing.

Just swallowed hard and smiled, even as a cold wave rolled down her spine.

Something wasn’t right.

And for the first time since she met them, Casey wasn’t sure if she was safe in that apartment—

—or trapped in it.

[chriss-slutt]

m e a n i e c . s

i n w h i c h . . . chris prolongs your release when you whine, and then gives you four more.

w a r n i n g s . . . orgasm prolonging, multiple orgasms, smut, stomach bulge, degradation, crying, comfort

the sex felt mindless. detached. it was frankly pissing chris off, his movements sloppy and lazy.

your body was trembling, every nerve frayed from how close you were — how unfairly close — when he pulled out without warning. just like that. gone. empty. aching.

you gasped, eyes snapping open, chest heaving as your thighs instinctively tried to close, to hold onto something that wasn’t there anymore. but all you got was the sting of abandonment and the unbearable throb of denied pleasure.

“what the fuck,” you breathed, voice shaking more from betrayal than from exhaustion. “are you serious right now?”

he just stared down at you, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling like he was the one on edge. like he was the one about to break.

“you think you get to come that easy after the shit you pulled?” he muttered, low and cutting. his voice was calm — terrifyingly so — and it made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

your jaw dropped. “i didn’t even—”

“exactly.” he leaned in, nose brushing yours, that stupid, infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you didn’t do anything. didn’t apologize. didn’t beg. didn’t even say my name the way i like.” he tilted his head. “why would i let you finish?”

your hands clenched the sheets. tears of frustration welled in your eyes — not from hurt, but from the sheer tension knotted in your stomach, throbbing between your legs like a cruel punishment. “you’re such an asshole.”

“mhmm.” he pressed a single kiss to your lips. “but you like that.”

“i hate you.”

“no, baby,” he cooed, thumbing your swollen bottom lip. “you hate that you need me to cum. and i’m not gonna give it to you.”

you stared at him, burning, furious, unbearably needy — and he was already backing away, wiping himself off like he hadn’t just wrecked you without mercy.

“chris,” you warned, voice breaking. “don’t you fucking walk away.”

he paused at the door. glanced back.

“then don’t give me a reason to,” he said simply, and disappeared into the hallway.

you screamed into the pillow. and shit, you hated how much you still wanted him.

you laid there for a long moment, body still trembling, thighs clenched so tight it hurt. the silence in the room was deafening — not peaceful, not calm, but taunting. it mocked you. echoed your pulse. pulsed in sync with the empty ache between your legs.

your hand twitched at your side. you considered finishing yourself — just out of spite. just to feel something other than the shameful burn of need.

but it wouldn’t be the same. it never was. not after chris. so you didn’t.

you wrapped the sheet around your chest and stumbled off the bed, legs wobbly and weak, more from rage than anything. padding into the hallway, you found him in the kitchen — shirtless, sipping water like he hadn’t just ruined you on purpose. like he hadn’t just played god with your orgasm and walked away whistling.

“you think that was funny?” your voice cracked. you hated that it cracked.

he didn’t even look at you at first. just set the glass down and turned, slow, deliberate, leaning back on the counter. “wasn’t meant to be funny,” he said. “meant to teach you a lesson.”

“about what?” you hissed. “about how to become a fucking lunatic? congrats, chris. i’m there.”

his eyes flicked over you — the sheet, the flushed cheeks, the unsteady posture. “lesson about how actions have consequences,” he said smoothly, walking toward you. “and that maybe next time, you’ll think twice before pretending you don’t care.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he was already there, tilting your chin up with a single finger.

“you came in here looking to argue. as usual.” he said, voice low, “but all i see is someone who still wants to cum, huh?”

you slapped his hand away. “you don’t get to control me like this.”

“i’m not controlling you,” he murmured. “i’m making you honest.”

and before you could reply — before you could say another word — he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and bent you over the counter.

“chris—” you gasped, the sheet slipping off your body, heat flooding every nerve.

“you think i don’t want you?” he growled into your ear. “you think it doesn’t kill me not to cum in this messy cunt?”

he pushed just the head in, slow, punishing, and you whimpered.

“this time,” he said through clenched teeth, “you’ll fucking scream for it.”

he didn’t move.

just the tip — barely nestled inside, stretched enough to ache but not enough to satisfy. your fingers gripped the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turned white, breath coming in sharp little gasps as your thighs trembled.

“chris,” you whimpered, trying to push back against him, just enough to take more, to pull him deeper.

his hand came down hard across your ass. a sharp smack. you yelped.

“don’t,” he warned. “you don’t get to set the pace.”

he rocked his hips — shallow, infuriatingly slow — just enough for the head to slip in and out, dragging against that first ring of resistance. you choked on a moan, back arching, your body betraying you completely.

“this is what you wanted, right?” he murmured, voice low and cruel. “wanted to be put in your place. wanted to be reminded who you belong to.”

“you’re such a dick,” you gasped, eyes stinging from frustration, from pleasure that refused to peak.

he leaned down, chest against your back, one hand wrapping around your throat as he pushed in just a little deeper—then pulled out again.

“and,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “you’re dripping all over me.”

you could feel it — the mess between your thighs, the humiliating slickness he was smearing all over with nothing more than the head of his cock. every time he rocked forward, it dragged through you, hot and swollen and soaked.

“please,” you breathed, and hated how desperate it sounded. “chris, please.”

he stilled. stayed right at the edge. unmoving. cock twitching against you.

“you gonna be good?” he asked.

you nodded furiously.

“say it.”

“i’ll be good,” you whispered. “i’ll be so fucking good, i swear—”

but he didn’t move.

he just pulled out again, rubbing himself through your folds like he wasn’t wrecking you slowly, deliberately.

“you think you deserve it?” he asked, now lazily trailing the tip up toward your clit and back down again.

“yes—“

he pressed the head in again. just the head. you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“you haven’t earned it yet,” he said simply, cruelly, and god—you might’ve cried.

he was merciless.

he didn’t push in. didn’t give you what you were aching for, what your body screamed for. no — all he gave you was the thick, swollen head of his cock, nudging just barely past your entrance, then pulling out again. slow. calculated. cruel.

“c’mon,” he murmured, thumb brushing the base of your spine as he kept you bent over the counter. “you’re the one who said you didn’t need me.”

you were shaking, chest pressed to the cold marble, cheek turned, lips parted as you panted. “chris,” you whimpered, the name leaving you like a sob. “please—i can’t—”

“you can.” his voice was low, cruelly gentle. “you will.”

he rocked forward again, just enough for the tip to slip in, warm and thick and teasing right against that oversensitive entrance. he held it there, hands gripping your hips so tight it left bruises.

and then he started to move.

not fully — just that inch, back and forth, shallow thrusts that barely scraped at your walls but somehow still had your legs buckling. the friction built fast. too fast. too much.

“fuck,” you moaned, high and broken, your voice echoing in the kitchen. “it’s not enough—”

“then why are you already close?” he growled.

his grip on your hips tightened, and he kept that brutal rhythm — shallow, deliberate, precise. the tip hit just right, again and again, your swollen, aching walls gripping for more that never came. but it didn’t matter. it was too much and not enough all at once.

he reached forward and slipped his fingers between your thighs, finding your clit with practiced ease. rubbed tight circles, slow and filthy, while his cock teased you open just barely.

“gonna come just like this,” he muttered. “just on the tip.”

“i c-can’t—” your whole body was shaking, voice trembling as tears pricked your lashes. “chris, please—”

“look at you,” he cooed, “crying over a cock that’s not even inside you.”

and that broke you.

your body seized, thighs quivering as the orgasm hit — sudden, sharp, and humiliatingly intense. you cried out, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and trembling as your walls clamped down around nothing. around just the tip.

he held you through it, fingers working you through every last wave, until you were a gasping, twitching mess against the counter.

and still — he didn’t push in.

“that’s one,” he said softly, brushing your hair from your damp face. “now beg me for the next.”

your breath caught on a sob, your thighs trembling, your core still pulsing around the emptiness he left inside you — or worse, almost inside you. it felt cruel, unnatural, unbearable. you couldn’t stop shaking, body still wracked with aftershocks that hadn’t fully ebbed, and he hadn’t even given you more than the tip.

and now he was standing behind you again, lazily stroking himself, your slick still shining on his skin.

“you feel that?” he whispered, running the head along your overstimulated folds, dragging slow. “you’re still soaking. messier than before.”

“chris,” you whimpered, face turned against the cold marble. “don’t—don’t make me beg.”

“i’m not making you do anything,” he murmured, leaning in. his lips ghosted over your ear, slow and low. “but if you want to come again? you will beg. and if you want me to fuck you—really fuck you? you’ll forget your pride.”

you stayed quiet.

and he pulled back.

“wait—wait!” you gasped, twisting around, reaching for him, tears in your eyes now. frustration, yes. but more than that. shame. need. aching need. “please,” you whispered. “please, chris. i need more. i can’t take just the tip anymore, i swear—i’ll do anything.”

he tilted his head, eyes dark with something mean and satisfied.

“then show me,” he said simply.

you dropped to your knees.

your palms hit the kitchen floor. knees spread, forehead pressed to the tile. it was humiliating. it was desperate. it was exactly what he wanted.

“good girl,” he breathed, stepping behind you again. he dragged himself along your folds one more time, the swollen head catching your entrance. “stay just like that.”

and he did it again.

just the tip.

back in, slow and shallow. dragging, teasing. and now you were so sensitive, your whole body twitched with every motion.

you let out a noise — something between a moan and a cry — as he picked up the rhythm, still not fully inside you, but fast enough to drive you insane. his fingers dug into your hips. your knees started to slide. the sounds were obscene.

“you gonna come again?” he asked, and you hated how proud he sounded. “gonna fall apart with just this?”

you nodded, face still against the floor. “yes—yes, chris, i’m—”

your voice caught again.

this one was even worse than the first. you shattered with a scream, legs collapsing, body going limp as wave after wave tore through you. and still he didn’t push in. still he didn’t finish.

you were crying now. overwhelmed. destroyed.

he leaned over you, kissed the back of your neck.

“that’s two,” he whispered. “you still want the rest?”

you nodded, broken.

he smiled, slow and wicked.

“then get back on the counter.”

your legs barely worked. they shook beneath you, slick with sweat and tears and everything he’d pulled from you without even giving you what you needed. your body throbbed with overstimulation, your thighs sticking together as you tried to move. but you did. because you had to. because when chris told you to get back on the counter, there wasn’t another choice.

you reached up, pulling yourself onto the marble, chest heaving, arms trembling under your weight. your cheek pressed to the cold surface, and your legs dangled, spread open behind you as you barely managed to stay propped on your knees.

you heard him behind you. the quiet smack of skin against skin as he stroked himself, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

he came closer.

his hand smoothed up your spine. his other gripped your hip, guiding you into place. “look at you,” he murmured. “ruined. still begging.”

you didn’t speak.

you couldn’t.

and he didn’t wait.

this time, there was no warning. no teasing. no more mercy.

he slammed into you in one sharp thrust, burying himself to the hilt — and your scream was raw, high-pitched, completely involuntary. your back arched, body locking up as the stretch hit like lightning. finally. he was inside. thick, deep, pulsing.

