petalmatt

[petalmatt]

⠀⊹⠀. 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ soft dom!chris best paired with sub!reader ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌

!! smut, public sex (beach), soft praise, semi-exhibitionism (implied risk of being seen), etc.

the beach is nearly silent at four in the morning, just the whisper of waves and the soft pull of the wind. the moon's still high, casting pale silver across the shore, and the sand beneath you is cool and damp where the tide keeps creeping in, licking at your knees and palms with every lazy wash.

chris is behind you, his chest pressed to your back, one hand firm on your hip while the other slides along your spine in slow, reverent strokes. his thrusts are deep but unhurried, slow enough to make you feel every inch, every push and pull of his body against yours. the salt air clings to both your skin, heavy and warm, and the only real sound is your soft panting and the wet slap of his hips meeting yours over and over.

"y'er so fuckin' pretty like this," he murmurs, voice low and thick, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "so fuckin' pretty—look at you."

your arms tremble slightly beneath you, hands sinking into damp sand, your body rocking forward each time he pushes into you. the shallow water rushes around your fingers and your thighs, stealing your breath every few seconds with its chilly edge, but then he rocks forward again and you can't feel anything except him.

his hand moves from your back to your jaw, fingers curling gently until he's tilting your face toward the side so he can kiss your cheek, your mouth, anywhere he can reach without losing rhythm.

"feels good?" he whispers, dragging the head of his dick just barely out before sliding back in, slower this time, like he wants to ruin you with patience.

you nod, lips parting, but the only thing that comes out is a broken whimper. he chuckles softly behind you, not teasing, just in awe—like he can't believe you're here with him, under the stars, water touching your skin while he's buried inside you.

the tide pulls in again, higher this time, splashing at your knees and making you jolt forward slightly, but chris only grips your hips tighter, steadies you, kisses between your shoulder blades like he’s got nowhere else to be.

"stay with me, baby," he mumbles. "i got you."

and you do. every time the waves roll in, cold and quick, his hands ground you. every time the wind steals your breath, he gives you his in a kiss. every slow thrust is deeper than the last, more intimate than anything you've ever done in daylight, like the moon and the tide and the stars are all watching him worship you.

𐔌 note from kaeli `𓂃⊹ — currently on all fours barking for him rn.

ˇ ⋆ ╱ 🔗 ❛ @matties-angel @maliaforstvrns @matthewswife0 @grace-sturnz @matts-babytomatoes

click here 222 be added to my taglist ❜

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

[petalmatt]

⠀⊹⠀. 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ sub!matt best paired with soft dom!reader ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌

!! smut, food play (honey), slight overstimulation, soft degradation, praise, begging, oral fixation, use of pet names (baby, sweet boy), etc.

"so sticky, baby…"

his voice cracks, soft and breathless beneath you, every word falling apart the second your hips sink back down onto him. he's sprawled flat on the mattress, flushed and trembling, sweet amber honey smeared messily across his chest and stomach, clinging to his skin in glossy drips. it glistens under the soft lamp glow in the corner, casting warm shadows over his body like he's been dipped in gold. your hands stay pressed to his stomach as you ride him, palms sticky, thighs clenched tight on either side of his hips.

you're moving with slow, deliberate control, each bounce steady and full, keeping him right there—head tipped back, mouth slack, eyes glassy with heat.

"i know, baby," you reply, voice low and sweet as you lean over him just enough to let your weight tease deeper. "you'll be back nice and clean once we shower."

he whines at that, high and desperate, like the promise of being taken care of is almost too much. but he doesn't stop talking. can't. his mouth stays open, lips glossy with spit, and he's babbling nonstop through every thrust of your hips—words tumbling out faster than he can think, barely coherent as his mind melts under your rhythm.

"feels so good—fuck, baby, please…"

"don't stop, don't stop, you're so good, s-so good t'me…"

"sticky—m'so sticky, i can't even—fuck—"

"you ride me so good, always so good to me…"

"need you, need you, need—"

you smile, tilting your head a little as your pace picks up just slightly, letting him feel the bounce in your hips get rougher for a few seconds. but when he doesn't shut up—his voice climbing, words slurring into nonsense—you let out a soft, breathy hum of your own and slide your fingers down his stomach.

the honey is warm and slow-moving, and your fingertips sink into it easily as you swirl them around, gathering the thick, sticky mess onto your middle and ring fingers.

then you bring them to his lips.