“there she is,” he groaned into your ear, his hand fisting your hair. “this what you needed? is this what you begged for?”

you sobbed out something that might’ve been a yes, your hands scrambling for grip on the counter as he pulled back and rammed into you again. and again. and again.

his pace was brutal. merciless. all control was gone now — his, yours — and he fucked into you like he had something to prove.

your body, already sensitive, couldn’t handle it. everything was white-hot. your vision blurred. your skin flushed. and the noises — the slick, filthy slap of skin on skin, the way you couldn’t stop moaning his name, the way he kept whispering how tight you were, how good you felt around him — it all pushed you higher.

“chris, i—i’m—” you choked out, tears running down your cheeks. “again, i’m gonna—”

“good,” he growled. “you’re not done ‘til i say you’re done.”

and then he brought his hand to your throat again, pulling you up by it, your back pressed to his chest now as he fucked you from behind, fully in, deep and fast and relentless.

your orgasm hit like a fucking explosion.

your scream echoed through the kitchen, loud and desperate and cracked, as your body convulsed around him, squeezing him so tight he cursed under his breath.

he didn’t stop.

not even when you collapsed onto the counter.

not even when you begged.

he just leaned over you, lips at your ear, and said—

“that’s three. now take one more for good measure.”

his hand slid from your throat, down your chest, over your stomach — hot and firm, fingers splayed as he pressed, slow and deliberate, right over that soft, swollen bulge.

“feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear. “that’s me. that’s how deep i am.”

your eyes rolled back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as the pressure made everything worse — or better — you couldn’t tell anymore. your stomach twitched under his touch, your body already so wrecked you didn’t know where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

he pushed a little harder, palm digging in, and you felt it — the way his cock nudged something deep inside you, the faintest resistance, the unbearable fullness. it was obscene. intimate. wrong, maybe — but your body responded with a helpless clench around him anyway.

“look how far you’re letting me in,” he whispered, lips brushing your neck, his hips still snapping into yours, slower now, but deeper. filthier. “you’re taking all of me. like you were made for it.”

you sobbed something — a yes, maybe. a plea. a prayer.

his thumb circled the spot on your stomach, watching how your body tensed every time he pressed down and moved his hips in sync. like he owned your insides. like you were his to rearrange.

and god, he was so fucking deep.

“i can feel myself inside you,” he groaned, pressing just a little harder. “right here. stretching you out from the inside.”

you were gone. eyes unfocused. jaw slack. nothing in you had the strength to pretend anymore — not to fight, not to protest, not even to beg.

and he knew it.

he slid his other hand between your legs again, two fingers working your clit as he pushed up into you with a devastating roll of his hips, thumb still holding that soft bulge in your belly like he could mark you from the inside.

“one more,” he murmured. “you can give me one more. i want you to come while you feel how deep i am.”

and with his cock buried to the hilt, his hand pressing against your belly, and his fingers rubbing perfect circles over your clit — you did.

your body shattered around him, trembling and clenching and sobbing as the orgasm hit you harder than any before, your thighs twitching, stomach jumping beneath his palm. and even as you screamed, even as your body went limp — chris was still fucking you through it.

your body gave out before your voice did.

you were sobbing — not dramatic or performative, just real, guttural, raw. it tore from your chest before you could stop it, hiccuping around your breath as your limbs trembled against the counter, your face wet with tears, your body wrecked in every way imaginable.

“chris,” you choked out, broken and small. “i can’t—i can’t anymore.”

and instantly, everything changed.

his rhythm stilled. the grip on your waist loosened. and then, so gently it made the tears come harder, he slipped out of you and caught you before you could fully collapse.

“shhh,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you as he lowered both of you to the floor, letting your back rest against his chest. his hand cradled your head. his lips pressed to your temple, over and over. “i’ve got you. i’ve got you, baby.”

you sobbed into his shoulder, hands clinging to his arms like you were afraid he’d disappear. your body still trembled, overwhelmed and spent, but now the ache was emotional — too much, too fast, too deep.

he rocked you slowly, whispering soft apologies, his voice a stark contrast to the one that had ruined you minutes ago. “i’m sorry. i pushed too far. i’m so sorry.”

you shook your head against him. “no… i just… i don’t know why i’m crying.”

“it’s okay,” he murmured. “you don’t have to know. you don’t have to explain anything.”

he pulled a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around both of you, tucking you into his lap like something fragile. his hand smoothed over your thigh, your back, your ribs — grounding you with touch.

“you’re okay,” he said softly. “you’re safe. i’ve got you now. you did so good.”

you hiccuped. “i felt everything. it was too much—”

“i know,” he whispered. “i know, baby. you held it in for so long.”

you curled into him tighter, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, like a balm. and for a long, long while, he just held you. no teasing. no games. just warmth and steady breath, chest to chest, skin to skin.

and when your tears finally started to slow, when the trembling dulled into something quieter, he kissed your damp cheek and whispered again—

“i love you,” he said, barely audible. “even when i have to be mean. even when you cry.”

and somehow, that made you cry a little more. but it didn’t hurt this time.

not with him holding you like that.

you didn’t answer at first.

you couldn’t.

you just let yourself melt into him, boneless and quiet, his warmth pressed against every trembling part of you. your breath hitched now and then, like your body hadn’t fully caught up to the calm. your eyes were sore, your cheeks flushed, and your thighs still ached from how hard they’d clenched. but none of it mattered now. not with the way he was holding you — like you were glass and he hated himself for even nudging a crack.

“say something,” he whispered, voice hoarse, nose buried in your hair.

you swallowed hard.

“you love me?” you asked, voice barely above a breath.

his arms tightened instantly. he shifted just enough to pull you fully into his lap, both of your bodies tucked into the oversized blanket now. he looked down at you with eyes that weren’t cocky or taunting — just stripped. open. bare.

“yeah,” he said, no hesitation. “i do. even when you drive me crazy. even when i get in my own head and pull shit like that.”

your lip wobbled. “you… you were so mean.”

he closed his eyes. exhaled sharp through his nose. “i know. i was trying to prove something. trying to get you to feel how much i need you, even when i don’t know how to say it.”

you pressed your cheek to his chest. “there are softer ways to say it.”

his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “i’ll learn ‘em. if you let me. i just—i get scared sometimes. scared you’ll stop needing me back.”

you looked up at him, eyes still glossy. “chris. i don’t think you realize what you do to me.”

“i didn’t cry because you hurt me. i cried because i couldn’t handle how much i felt. because you don’t just fuck me, you undo me.”

something in his expression broke — softened. he reached up and cradled your jaw, brushing his thumb along your cheek like he needed to memorize every part of you.

“i don’t ever want to make you cry unless it’s from feeling too much love,” he whispered.

you let out a soft, tired laugh. “then you succeeded. idiot.”

he kissed you then. slow. grounding. nothing like earlier — no dominance, no teasing. just lips against lips, like an apology and a promise rolled into one.

you sighed into it, and when he pulled back, you stayed close.

“you want a bath?” he murmured. “or to lie down?”

“just you,” you whispered. “for a little while. just this.”

he nodded, resting his forehead against yours, arms wrapped tightly around your body. “then you’ve got me. all night.”

and this time, when your eyes welled again, it wasn’t from pain or frustration or overload.

it was relief.

[chriss-slutt]

Can you do a Chris fic where they are best friends but secretly want each other. Like they’re going to have a sleepover and at the moment they’re in his room watching a movie or something and he does something that turns her on like idk taking off his shirt or something and she’s like staring. He asks if she’s good and she’s like stuttering and shit like ohh yeah I’m fine and says she’s gonna take a shower. So she goes in and tries to get herself off and Chris hears her so he goes in the bathroom and at first she doesn’t realize cause she has her eyes closed focusing on the pleasure and he doesn’t say anything just stares. Eventually Chris asks like “what are you thinking about” and there she opens her eyes and sees Chris and it leads to them fuckinh and feelings revealing and yea. That was a lot omg but like something like that would be sooo gooddd.

note to the anon: try not to send the same request to multiple writers because it makes it less original!

cw: walking in on showering, eating out, p in v protected, overstimulation, bigdick!chris

Chris had been your best friend since middle school—one of those friends who could knock on your window at 2 a.m. and you'd let him in without even asking why. He was safety, comfort, inside jokes and shared playlists.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was shirtless on the bed, watching a movie, and your brain was not cooperating.

“I’m telling you,” he muttered around a mouthful of popcorn, “if they just talked to the villain, this whole movie would’ve ended in twenty minutes.”

You didn’t respond.

Because you weren’t listening.

Because your attention was locked on the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips. The way his abs flexed when he sat up. The curve of his jawline, how it shadowed under the warm light of his bedroom lamp. His low eyes and sharp jawline and messy hair were practically transfixing you.

He turned to look at you, smirking when he caught you staring. “You good?”

You blinked. Swallowed. “What? Yeah. I’m—yeah, I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he said, teasing. He leaned back on his elbows, biceps stretching. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You scrambled off the bed. “I’m just gonna take a shower real quick.”

“Shower?” he echoed, eyebrows raised. “We’re mid-movie.”

You grabbed your bag and practically fled to the bathroom. “I’ll be quick.”

Your skin was burning before the water even turned hot.

The shower was supposed to calm you down. Wash away the images. Wipe your brain clean.

Instead, you sat down on the built-in bench, steam curling around you, and let your legs fall open. The water had been turned off minutes ago, but your skin was still damp, your breath shaky. A towel was wrapped loosely around your body, but your hand had already slipped beneath it.

You weren’t even ashamed.

You were too far gone for shame.

Your fingers rubbed slow circles, hips shifting against the tile. Your head fell back, mouth parting, eyes fluttering shut.

And in your mind, it was his voice whispering your name. His hand on your thighs. His mouth—

“Fuck,” you gasped.

Then—a click noise. You didn't pay attention at first, too focused on reaching your high.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your body jerked like you’d been electrocuted. Your eyes snapped open—and there he was. Chris. Standing just inside the bathroom door, half-shrouded in steam, like some fantasy brought to life.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He didn’t move. Just watched you, eyes locked on your hand still buried under the towel.

“You left the door unlocked,” he said softly. “I heard you.”

He stepped closer.

You didn’t move.

“I heard you say my name,” he added, voice lower now. “wanna explain that?”

Your breath hitched.

He came to a slow stop in front of you. Still shirtless. Still in those grey sweatpants. Only now, you could see the clear outline of his hard-on pressing against the fabric.

He knelt down, one hand bracing beside your thigh, the other gently sliding the towel back.

“Was it me?” he whispered.

You nodded. Barely.

And Chris smiled like a man finally unchained.

“Good."

Chris’s fingers grazed your inner thigh, slow and deliberate. You were still seated on the shower bench, towel parted now, barely covering anything. Your breath was stuck in your throat. His pupils were blown wide.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to you.

“Then show me,” you said.

That was all it took.

He leaned in—not fast, not greedy—controlled. Like he wanted to savor it. His lips pressed to the soft skin just above your knee. Then higher. Then higher. Until he was inches from where your fingers had just been.

You whimpered.

Chris looked up at you, hand sliding under your thigh to hold you open. “You want me to stop, say it now.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Your hips lifted in response.

He smiled, just a little. “Didn’t think so.”

His mouth landed soft at first, just a kiss. Then a slow, hot lick that made your eyes roll back. His tongue circled you, teasing, not giving you everything yet.

You tried to grind against his face, but his grip on your thighs tightened.

“Let me take my time,” he said against your skin. “You rushed it in here alone. I’m gonna make it last.”

You were panting already. “Chris, please…”

He groaned like your voice alone could make him come.

He licked deep, slow and rhythmic, and when he found that perfect spot—the one that made your spine arch and your thighs shake—he stayed there. His tongue moved in firm, steady circles, his hand sliding up to press lightly on your lower stomach, holding you down when you started to twitch from the pressure building.

“Shit—Chris—”

He hummed, the vibration making your eyes flutter shut.

You came the first time so hard you forgot how to breathe.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as your thighs tried to close, even as your moans cracked and your back hit the tile wall, he kept going, pushing you through it, past it, into something raw and aching.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shiny, his jaw flushed. He looked wrecked—but satisfied.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so fucking long,” he said, voice wrecked.

You reached for him, yanking him up to crash your mouth against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. His body fell into yours, hands framing your face, and the kiss turned frantic, desperate. All tongue and teeth and gasps between words.

You pulled at his waistband, dragging his sweats and boxers down together. His cock slapped against his stomach, flushed and hard and so heavy-looking your thighs clenched just from seeing it.

“Condom?” you breathed, tugging your lip between your teeth.

He nodded, panting. “Yeah. Bedroom. Top drawer.”

You stood—shaky, still flushed—and followed him out.

The bed was unmade, covers a mess from the movie earlier, but you didn’t care. You climbed on first, laying back, thighs still damp, eyes fixed on him while he rolled the condom on with trembling hands.

And when he hovered over you—head brushing your entrance, arm shaking a little with restraint—you looked him dead in the eyes.

“Don’t go easy.”

He groaned. “If I go any harder I might not last—”

“Then take your time,” you whispered. “But don’t hold back.”

He pushed in slowly—so slowly—and the stretch stole every word from your throat. You dug your nails into his biceps, mouth falling open.

Chris’s eyes were locked on where you joined, jaw tight, chest heaving. “Holy—fuck—you feel—”

“Holy fuck,” you gasped. “Y-y—so big.” he just groans out loud, not moving at all as he tried to catch his breath.

"D-Don't say shit like that," he mumbled. "I'm tryna last for you."

You just whimper in desperation, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him further into you, clenching. "Please, Chris. Move."

And he did.

Not fast. Not hard. But deep. Each thrust felt intentional, like he was trying to memorize your body from the inside out.

You moaned loud—long and wrecked—and he kissed you to muffle it.

The pace stayed steady, even as the pressure built. You locked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. His lips found your neck, biting softly, his breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me you’ve thought about this,” he whispered.

“I-I’ve dreamed about this.”

He groaned into your throat. “Tell me you wanted me.”

“I always wanted you.”

His rhythm stuttered. He reached down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow and firm in sync with his thrusts.

Your back arched.

Every stroke was deep and delicious—dragging against that spot inside you just right, his fingers teasing you at the same pace, unhurried, like he wanted you right on the edge without tipping over.

“Chris—” your voice cracked. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Not planning on it,” he rasped, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, everywhere he could reach. “You feel—fuck—you feel so good.”

You clenched around him, tight and desperate, and he cursed again, dragging his cock out almost all the way before sliding back in slow and thick.

You whimpered. He smiled against your skin.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “You like it when I take my time, huh?”

You nodded fast, nails digging into his back.

He shifted, pulling your hips up just slightly, angling himself deeper. The next thrust made you cry out—sharp and breathless. His hand never left your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your legs shake.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he said into your neck. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

He groaned, picking up the pace—just slightly. Enough to make your breath catch with every thrust, but still not fast. Not rough. It was a rhythm built to drive you crazy, to stretch it out until you were babbling nonsense into his shoulder, clutching at him like you’d fall apart without his body against yours.

You came like that—legs shaking, chest heaving, voice cracked and ragged from how long it had been building.

And even then—he didn’t stop.

Chris held you through it, whispering praise, mouth pressed to your cheek. “That’s it. That’s my girl. So fucking good for me.”

You gasped, blinking up at him. “Y-Your girl?”

He looked down at you, still inside, still rock hard, still moving. “You think I fuck just anyone like this?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a moan as he rolled his hips deep and slow again, dragging another soft wave of overstimulation out of you.

His fingers slid back to your clit. “Give me another.”

“Chris—” you whimpered. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “One more. Just one more, baby.”

You clenched your eyes shut, body twitching under him, so sensitive you could barely take it—but he didn’t stop.

You came again—your third—with a strangled cry, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold you still. His name left your lips like a prayer.

That finally broke him.

Chris shoved in deep, pace faltering, breath ragged as he fucked you through your aftershocks. “I’m gonna come,” he growled. “You feel too fucking good—I can’t—”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down into a kiss just as his rhythm stuttered into something wild and desperate.

And then he groaned into your mouth as he came, hips jerking, cock pulsing inside you.

He stayed there—buried in you, panting, trembling, face pressed to your neck—while your fingers traced the sweat-damp skin of his back.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

"Now what?" you whisper

this might be buns sorry

[chriss-slutt]

one more.

𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

contains ➛ ★ dry humping ★ best friends to something ★ thigh riding ★ dirty talk ★ pet names ★ praising ★ multiple orgasms ★ overstimulation ★ matt makin’ a mess in his pants ★

𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦!

word count: 1.8k

the fight wasn’t even about anything serious. maybe that’s what pissed you off the most. just a few careless words thrown back and forth. a sarcastic comment. a defensive look. something that snowballed too fast. you’d rolled your eyes, muttered something under your breath, and before you knew it, you were storming off, heart pounding too hard for how stupid it all was. matt followed you, of course he did.

“can you stop walking away from me?” he called out, voice low but firm.

you didn’t answer. just pushed the back door open and stepped into the yard, letting the night air cool the heat in your cheeks. it was quiet outside—just the low hum of the city a few blocks off, the chirp of crickets, the gentle rustle of leaves. the bench near the edge of the yard was cold beneath you when you sat down, arms crossed tight, eyes on the ground. then the door creaked again. he stepped out. you didn’t look at him. not at first. he didn’t say anything either. just walked over and sat beside you on the bench, not too close. not too far. just enough for you to feel the weight of his presence, familiar and frustrating and safe all at once.

“i didn’t mean to piss you off,” he said eventually. “i just… i don’t know. you seemed off lately.”

“and you thought pushing my buttons would help?” you muttered.

he sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “no. i thought being your friend meant i could say dumb shit sometimes without you walking out.”

that one hit deeper than you wanted it to. because he wasn’t wrong. and maybe you weren’t just mad at him. maybe you were mad at yourself. or everything. or the way your heart had been feeling so loud around him lately and you didn’t know what to do about it. you pulled a lighter from your pocket, flicked it open, and lit the blunt you’d tucked behind your ear earlier. took a drag, slow and quiet. the smoke filled your lungs, settled in your chest.

matt watched you, eyes soft now. no more irritation. just… something else. something gentler. like he could feel that this wasn’t really about the argument anymore. you passed the blunt to him without a word. he took it. inhaled. held. exhaled. silence again. but this one didn’t sting. it just… lingered.

and then somehow, without really thinking about it, you ended up leaning into him. shoulder to shoulder. thigh to thigh. the kind of closeness that used to feel normal, until your body started reacting differently every time he touched you. you don’t know who moved first. maybe it was you. maybe it was him. maybe it was both of you, drawn into each other like gravity. but you ended up beneath him on that old wooden bench, his body hovering over yours, supported on his forearms, his face inches from yours.

“this is a bad idea,” you whispered.

“probably,” he whispered back.

but neither of you moved. his thigh slipped between yours naturally, his knee brushing up against the heat of your center, the rough denim of his jeans dragging against you as your breath caught in your throat. matt’s eyes darkened.

“fuck,” he murmured, voice low, like he wasn’t even saying it to you. “you’re not wearing—”

“i am. shorts. just… thin ones,” you breathed, hands gripping his shirt.

you didn’t mean for your hips to move. they just did. just a soft grind. testing. craving. and the friction—god, it was too much. too sharp. too good. the pressure of his thigh against your aching center sent a jolt up your spine and had your lips parting with a tiny, broken sound. he heard it. felt it. his lips found your neck, slow and warm and dangerous, kissing down to the place just beneath your jaw that always made you shiver. and when his thigh flexed slightly, pushing up into you with just a little more pressure, u whimpered. actual whimpered, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like you might float away otherwise.

“jesus,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you. “you’re sensitive.”

you nodded helplessly, biting your lip, grinding again. his hands slipped under your hoodie, fingers splayed across your waist. his touch wasn’t rushed. wasn’t frantic. just slow and hot and careful. like he was memorizing every part of you. you moaned—quiet, needy—and it caught in your throat, tangled in the tension of your lungs.

then his thigh pressed up again, and your hips moved down to meet it like your body was making choices without your brain. the pleasure was too sharp. too consuming. like fire lapping at your nerves. you were trying to stay quiet. really, you were. but when he started kissing your neck again, slow and open-mouthed, his breath hot and mouth wet, you lost it. your back arched. your lips parted.

“i-i’m gonna— fuck—i’m gonna c—” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut.

but then he pulled his thigh away.

“matt—!” you cried, hips chasing the pressure desperately, already throbbing from how close you were.

his hands grip your waist, holding you in place. his lips curved into a smirk as he leaned down, eyes watching your trembling form.

“not yet,” he murmured, voice rough, strained. “not yet, sweetheart.”

you whimpered, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt.

“why’re you so sensitive?” he asked, voice a little gentler now. teasing, but not mean. “m’ just kissing your neck and you’re practically dripping cum already…”

“been a while…” you admitted, voice small. barely there.

he paused. then exhaled slowly. something changed in his face—his teasing smirk melted into surprise… and something else. something warmer. pride, maybe. or possession. like the thought of you falling apart under him after so long made something primal in him snap.

“oh, sweetheart…”

his hand slipped up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. “been holding it all in, huh?”

“just—please,” you begged softly, hips rocking. “please, matt… just keep going.”

his breath caught at the way your voice broke. and he gave you what you needed. his thigh slid back between yours, and you sighed like it was air after drowning. your hips moved on their own, grinding down harder, needier, chasing that edge again. your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, gripping, desperate to feel everything.

matt groaned softly. “that’s it, baby. just like that. keep goin’.”

he watched you with awe—like he couldn’t believe this was happening. you were moaning again, louder than before, hips stuttering. your eyes squeezed shut as your body trembled beneath him. his hands gripped your waist tighter, trying to keep you steady.

“m’ gonna cum—fuck—” you gasped.

and you did. it ripped through you like lightning, sharp and fast. your back arched off the bench, fingers digging into his shoulders, loud moans spilling from your lips before you could stop them. matt’s eyes widened.

“shhh, shh…” he said quickly, his hand coming up to your mouth. “you’re too loud, baby…”

you whimpered into his palm, body shaking, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how intense it all felt. and still, your hips kept moving, like you couldn’t stop. like your body hadn’t gotten the memo.

“gotta be quiet f’me, yeah?” he whispered, watching you with blown pupils. “don’t want any of your neighbors hearing you… such a needy n’ desperate mess…”

you tried to speak, but all you could get out was a strangled sound against his hand.

“i-i can’t—matt—shit… you n-need to—fuck—you need to stop…” you whimpered, even as your hips refused to stop grinding.

he let out a soft laugh, voice full of warmth and need.

“i don’t think you want me to stop” he whispered, mouth close to your ear. “look at you. still grinding against my thigh. such a needy fuckin’ pussy…”

“i can’t!” you cried, eyes full of tears now, face buried in his shirt. your hips were still moving. you couldn’t stop.

he hushed you gently, his hand still over your mouth. “shh… gotta be quiet, aight?”

you nodded weakly. you didn’t trust your voice. his eyes locked with yours, soft and dark and shining with something you couldn’t name. when you nodded again, he finally lifted his hand off your mouth.

“yeah? you’re gonna be a good girl and stay quiet?”

“yes,” you breathed. but your hips wiggled away from his thigh. just for a second. just for a small break.

his hands slid back to your waist, holding you firm. “no no, it’s okay, sweetheart… ride my thigh just like that, okay?”

“matt i can’t—” you whimpered, body trembling.

“yes you can…” he said softly, guiding your hips. “come on. been so good. you got it, angel.”

you hesitated for a second, but eventually, your body and the need still flooding your system made you give in. your moans were quieter now, but still choked, still needy. you were getting close again, too fast, everything overstimulated and raw, your body burning at every nerve. his eyes never left you.

he could feel it building in you. could see it.

“mhm…just a little more, mama… you look so fuckin’ perfect like this…”

“m-matt i cant—i cant take anymore… please i—fuck…”

your voice broke as you buried your face in his chest, sobbing into his shirt. he groaned at the sound, the feel of your tears, your desperate body. he held you tighter.

“shh, it’s okay… just one more, sweetheart. can you do one more for me?”

you whimpered into his shirt. and then… you nodded. your hips kept moving, grinding down with shaking, unsteady rhythm. and then—it hit you. harder than the first. your body bowed, your fingers dug into his shoulders, your legs clenched around his waist. you screamed his name, too loud, too raw, and that was it.

matt groaned deeply, low in his throat, like the sound of you coming for him again finally broke him. he rocked forward slightly, his hips grinding down as his breath stuttered—and then he gasped, loud and sudden, eyes fluttering shut as he came in his boxers, body tense and shaking from the way you sounded, the way you felt, the way you looked under him, fucked-out and shaking.

“ohhh fuck…” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting.

his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“you okay?” he whispered after a long moment.

you nodded slowly, still catching your breath.

“you?”

he chuckled softly. “i think i just came in my fuckin’ pants. so… yeah. i’m good.”

you both laughed, breathless and dazed and kind of ruined in the best way.

“we should… probably go back inside,” you murmured.

“probably,” he said. but he didn’t move.

neither did you.

[chriss-slutt]

chris takes care of birdie after she gets too drunk at a party

you’re sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, giggling at whatever nick is saying beside you like it’s the funniest thing in the world, when you see chris approaching you with a bottle of water in hand.

“birdie,” chris says, ripping off the cap and holding out the bottle to you. “drink some water.”

you blink at him, flustered and still giggly. “hmm,” you smirk, eyes flickering down from the water to him. “what do i get if i do?”

he rolls his eyes at you, half joking. “you get to wake up without a headache, baby. c’mon, drink up.”

you lean in, a grin creeping on your face. “i’ll drink it.” you whisper, placing your arms around his neck as he moves to slot himself in between your legs. “but only if you give me a kiss first.”

chris chuckles at that, raising his brow at you. “barganing with me now, birdie girl?”

you nod, fingers curling into the hair at the back of his head, “it’s a fair trade i think.”

chris doesn’t even argue with that, just leans in and kisses you. soft and gentle, he places one hand on your thigh as the other still holds the water bottle. when he pulls back, he presses it to your lips.

“drink, now.” he murmurs, “you gotta stick to your side of the deal.”

[chriss-slutt]

𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 ...in which chris has been away for a month and finally gets his hands on you

cw: breeding kink, struggling not to cum, self-orgasm-denial?, riding

He’d barely gotten in the door before you were kissing him—hands in his hair, his duffel bag forgotten in the entryway, jackets and shoes half-on. You dragged him to the couch like your body knew exactly where it needed to be: on top of him. Close. Reconnected.

Chris looked wrecked. Not in a bad way—in a starved way.

His hands were gripping your waist too tightly. His mouth was everywhere. When you straddled him, hoodie pushed halfway up, your soft cotton panties pressing down against the bulge in his sweatpants, his breath hitched hard.

“Missed you,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “Missed you so fucking much.”

You kissed under his jaw. “Why didn’t you call more?”

He groaned, frustrated. “Couldn’t. I was losing my mind, baby. I couldn’t even jerk off. I—” He pulled back to look at you, eyes blown wide. “I didn’t come. All month.”

You froze. “Wait—you didn’t—”

“Not once,” he said, jaw tight. “Didn’t want to. Didn’t feel right. Every time I thought about it, all I could think about was you. The way you feel. The way you sound. Your fucking face when you fall apart under me.”

Your breath caught. The heat between you turned molten.

“So what you’re saying,” you said slowly, rocking your hips forward just a little, “is you’re ultra ultra horny??” you finish with a giggle, palming him.

His head hit the back of the couch. “Fucking obviously," he groans. "Please don’t test me right now.”

But you already were. Your fingers dipped below the waistband of his sweats, pulling him free—hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He swore under his breath, hips twitching when you brushed your fingers over him.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, guiding him to your entrance. “Wanna feel you again.”

When you sank down, the sound he made wasn’t human. You were tight from the lack of sex int he past month, and it burned.

Chris grabbed your hips, arms trembling. His jaw dropped, brows pinched, eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck, baby, please,” he gasped. “Don’t move. Please don’t. I’m gonna come—I can’t—”

You held still, heartbeat thundering, thighs already shaking from the stretch.

“You’re still so tight,” he moaned, pulling you close until your foreheads touched. “I forgot how warm you are. How soft. I’m so fucking close and I just got inside you.”

You kissed his temple, one hand cupping the back of his head.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t care if you finish fast. You’ve waited long enough.”

But he shook his head, breathing hard. “No. I didn’t wait a month just to come in thirty seconds. I wanna take care of you. I wanna—fuck—I wanna make you fall apart.”

“You will,” you murmured, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You always do.”

And then you shifted your hips, just slightly.

Chris whined—high and desperate, like the sound ripped right out of his chest—and you felt him twitch inside you, every muscle in his body going rigid as he clung to control like it was slipping through his fingers.

“I’m not gonna last,” he whispered.

“I know,” you said, smiling softly. “It’s okay. You can come. Then you can make it up to me.”

“I need you to come first. You come first. Always.”

Your heart skipped. Because he meant it. His body was practically buzzing with how badly he needed release, cock twitching inside you, so hard it hurt—and still, he was holding back. Still focused on you.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, dazed.

“Maybe,” he murmured, rolling his hips once—slow, deep, controlled. “But I waited a month. I can wait a few more minutes.”

The drag of him inside you was brutal. You were still sensitive, still warm and wet around him, but it didn’t matter. His restraint was what really wrecked you.

The way every muscle in his body was tense, jaw clenched, knuckles white where they gripped your hips—all because he refused to let go before you did.

“Gonna go slow,” he whispered, kissing your collarbone. “Wanna feel you come all over me. Wanna make you fall apart on my cock.”

You whimpered. “Chris…”

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Give me those sounds. Let me hear you, baby. I’ve been dreaming about this—about you—every night I was gone.”

He shifted your hips and thrust again—deeper this time. Your head fell back, a moan spilling out.

Chris kissed your throat, your chest, your shoulder, whispering between every thrust.

“So warm. So perfect. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

“Feel so good. You’re squeezing me so tight, fuck—just like that.”

“Gonna keep going, baby. Just like this. Until you come. Until you’re shaking.”

And god, you were already close. The steady grind of his hips. The drag of him inside you. His words, his voice—soft and desperate, like he was falling apart just from loving you this much—it was all too much.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, nails digging in. “Chris, I—”

“I got you,” he gasped, “I got you. Come for me. Please, baby—need to feel it. Need to come with you.”

Your orgasm hit like a crash of lightning—fast, bright, total. Your whole body arched, muscles clenching tight around him, and that was it.

Chris cried out—loud, helpless, beautiful—and slammed into you one last time, finally letting go.

You felt him twitch inside you, cock pulsing as he came hard, clutching you against his chest like you were the only real thing in the world.

He didn’t move. Just stayed there, buried deep, lips pressed to your neck, breathing like he’d run a marathon.

“…Worth the wait,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, breath hot against your neck, arms wrapped around you like he could anchor himself back to earth.

Neither of you said anything. You were both too caught in it—in the weight of it, in the relief of finally having each other again.

Then, eventually, Chris pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were still hazy, lips parted, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, smiling gently. “Yeah. Better than okay.”

He leaned in and kissed you—slow, messy, full of that post-orgasm softness that always felt a little sleepy and a little sacred. When he finally pulled out, you both winced, overstimulated and spent.

Chris sat back on his heels, hands still on your thighs, and froze.

His eyes dragged down to where his come was leaking out of you—thick, wet, everywhere.

And then he moaned.

“Holy fuck…”

You followed his gaze and flushed instantly, thighs instinctively trying to close—but his hands held you open.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Let me see.”

You bit your lip. “You made a mess.”

His eyes snapped back to yours. There was something different in them now—darker. Hungrier.

“…That’s not fair,” he said hoarsely. “You can’t say shit like that when I just came.”

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear, and ruined him with a single line.

“I like when you come inside me.”

Chris’s whole body twitched. His hands squeezed your thighs. His cock, which had been resting soft and satisfied against his stomach, jerked back to life—half-hard, then rapidly more.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, already reaching for you again. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled, smug and breathless, as he pulled you back into his lap.

“Then die doing what you love.”

And just like that—he was hard again. Desperate. Kissing you rougher now, like the softness had burned away and all that was left was need.

“Round two,” he muttered, teeth grazing your jaw. “No breaks this time. Wanna fuck my cum deeper into you, baby.”

i would do a part two but my smut starting to all sound the same lwk. i need to get even freakier

[chriss-slutt]

Drip Sweat ⋆˚☆˖° M. Sturniolo

“What are you picking up, sweetheart?”

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

divider cred @bernardsbendystraws

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow, offering him a glass.

“Thirsty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What exactly are you putting down, Matthew?”

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

“What are you picking up, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello ladies, nice weather, yeah?"

[chriss-slutt]

── GRUMPY MATT X MUTE READER ⋆˚࿔

BLURB: "idontwannabeyouanymore" - dotty sees another girl in matts bed part two !! (part one here)

WARNINGS: self hate, dysmorphia, crying and arguing :<

this is part of my billie eilish writing marathon [here]

wc: 1k

AU MASTERLIST // NAV // ALL AUS

Her reflection weighed on her much heavier. 

At first dotty didnt understand it, why did he need those random girls at all? She couldnt help but compare now, every inch of her had been opposite. Too much of her in places where that girl had less, and less of herself in places that girl had more.

Her hair didnt curl the same, it didnt look effortless and angelic, she needed to be different. It was like she was wrong - she wasnt what she was supposed to be. She wanted to be perfect for him, she wanted him to see her as perfect. Matt could never look at her that way - hed never chosen her to begin with, she had just been there. Right times and right moments - until that night. 

His false persona of being there for only dotty had been uncovered. It wasnt a secret, but he had hidden it. It was as if he didnt want that side of him to exist, yet he would always enact it. He made that choice over and over just to blame his humiliation on the fact she had witnessed it. 

Maybe he didnt owe her anything. They were never together, matt would never go as far to limit himself by giving them a label. 

What was it about her that he didnt want to touch? That he couldnt love? What did those other girls have?

He made her into a fool, discarded her when shed seen him in fully exposed light. He acted like he cared, blocking dotty from anyone else romantically as if it mattered, as if he was waiting for the courage to fill that gap. He never did. Other girls were there that he wanted, he didnt value dotty the same. 

But who could blame him right? The girl staring back at her had always been useless, shed never been enough. Shed never be what he wanted. She just wanted to be someone else. 

He didnt call. He wanted it to fix itself. 

He wrapped his head around that night for days on end, but when she didnt even come to class for a whole week, matt realised he had no choice. 

“Bonnie. Let me just talk to her.”

“Why should i?”’

He took a breath that didnt sound remotely steady, looking down to his feet while yet again he refused to admit the truth of the situation. 

“Please.” he whispered lowley, begging much more than it sounded like he was doing. “You know i dont say please easy.”

Eventually she relaxed, sighing and turned before muttering something about asking dotty if she actually wanted to see him. He didnt take a second to properly listen, with bonnie’s guard down he stormed past her and headed towards her bedroom.

The knocking on her door was rapid, snapping dotty out of her dissociation and coaxing her out of the curled up ball shed put herself into for protection. Bonnie had tried to chase after matt to stop him, but it was far too late by then.

“Dotty!” he continued banging the door as if she wouldnt have heard it already. “Please let me in, i know im the worst person right now.”

She crawled off her bed, finally placing her ear against the door once the knocking had ceased.

Matt had to swallow down his pride, the cost of not doing so had grown too heavy. He placed his forehead against the door and took a deep breath. 

“Im sorry.”

Bonnie tried to tug at his sleeve, “you should go matt.” she muttered quietly.

“No- no. dotty, just listen okay? Those girls, they dont mean anything. You mean something, thats why im here. I hate apologising, you know that - Its because im an asshole, if i started apologising to people i couldnt stop because im just a fuck up. I treat people like shit, i treated you like shit.”

His breathing got more ragged, ears listening intently for any indication she was even on the other side of the door. He looked towards bonnie, who raised her eyes in expectance for him to continue, arms folded and leaning against the wall. 

The door slowly creaked open, wet lines from tears messily running down her face. She had her comfy clothes on, baggy enough that she wasnt as able to see herself, she couldnt bare the sight.

She stayed stood in the gap of the open door, holding onto the handle in case she changed her mind and needed an out from the conversation. She only signed the one thing.

‘why?’

He thought he had already been swallowed whole by the guilt. But it barely had in comparison, now he finally felt fully engulfed at the sight of her.

“I had them,” he hesitated from overwhelm. “I had them because i cant have you. Because i want you, but i dont deserve you. And i know thats a shit excuse but its all i have.”

She scanned her eyes back and forth between his, sniffling a little as more tears fell. Matt shuffled a little closer and reached his hand to wipe them as they fell, cupping her face and staring at her.

“You dont have to forgive me, you dont owe me anything.”

She thought for a second, swallowing a sob as she pushed at his chest gently, matt removed his hand from her face to delicately hold her wrist as she forced him away.

“Dotty-”

She continued her movements, a loud cry escaping her when he was finally out of the doorway enough for her to shut the door on him. Matt had given her the option, but he never wanted her to take it. He knew he didnt deserve any different. 

She hurriedly sat down on the floor and against the door, she cradled her knees close to her chest. She let out every noise, tears flowing for every thought that questioned her self worth. It wasnt him anymore, it was her. She didnt feel like she was good enough. She wouldnt let him burden himself with her. 

a/n was this worth the wait 💔

[chriss-slutt]

IN WHICH— chris is in deep deep love.

| slight fluff?? its not angst, but not extremely happy and cute. not proofread.

| the REST of this writing marathon!!

he knows what this is.

he’s felt it creeping in— the way your name sits heavier in his chest lately, the way your laugh reroutes his whole day, the way he starts looking for you the second he walks in a room.

he used to be scared of the ocean.

not the waves, not really.

he could stand on the shore just fine. let the water kiss his ankles. laugh when it pulled the sand from under his heels.

but deep water? no bottom, no control, nothing to hold onto? he hated that. he hated feeling like he was about to drown.

and love? it felt just like that.

he has a tendency to run from anything that feels too good.

too real.

he's been burned, time and time again.

but then you started showing up. you weren’t loud about it. you were gentle. easy to talk to.

and chris swears, swears, he didn’t mean to fall.

he just looked at you once.

noticed the way your eyes smiled before your lips did. the way your laugh curled around the room and softened everything. the way you talked about things like you meant them. how you were the kind of person who listens with her eyes, who remembers the little things, who never rushes him when he doesn’t know how to say what he means.

and suddenly he was standing at the edge of something terrifying.

you didn’t try to fix him.

you just saw him.

that was the problem.

because now he can’t stop thinking about you. your voice on the phone. your hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. the way you look at him like he’s already enough.

he doesn’t know what to do with that kind of softness.

you didn’t have to ask him to dive.

you were the dive.

a siren in his storm.

and for once, he didn’t care if he made it back to the surface.

"she’s just cool," he tells matt one night, trying to sound casual. matt doesn’t even look up from his phone. “you’re screwed.”

“what?”

“you never say that. you never explain someone. you really do like her, maybe even love her.”

chris opens his mouth, then closes it. chewing the inside of his cheek.

he does like love you.

that’s the problem.

you make him feel like he could stay. like he wants to stay.

and that’s terrifying.

there’s a night you fall asleep next to him on the couch. head on his chest, hand curled lightly into his hoodie. he doesn’t move. not for an hour. not even to check his phone. he just lays there, heart pounding in his throat, thinking:

don’t do this.

don’t fall.

she’ll ruin you.

she’ll be the end of you.

but another voice, a bit softer, deeper, real, whispers:

or maybe she’ll be the first thing that doesn’t.

he looks down at you. peaceful. safe. glowing in the streetlight glow through the window.

and that’s the moment.

the exact moment he knows he’s not getting out of this untouched.

he’s already in too deep. but he doesn’t pull back.

not this time.

“i don’t know what you did to me,” he whispers another night, voice hushed, head pressed against your bare shoulder, skin still buzzing from the way you just made love like it meant something.

his fingers trace slow, aimless shapes against your thigh.

you’re quiet, breathing steady.

“i feel like im drowning" he sighs, head dropping into the crook of your neck. you smile, soft and sleepy. “then breathe with me.”

he kisses you instead.

he never thought love would feel like this.

not like panic, or pain, or pressure.

but like floating. like warmth under his skin.

like every time you say his name, he remembers who he is.

you’re his air.

and he doesn’t mind drowning in you.

he used to run when things got serious.

but now?

now he’s at the bottom of the ocean, and he’s never felt more free.

and he wouldn’t change a thing.

a/n: i fear this might be my fav 🤧 in too deep was always my fav song from the album

tags: @moond0llie @clairo4life @xsturnkay @h3arts4isa @mf-divaaa-08 @bugs-tags @izzylovesmatt @courta13

comment on here if you wanna be added to my taglist!

[chriss-slutt]

ꪆ ׂ ִ 📃 ❝ shh ❞ ⋆ . 𝜗ৎ 🐰 ˚

featuring . . . c.sturniolo .ᐟ

. . . this will contain consent no consent (cnc), sleep play (pre-negotiated), heavy consent emphasized through prior discussion, oral (f), power imbalance, wet dream implication, established relationship, etc.

you've talked about it before—more than once. the what-ifs and the maybes, boundaries laid out in soft-spoken honesty, trust woven through each word. chris had been shy about it at first, cheeks tinted pink as he asked if you'd ever be into that. the whole take what you want, even if i'm squirming thing.

you'd laughed—god, of course. the both of you had always been a little depraved under the skin. what made it work was the safety net: open conversations, shared safewords, and a kind of closeness that let you give him your body even when your mouth said don't.

sex with chris had always been a little filthy. slow-burn touches that built into reckless, hungry need. he was good at giving—tongue, fingers, dick, praise. but something about the way he'd whispered "pretend you don't want it" had scratched an itch you didn't know you had. now it's routine. not all the time, not every time. but often enough that your body knows how to beg even when your mouth doesn't.

tonight is one of those nights. only you don't know it yet.

it starts with sleep. limbs tangled under soft sheets, his chest pressed to your back, one arm slung across your waist. it's barely past five a.m. and the room's thick with quiet, only the hum of the fan and the occasional rustle of blankets breaking the silence. chris stirs before you do. he's always been a light sleeper, and tonight, it's the sound of your breath—shaky, uneven, threaded with faint little whines—that wakes him.

he blinks through the dark, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he props himself up slowly, elbow pressed into the mattress. his hair’s a mess, curls flattened on one side, and he rakes a hand through them absently while leaning over your sleeping form.

you're on your back now. head tilted, mouth parted just slightly, brows drawn like you're dreaming something deep. your shirt's bunched around your hips and your thighs are shifting like you're chasing friction in your sleep. his eyes drag down the length of you, gaze locking on the small damp patch blooming through your sleep shorts.

"fuck," he mutters, soft and hoarse.

his lips brush against your neck first—barely-there kisses, warm and quiet, right under your ear. when you stir, his hand finds the hem of your shorts, dragging fingertips down the curve of your hip like he's touching something sacred. then he's slipping under the blanket, quiet as a breath, mouth already watering as he settles between your legs.

he noses at the fabric first, presses a soft kiss against the wet spot, then groans into it like he's starved. the sound is low and rough, almost needy. his hands hook into the waistband of both your shorts and your panties, tugging them down in one smooth, practiced motion. you don't even flinch. your legs twitch a little, thighs shifting open slightly, and he takes it as permission.

he licks you slow the first time—flat tongue, base to tip—then again, more focused, teasing your clit until your hips buck without you even waking up. he smiles against you, fingers gripping your thighs to keep you spread. your body's so warm, soaked through and trembling, and when he sucks gently at the swollen bud, you let out the softest sound—half whimper, half sigh.

your legs start to tense, hips rolling like you're chasing something, and then it happens.

"chris—" you breathe it out like a sigh, barely awake, voice laced with sleep and slight confusion. "wha…what're you…"

he doesn't answer. doesn't even pause.

his mouth is relentless now, tongue flicking and curling, licking through your folds like he knows your body better than you do. you squirm beneath him, one hand clutching at the sheets, the other sliding into his hair without thinking.

"chris—baby, wait, shit," you stammer, voice pitching higher as your eyes flutter open. "what're you doing?"

"shh," he hums, lips brushing your clit. "go back to sleep."

your breath hitches. your thighs try to close, but his hands keep them spread wide. you push gently at his head—instinct, resistance—but it's weak. your body's already caving in on itself, heat building fast between your legs.

"you said i could," he murmurs against your cunt, and the words shoot straight through you. "you said s'okay like this."

you moan—high and broken—and the sound makes him groan into you. he dips his tongue lower, licking into your hole while his nose brushes your clit, and your hips jerk up.

"feels like you want it," he adds, dragging his tongue back up to suck again.

"fuck—chris," you whine, voice trembling, but your fingers are tightening in his hair now. not pushing anymore. just holding on.

he sucks harder, mouth messy, face wet with you, and your legs are shaking now. your body betrays every word spilling from your lips—rolling toward him, hips grinding into his face, thighs clenching like you're desperate for more. and he gives it to you. all of it. every inch of his mouth, his tongue, his soft filthy groans vibrating against your skin.

"dreamin' 'bout me?" he murmurs, breath hot against your cunt. "woke up so fuckin' wet."

you can't even speak anymore. just moan. sob. take it.

your orgasm hits fast—like a wave crashing, rolling through your gut until you're crying out his name and twitching in his grip. chris keeps licking, keeps sucking, doesn't stop until you're pulling at his hair and begging, barely coherent.

finally, finally, he surfaces. mouth glistening, eyes dark, curls messy and face flushed.

he climbs up slowly, settling over you, and leans down to kiss your cheek.

"good morning," he whispers, lips brushing your skin. "told you i'd take care of you."

་༘࿐ note from babydoll . . . pretend i said something crazy here.

ˇ ⋆ ╱ 🔖 ❛ @angvl3tears @anisturniolox

tap here to be added onto the taglist !! :)

© chrisbabydoll please do not copy, rewrite, or translate my works on tumblr or any other platform.

[chriss-slutt]

🍼teendad!chris

It had been a little over two months since Chris and Kacey moved into their two-bedroom apartment with Daisy. The place finally felt lived in—like theirs. There were still some cardboard boxes shoved in the back of the hallway closet, and Daisy’s stickers were randomly plastered on the living room coffee table legs, but it felt like home.

Chris had built everything himself. From the IKEA dresser that wobbled just slightly on one side to the bookshelves in Daisy’s room that were now stacked with bedtime storybooks and her growing collection of stuffed animals. Kacey had gone full-on cozy-mode—framed photos on the wall, candles by the TV, blankets everywhere. She’d even managed to hang twinkly lights in the corner of their bedroom, just because she liked the way they looked at night.

Daisy loved it. She’d run through the little hallway in socks, crash onto the couch with her stuffed bunny in one hand and Goldfish crackers in the other. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

Lately, though, Kacey had been… off. She hadn’t told Chris yet. It had been a few days since she was supposed to get her period, and while her cycle wasn’t always exact, this time felt different. She didn’t want to panic—God knew they were already juggling a lot—but the idea had been stuck in the back of her mind like static.

It had happened on a Wednesday morning.

Chris was still asleep, the apartment quiet except for the faint sound of the neighbor’s TV. Daisy was curled up in her toddler bed, knocked out from a late night of movies and popcorn. Kacey had woken up early, heart pounding, and slipped into the bathroom with a pregnancy test clenched in her hand.

Five minutes passed.

Then two more, because she was too scared to look.

When she finally did, her stomach dropped.

Two lines. Clear as day.

Kacey sat down on the edge of the tub, staring at the test like it might change if she blinked hard enough. She didn’t even realize her hands were shaking.

Later that morning, Chris stumbled out of bed, shirtless and yawning, hair messy and pillow-creased. He saw her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with her phone clutched in one hand and the test on the counter beside her.

“Hey,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You okay?”

Kacey looked up at him, her throat tight.

“I… I took a test.”

Chris froze mid-step. “What kind of test?”

She didn’t answer—just gestured toward the counter.

He walked over, glanced down, and everything in his body went still.

He looked at the test. Then at her.

“You’re…?”

She nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

Chris let out a breath, one hand going to the back of his neck. “Damn.”

“I’m sorry,” Kacey whispered, suddenly emotional. “I know this wasn’t planned, and we’re already figuring out so much and—”

“Stop,” he cut in, stepping forward. He took her face in both hands, kissing her forehead, then just held her close.

After a long pause, he exhaled into her hair. “We’ll figure it out. We already are.”

Kacey let out a shaky breath, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. Chris’s arms stayed around her, tight and grounding.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he said again, quieter this time. “You, me, and Daisy. And now… I guess one more.”

Just then, Daisy’s sleepy voice rang out from the hallway.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

They both turned. Daisy appeared in her unicorn pajamas, hair sticking up on one side, thumb halfway to her mouth.

Chris smiled and scooped her up, resting her on his hip. She nestled into his chest immediately, half-asleep still.

Kacey looked at them—Chris holding Daisy, her head tucked beneath his chin—and felt the smallest hint of peace bloom through the worry.

This wasn’t what they planned.

But somehow, it already felt like love.

⸻

taglist : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxvasturns @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris @pizzapocketpocketpizza @strxn-2 @xxxxxxlovesstuff @whump-loverz @sarahsturnn @urloveanaa @k-pevensie28 @chrissturniolobendmeovernow @chriss-slutt @lenus1aa @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3 @blahbel668 @kingofeverythingmb @kenah-sturniolo @sturniolobananas1

[chriss-slutt]

𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 - 2k

... you see your ex from highschool for the first time in years

cw: very rough!dom!matt, p in v no protection, possessiveness, fingering, begging

day 2 - one year anniversary special masterlist

You’re not looking for it. That’s the worst part.

You’re digging through your old voice memos, trying to find the half-written song you hummed into your phone back in grade twelve—back when everything felt big and stupid and urgent—and that’s when you see it.

Matt — June 8th, 2023 — 2:14 AM.

Duration: 0:53.

Your thumb hovers. You shouldn’t.

But of course you do.

“Hey. I know I’m probably the last person you wanna hear from, and you’ve probably deleted this already, but…”

A shaky breath.

“I just—I didn’t mean it like that. I was angry. And scared. And I know I shouldn’t have said what I said. But please don’t block me. Please.”

A pause. A soft, broken laugh.

“I love you. I think I always will.”

Click.

You press your phone against your chest like it’ll stop the ache from blooming outward.

Two years.

And it still feels like a bruise under the skin.

Josh’s bonfire is exactly the kind of shit show it always is—cheap drinks, half the high school class pretending they’re cooler than they were, and a Bluetooth speaker that keeps switching between rap and Taylor Swift. It’s loud. Familiar. Too many voices you haven’t heard in too long.

You’re halfway through your first drink when you feel it.

That shift in the air. The tight pull in your stomach. The way your spine straightens before you even look up.

He’s here.

You don’t have to see him to know. But when you turn your head, there he is.

Matt.

He’s leaning against the deck railing, wearing baggy jeans and an expensive looking jacket. Cup in hand. Arms crossed. Talking to someone you vaguely recognize. He looks older. Taller. More defined, like time carved him out a little sharper than before. But his mouth—his mouth is the same.

You hate that you notice that first.

He doesn’t see you, not at first. You watch him for a second longer than you should, then quickly look away and pretend your hands aren’t shaking around your drink.

You shouldn’t still care. You shouldn’t still feel like a high schooler seeing her ex for the first time since the world ended.

You go inside to breathe.

—

You find the kitchen and press the cold counter under your palms, exhaling slowly. You’re fine. You’re over it.

You hear the door creak. Feel the shift in air.

He’s behind you.

“Really? Still can’t say hi?”

You roll your eyes but don’t turn. “Hi.”

“Wow. That was heartfelt.”

You finally glance back.

Matt’s leaning in the doorway, all smug casual confidence and calculated slouch. Like he didn’t shatter you the last time he opened his mouth. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing just by being here.

“I’m not doing this,” you mutter.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever this is. You finding me alone like you didn’t plan it.”

He grins. “You think I’m that calculated?”

“I think you like watching people squirm.”

Matt hums. “Maybe. But I was hoping I’d just make you squirm.”

You stare at him, jaw tight.

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he says, stepping in, closing some distance. “Just being honest.”

You back up slightly, leaning into the counter. “Still a cocky asshole.”

His grin deepens. “And yet you’re still standing here.”

You hate him. You really, really do.

“I’m only here because the tequila ran out outside.”

“Sure.” He pauses, tilts his head. “You look good, by the way.”

You blink.

“I’m not saying it for you,” he adds, voice lower, a little rough. “I just thought you should know. It’s been a while.”

You feel heat creep up your neck.

Two years ago, he could’ve said something like that and had you melting.

Now?

It still works. And you hate that.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“Yes,” you snap, too fast.

“Good,” he says, with zero hesitation. “I don’t think I could handle watching some loser try to flirt with you.”

“God,” you mutter, shoving past him, “you’re so—”

He catches your wrist—not rough, just enough to stop you.

“You still hate me that much?”

You don’t answer.

He leans in a little. His voice drops to that irritatingly sexy murmur he used to use when he wanted something from you.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You twist your arm free and glare. “That’s rich. You think I’m pretending just because I’m not falling all over you anymore?”

Matt doesn’t look fazed. He looks… frustrated.

You fold your arms. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk.”

You scoff. “Bullshit.”

He shrugs. “Okay. I wanna talk. And maybe look at you. And maybe kiss you. And maybe—” He leans in again, eyes flicking down your body. “—see if we’re still us under all that pretending.”

Your mouth parts. You want to slap him. You want to kiss him.

You say nothing.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. His lips are on yours before you can stop him—soft at first, testing, like he’s searching for something he thought he’d lost. You freeze, the shock making your breath hitch.

Then your hands are on his chest, pushing, pulling, tangled in the fabric of his hoodie. You want to pull away, but every nerve in your body betrays you, buzzing with the memory of him—of this. His hands slide down your arms, tracing slow, deliberate patterns, like he’s memorizing you all over again.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter against his lips, trying to keep your voice steady.

Matt smirks against you, voice rough. “You love it.”

He pulls you closer until there’s no space left between you. His breath is hot, his touch sure, cocky in a way that’s almost infuriating—and it makes you want him even more.

You stare up at him, the fight draining out of you bit by bit. You don’t want to admit it, but maybe you’re falling for him again.

Matt’s fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back. The kiss deepens—hungry, messy, desperate—and it’s like all the pain and anger from before melts away in the heat of it.

“You’ve got me,” he whispers, voice thick. “Still do.”

You press your forehead to his, breath mingling. “Maybe.”

Matt’s grin is victorious but gentle. “That’s all I need.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, that cocky grin still playing on his lips but with something softer underneath. “You know,” he says, voice low and teasing, “I could make you forget this whole party ever happened. Just come over.”

You blink, caught off guard. The invitation hangs between you like a dare.

You hesitate, heart pounding. The logical part of you screams to run, to keep whatever dignity you have left.

But then there’s that pull. That ache. And you surprise yourself by nodding.

“Yeah,” you say, voice a little breathless. “I’ll come.”

__________

When you reach his house, the porch light spills out, casting long shadows. You stumble up the steps, breath catching as Matt’s lips find yours again—soft at first, then deeper, more demanding.

You barely notice the door handle as he fumbles with it, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The cool metal of the door presses into your back as you kiss like there’s no tomorrow, like you’re trying to rewrite every messy moment between you.

You stumble inside, nearly tripping over the threshold, and he catches you with a laugh that’s equal parts cocky and amused.

“Careful,” he teases, eyes sparkling. “Wouldn’t want to break my perfect girl.”

You roll your eyes but grin, hands threading through his hair as he deepens the kiss, fingers tracing down your spine like he’s memorizing every curve.

Your body was already responding, hips pushing forward, breath catching as his other hand found the zipper of your jeans. His fingers were cold, but the way he tugged at the fabric had heat shooting straight through you.

He pulled your jeans down with impatient hands. His fingers slipped inside you, thumb dragging over your clit with merciless pressure.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes darkening. “So fucking tight.”

Your back arched, nails scratching his chest as he devoured your mouth again — sloppy, hungry, like he was trying to swallow you whole.

Taking his fingers out, Matt shoved you toward the living room, dragging your shirt up and over your head without breaking the kiss. His hands were everywhere, grabbing, squeezing, leaving bruises.

He flipped you over the couch armrest, hips pressing you down hard. His mouth moved to your neck, teeth biting bruises into your skin as his hands forced your legs apart.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, voice thick. “Don’t even think about fighting it.”

He pulled his own pants and boxers down quickly, then lined up with you, slow at first, testing, then merciless — pounding into you with hard, brutal thrusts that made your head spin.

Your screams filled the room, loud and messy, breath hitching and breaking as his hips slammed into yours without mercy. One hand gripped your hair, pulling your head back until your neck was exposed, the other squeezing your ass so hard it was almost painful.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice rough and urgent. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”

“T- Matt,” you choked out, voice shaky but desperate.

“Louder,” he growled, thrusts driving deeper.

“M-matt!” you yell, his dick hitting your g-spot so perfectly that your eyes rolled to the back of your head in ecstasy.

He didn’t let up—not even a second. His hips slammed into yours with a brutal rhythm, each thrust driving deeper, harder, pushing you closer to the edge, but he kept pulling you back. Like he was punishing himself as much as he was owning you.

“Come on, baby,” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

His hand tightened in your hair, jerking your head back so you had no choice but to look at him—those dark eyes wild, fierce, full of hunger and control. The other hand squeezed your ass again, fingers digging into flesh, holding you steady as his hips slammed into yours like a relentless machine.

You whimpered, muscles trembling, heart hammering—so close, so desperate—but Matt was a wall, unyielding. His mouth found your neck, teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, biting just enough to make your breath hitch again, but never enough to let you break.

“Not yet,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re gonna show me how fucking good you can take it.”

Your thighs shook as he drove into you slower now, torturing with every deliberate thrust, dragging out the pleasure like it was a game—and he was winning.

You clenched around him, moans shaky, begging without words, eyes fluttering shut. Every nerve in your body was on fire, but Matt’s grip didn’t loosen.

“You’re mine,” he snarled again, voice rough like a growl. “Don’t forget it.”

Then he shoved harder, deeper, hitting that spot that made your world tilt sideways, and you teetered on the edge—heart racing, breath ragged, trembling with need.

And just when you thought you couldn’t hold back any longer, he slowed, pulling almost all the way out—leaving you aching, desperate, dripping for more.

“Beg for it,” he demanded, voice husky, his cock still thick and twitching inside you.

“Please,” you gasped. “Please, Matt—fuck, I need you. Please.”

That broke something inside him. His hands roamed your body possessively, dragging you up closer until you were flush against his chest, and then he slammed back into you with a force that stole your breath.

You shattered. Clenching, crying out, muscles clamping around him like you were trying to swallow him whole, spilling over in a messy, uncontrollable wave.

Matt groaned, hips jerking in wild, desperate thrusts as he fought to keep from losing control. You felt him shudder inside you, slow, deep, filling you with every ragged breath.

When he finally collapsed against you, sweat-slick and heavy, his voice was a low, satisfied growl.

“You’re still mine, baby.”

You gasp in exhaustion, laying on him. “Yours.”

holy shitttttt i need this done to me PLSPLSPLSPLS

𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒆

wow did you enjoy that! you know what would also enjoy? 15,000 words of shy!matt. read it! (🔗)

[chriss-slutt]

p u s s y t r a i n i n g c . s

i n w h i c h . . . chris comes home frustrated, and the only thing on his mind is fucking the anger away.

w a r n i n g s . . . smut, p in v, fem receiving oral, male receiving oral, pressuring, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, gagging, crying, creampie, aftercare, pussy spanking, rough language and handling, derogatory language (slut, whore, etc.)

it was unusual for chris to be annoyed with you, let alone be annoyed by your sounds. it was long day. it was clear in the sharp set of his jaw, the stubble decorating his cheekbones, and mostly the way his fingers twitched. oh, not to mention he nearly slammed the apartment door off its hinges. he was itching to take his anger out on something, and you sitting there all pretty drew in his attention.

it made your stomach turn—not with fear, but with a kind of electricity. because even though chris was quiet when he was angry, there was a weight to it. a pressure. like the air shifted. like your body instinctively braced, not because you thought he’d hurt you, but because you knew exactly what he needed.

he didn’t say hi when he walked in. didn’t kiss you like he usually did. just kicked his shoes off with a grunt and tossed his keys onto the counter so hard they skidded. his chest was rising fast. he paced once, twice, before his eyes cut to you on the couch like you were the one thing in the room still breathing too calmly.

you blinked up at him, lips parted, legs tucked underneath you, the blanket slipping off your shoulder.

“gonna look at m’like that?” his voice was low. rough. dangerous in a way that made heat pool in your stomach.

you swallowed. “like what?”

his jaw ticked. “like you want me to fuck y’dumb.”

your breath caught.

then—like a switch—he was walking toward you, slow but certain. a shadow of something wild in his eyes.

you didn’t move. couldn’t. didn’t want to.

“long fuckin’ day,” he muttered, stopping just in front of you. his hand slid into your hair, gentle for half a second before gripping tighter. “and you’re sittin’ here making those little sounds like you don’t know what that does to me.”

your thighs clenched. “i didn’t mean—”

“yeah, you did,” he snapped. but not angry with you. angry at everything else. and needing you to fix it.

he pushed the blanket off you fully, let his eyes drag over your bare legs, the tank top you wore without a bra, the softness of your skin. he exhaled like it hurt to hold back.

“you just gonna sit there,” he whispered, “or you gonna help me feel better?”

you bit your lip, heart pounding. “what do you want me to do?”

his answer was immediate. raw.

“get on y’knees.”

and you did—slowly, letting him see the way you obeyed, the way you ached to be good for him. he watched you, his hands fisting at his sides, chest heaving. his hoodie fell to the floor. the zipper hit the tile. his belt followed.

he stepped closer. tilted your chin up with two fingers. “open your mouth,” he breathed.

he paused his movements, brushing his thumb against your lips, which instinctively wrapped around it. “fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you stayed still, let him press his thumb deeper until it brushed the back of your throat, until tears pricked in your lashes and your thighs rubbed together because the helplessness—the need—was already simmering through you.

then, finally, he undid his jeans.

you heard the clink of the buckle, the sharp hiss of fabric dragged down fast. his cock was already hard, flushed at the tip, and when he wrapped one hand around the base and stroked, just once, you could see the tension ripple down his forearm like he was barely holding it together.

“gonna let me use your mouth, baby?” he rasped, voice darker now. “i don’t even wanna think about today.”

you nodded, breath shaky, lips parting again.

he didn’t ask again. didn’t hesitate.

the first thrust was shallow—just the head, just enough to feel your lips wrap tight around him, to hear the wet click of spit when he pulled back. but the second? deeper. his hand cradled the back of your head and he fed it to you inch by inch, slow and deliberate. punishing in its control.

“that’s it,” he grunted, watching your eyes. “take it. open up for me.”

you hollowed your cheeks, let him slide deeper, let your tongue flatten underneath. he groaned, low and guttural, head tipping back for a split second before he looked down again, eyes locked on yours.

your hands gripped his thighs for balance, fingers digging into the denim around his knees. spit was already beginning to drip down your chin, and he fucking loved it—his hips rolled forward, just once, deeper than before, until you gagged around him.

“fuck, baby—just like that. let me use you.”

he didn’t stop.

he fucked your mouth like he needed it. like it was therapy. rough, rhythmic thrusts that made your eyes tear up and your core ache with every single pass of his cock over your tongue. you could hear yourself—wet, obscene sounds filling the quiet apartment along with his ragged breath and the muttered curses he kept spitting through clenched teeth.

“such a pretty little mouth. made to suck cock, huh?” he groaned.

you whimpered around him—both from the intensity and the way your thighs were soaked now, squirming for relief. and he noticed.

he pulled back suddenly, letting his cock slide free with a thick, wet sound. a string of spit stayed connected between you, and he wiped it away with his thumb, smearing it across your bottom lip like it was something holy.

you were gasping, flushed, mouth swollen. and still so fucking needy.

“get on the couch,” he said. “spread your legs. i’m not done with you.”

you scrambled back onto the couch, heart racing, legs shaking a little as you reclined against the cushions. chris’s eyes never left you—dark and glassy, like he was barely hanging on.

you pulled your tank top off first. no bra. his gaze dragged over your chest, the way your nipples were already hard from how wrecked he’d gotten you with just his voice and the weight of him in your mouth. he looked possessed.

“shorts too,” he muttered. “now.”

you shimmied them down, no underwear beneath. he groaned when he saw the slick mess between your thighs—your folds glistening, the soft little quiver in your thighs as they spread wider, like your body was begging for him.

“jesus christ,” he whispered, dragging a hand down his face before climbing between your legs on the couch. “you dripping for me already, baby? all that from sucking my cock?”

you nodded, breathless. “please—chris, i need—”

but you didn’t get to finish. because his mouth was on you.

no teasing. no warning. he dove in like he was starved, tongue dragging a thick stripe up your slit before his lips closed around your clit and sucked hard enough to make your whole body jolt. your back arched off the couch, a desperate cry ripping from your throat as your fingers shot into his hair, holding on.

he groaned into you—deep and filthy—as he licked, sucked, devoured you like he was mad about it. like tasting you was the only thing anchoring him after a shit day. and when he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, your thighs snapped around his head like instinct.

“fuck—chris, please—”

“shut up.” he didn’t stop. didn’t even slow. his fingers fucked into you fast and deep while his tongue circled your clit in tight, hungry patterns. you could hear the slick sounds between your legs, feel the obscene heat building in your gut, your whole body trembling under the force of it.

you were gonna come. and he knew it.

he pulled back just enough to speak—his mouth shiny, chin wet, voice low and raw.

“you gonna come for me, baby? on my fuckin’ face?”

“yes,” you gasped. “yes, chris—please, i’m gonna—”

“then fuckin’ come.”

and you did. hard.

your legs locked around his head, your body convulsing with it, loud and desperate and messy as everything cracked open inside you. he didn’t stop until you were twitching, whimpering, pulling at his hair to make him stop because it was too much.

but even then—he didn’t give you a break.

he climbed up your body, still hard, still leaking. lined himself up and looked at you like he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“you want me to fuck you now?” he rasped.

you nodded, dazed, soaked, spent but aching for more. “please.”

and then he was inside you.

no condom. no pause. just a deep, brutal thrust that had your eyes rolling back as he buried himself to the hilt. you felt everything—the way he stretched you open, the way he filled you so completely you could hardly breathe.

he started to move—deep and punishing, slow at first just to watch the way your face crumpled, then faster, rougher, fucking you like he owned you.

“tight as ever,” he growled into your ear. “so fucking wet. you needed this, whore? needed me to fuck it outta you?”

“uh- uh huh.” you whimpered, a little too loud for comfort.

“too loud,” he cooed, voice laced with mock sympathy as his hips drove into you again, deeper this time. “be a little quieter.”

and sure, you tried.

and sure, you failed. miserably.

because how could you be quiet when he was fucking you like this? when your back was arched, legs hooked over his shoulders, his cock slamming into you so perfectly, so brutally, that your vision blurred? every stroke knocked another breath out of your lungs, dragged another sound from your throat—whimpers, gasps, cries that bordered on sobs.

“mm-mm,” he tutted, not slowing at all. his hand slid up your throat, not choking but holding, thumb pressing just beneath your jaw as your head lolled back. “you don’t listen. always so fuckin’ loud when i tell you to be good.”

your mouth hung open, but no words came—just a broken little moan as he shifted his angle and hit something dangerous inside you. your nails clawed at the cushions, your hips twitching against his grip.

“what’s that?” he whispered, leaning closer so his lips brushed your ear. “gonna come again?”

you nodded frantically, body trembling, throat too tight to speak.

“huh. ‘course you are.” he gave a sharp thrust that made you cry out again. “can’t even help yourself, can you? so fuckin’ needy. you like this? getting ruined on my cock while you make all those pretty little sounds?”

you sobbed out a yes, not even caring how pathetic you sounded. you were gone—fucked dumb, so deep in it your body barely felt like your own.

his grip tightened around your throat.

“come then,” he growled. “and keep your eyes on me while you do it.”

and somehow, somehow, you managed it—staring up at him with tears on your lashes and his name breaking on your lips as your whole body shattered beneath him. your muscles clamped around his cock, spasming hard, your moans spilling out no matter how hard you tried to bite them back.

and he loved it.

because a second later, he was losing it too—hips stuttering, a filthy groan dragged from his chest as he spilled into you, deep and hot, holding you open with both hands as he came with a force that left him trembling.

he stayed there for a moment, still inside you, breath hot against your cheek.

“you really don’t know how to shut up,” he murmured, smirking against your jaw. “guess i’ll just have to keep fuckin’ you ‘til you learn.”

you took in deep breaths, trying to blink the stars from your vision, your body still twitching from the aftershocks. every nerve felt like it was on fire. every breath tasted like chris.

but just when you thought you’d come down from your high—

smack.

a hard slap landed square against your already soaked, overstimulated pussy. the sound echoed off the walls, sharp and wet, and your whole body jolted with a strangled cry.

“fuck!—chris—” you gasped, hips twitching away instinctively, only for his arm to hook around your thigh and yank you right back where he wanted you.

“mm-mm, shhh,” he hummed, low and dangerous as he knelt between your legs, his voice thick with post-orgasm haze but laced with something hungrier now. “gotta train this pussy to be quiet.”

he ran two fingers through your folds—slow, almost gentle—and you whimpered at the contact. you were so sensitive you couldn’t think straight. he watched your hips jerk, your thighs tremble, and his grin deepened.

“look at this messy little cunt,” he muttered, dragging your arousal—his cum—down to your clit, circling it until your back arched off the couch again. “still so fuckin’ wet. still leaking for me.”

“chris—too much, i can’t—”

“you can,” he said calmly. “and you will.”

and then his mouth was back on you.

no mercy. no patience. just relentless, obscene suction on your clit while two fingers curled deep inside you again, stretching your swollen walls and dragging moans from your lips that you couldn’t even begin to hold back.

you thrashed, breath catching, tears slipping down your cheeks from how intense it was—your thighs trying to close, your hands scrambling for something to grip, something to ground you.

but he held you open. forced you to take it.

“you said you’d be good,” he growled against your skin. “so fucking be good.”

your body betrayed you. despite the overstimulation, despite the ache—your orgasm was already building again, terrifying in its speed, the pressure crushing.

“no—chris, i’m gonna—i can’t—please—”

“shut up. yes. yes you can,” he snapped, rubbing hard circles over your clit while his fingers fucked you fast and deep and relentlessly. “you’re gonna come for me again. right now.”

and you did.

you came harder than before—louder, wetter, your entire body locking up as a gush of release flooded his hand and the couch cushions below. you sobbed through it, shaking uncontrollably, legs twitching as he kept going just a second longer, milking it out of you, letting you writhe and cry and fall completely apart.

only then—only then—did he slow, pulling his fingers out, slick and glistening, before sucking them clean with a low, satisfied hum.

he leaned over you, gaze molten, his voice barely above a whisper.

“that,” he breathed, “was for making all those sounds.”

your whole body was trembling, soaked and flushed, your chest rising in frantic little pants as you tried to ground yourself—but chris wasn’t done.

not even close.

you barely had time to blink before he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you over—face pressed into the cushions, ass up, legs spread wide.

“look at this mess,” he muttered, dragging his fingers down your slick folds again, letting your wetness drip down your thighs. “you’re fucking dripping. ruined my couch already.”

you whined into the cushion, heat blooming in your cheeks at how wrecked you were, at the way your body was betraying you—still aching, still needy.

he gave your pussy another hard slap.

smack.

“quiet. stay just like that,” he growled. “don’t fuckin’ move.”

you nodded, barely managing a broken little yes before the blunt head of his cock was back at your entrance. he didn’t ease in this time—he slammed into you, hard and deep, making you cry out into the pillow, your body jolting forward from the sheer force of it.

“fuck, yes,” he groaned, gripping your hips so tight you knew there’d be bruises tomorrow. “this pussy’s never felt so good. all wet and twitchy for me. greedy fuckin’ thing.”

you couldn’t speak. you could only moan, every sharp thrust driving you higher again, overstimulation and desire colliding until you felt like you might explode.

he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, one hand coming up to fist in your hair and yank your head back, forcing you to arch.

“you like getting fucked like this?” he rasped against your ear. “like a little toy? used until you can’t think?”

you whimpered—yes, a thousand times yes—but all that came out was a gasping, wrecked little moan.

“that’s what i thought,” he muttered, pounding into you harder. faster. the couch creaked beneath you, the wet sounds between your bodies obscene. “you’re fucking perfect. made for this. made for me.”

he reached around, fingers finding your clit again, and you screamed—your whole body jerking, pleasure sparking up your spine like lightning.

“no, no—chris, i can’t—”

“shhh. it’s okay. you can,” he growled. “one more. give me one more.”

you were sobbing into the cushions, eyes rolling back as your body spiraled out of control. every nerve was on fire, every part of you begging for relief. he rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit while his cock pistoned into you, deeper and harder and faster.

“come on, baby,” he grunted. “be a good fuckin’ girl. come for me.”

and you did.

your orgasm hit like a fucking bomb—your body clenching around him so hard he shouted, thick ropes of cum spilling into you as he fucked you through it, your legs trembling, your voice hoarse from screaming his name.

he collapsed over you, still buried deep, breath ragged against your neck.

your bodies were a mess of sweat, slick, and sex—his cum leaking down your thighs, your skin sticky with heat and every inch of you raw from how good it felt.

you stayed like that, both of you catching your breath.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

not because you didn’t want to—but because you couldn’t.

your body was limp, twitching with the last echoes of your orgasm, and chris’s weight on top of you was grounding in a way that made your heart ache. your breath came in short, shaky bursts, your cheek pressed into the cushion, legs splayed open, thighs sticky with slick and cum and sweat.

then, slowly, he softened inside you and let out a quiet, exhausted breath.

you felt him press a gentle kiss to your shoulder blade. another to your spine. then he whispered, “you okay?”

your throat was dry, but you nodded. “mmhmm.”

he was already moving—slipping out of you carefully, fingers brushing down your sides like he didn’t want to let go just yet. he helped you shift, cradling you gently into your back as your body trembled, and when he looked at you, the cocky edge was gone.

now, it was just him.

your chris.

the one who made sure you were breathing. who checked your pulse. who brushed the hair from your damp forehead with the back of his hand and kissed your temple like it was the only thing keeping him calm.

“too much?” he asked softly, voice thick with something real now—guilt, maybe. or just love.

you shook your head, curling into him.

he exhaled like he needed to hear that. then he stood, only for a second, disappearing into the bathroom. you heard the faucet run, the sound of a towel being soaked, rung out. he came back and knelt beside the couch, warm washcloth in hand.

“spread for me,” he said, but this time, there was no demand. no teasing.

you did, cheeks flushed, and he cleaned you gently—every swipe careful, reverent. he wiped away the mess between your thighs, his cum dripping down your skin, and kissed your knee once he was done.

“you’re so good,” he murmured. “such a sweet girl.”

you smiled, hazy and warm, and reached for him. he wrapped you up in his arms, pulling the blanket over both of you, burying his face in your neck like he wanted to disappear into your skin.

“sorry i came in all pissed n’ shit,” he said after a minute. “you didn’t deserve that.”

you carded your fingers through his messy hair. “you didn’t take it out on me. you let me take it from you.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you.

and then he kissed you—soft, slow, open-mouthed. nothing hungry now. just grateful.

“you always do,” he whispered.

“i always will,” you promised. he held you tighter.

he couldn’t even remember why he was mad earlier.

a / n . . . if this flops theres no point to live on

[chriss-slutt]

HELLO???