"mm, just needed something to shut you up, yeah?" you murmur, pushing your fingers into his open mouth before he can answer.

he moans immediately, voice muffled around your fingers, eyes fluttering shut like it calms him—like sucking the honey from your hand is enough to center him in the haze. his lips seal around your knuckles, tongue moving lazily over the mess, and the wet warmth of his mouth only makes your pace slow again, more grinding than bouncing now, letting him really feel every inch of you. he's still babbling, but now it's all thick and muffled:

"mhm—nghh—p-please…"

"mmmph—mm, so good, s-so warm…"

you can barely make out anything he's saying anymore, but you don't need to. he's whining, helpless, and so fucking needy beneath you—his stomach rising and falling under your palms, his thighs twitching every time your hips sink down and hold. you ride him slow but deep, watching the way his face contorts, overwhelmed and messy and soaked in sweat. the honey is still dripping, still clinging to his ribs, sticky between your fingers and his tongue.

then you feel it—his hips jerk up beneath you, rhythm breaking, and you smile around a soft exhale.

"sweet boy needs to cum?" you ask, voice just a little softer, a little meaner, pulling your fingers from his mouth with a quiet pop.

he gasps, lips slick and pink, eyes wide and glassy as he stutters for a response.

"y-yeah—fuck, please—can i? can i please cum?"

"need it, need it so bad, please—"

his voice breaks on the last word, cracking with the kind of desperation that makes your chest tighten with something possessive. he's squirming beneath you, hips barely able to keep still, and you lean over him again, nose brushing his, your sticky hand resting lightly on his chest.

"go ahead, baby," you whisper, low and warm against his mouth. "make a mess for me."

his whole body shudders when he finally lets go. he cums hard, heat flooding into you as his back arches, arms shaking, breath catching in short, broken gasps. and he doesn't stop talking, not even as he trembles through it—voice smaller now, full of gratitude and pure submission.

"thank you, thank you baby—so good—fuck—thank you—”

"love you, love you, love bein' yours…"

you brush your thumb over his cheek, slow and tender, watching him fall apart with honey smeared across his chest, sweat sticking his curls to his forehead, lips raw from sucking. his voice finally starts to fade, just soft breaths and tiny sounds as he blinks up at you, wrecked and so, so sweet.

and your smile only deepens as you press a kiss to his forehead and whisper, "mm, so good for me."

𐔌 note from kaeli `𓂃⊹ — missed opportunity for me to have reader lick the honey off him, but unfortunately i'm not rewriting this… maybe next time!

ˇ ⋆ ╱ 🔗 ❛ @matties-angel @maliaforstvrns @matthewswife0 @grace-sturnz @matts-babytomatoes

click here 222 be added to my taglist ❜

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

[petalmatt]

underrated fs! write more dom! chratt pls :))

loved the others

omgggg thank you so much sweets!! and of coursee, more coming verrrryy soon :)

[petalmatt]

everyone deserves a kiss on the lips.

[petalmatt]

ugh i love your theme babe

thank you lovely.

[petalmatt]

do you like women?

i lovvve women, #girlandboykisser.

[petalmatt]

⠀⊹⠀. 𝐁𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ sub!matt best paired with soft dom!reader ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌

!! praise kink, begging, whimpering, mild overstimulation, oral on breasts, etc.

matt's already stripped down to just his tee, pale blue cotton bunched high on his stomach, everything else gone. his legs are spread for you, flushed chest rising and falling like he's been holding back for too long, and his dick twitches every time your fingers graze his skin. he's already so worked up, and you haven't even given him anything yet—not really.

your panties are slid to the side, lace digging into your hipbone as you straddle him, teasing the head of his dick with lazy little rolls of your hips before finally—finally—you sink down onto him.

he gasps, almost sobs, head tipping back against the pillow like the feeling is too much. like it's everything.

"oh my god," he breathes, voice cracking. "baby, please—"

you press a soft kiss under his jaw, hips going still. "shh. you said you'd be good, remember?"

his fingers clutch the sheets like it's the only way to stop himself from grabbing your waist and thrusting up into you. "i am being good," he whines, brows drawing together, lips parted and wet. "i am, i swear—"

you ignore the desperate way his hips jerk under you, and instead trail your fingertips across his chest, brushing over the faint freckles, the tremble in his abs, the heat rising under his skin. you cup his face in one hand and drag your thumb gently over his bottom lip. he chokes out a quiet moan.

"you're so pretty like this," you whisper, smiling as he leans into your palm. "look how well you're listening. not even touching me…"

he whimpers again, and it's soft and so broken. "please take 'em out," he mumbles, eyes flicking down to your chest. "wan' touch. wan' feel, please baby—please—"

you let him. slide one of his hands up your back, guiding him as he fumbles with the clasp of your bra, hands shaking a little from how overwhelmed he already is. the moment it slips off your shoulders, he lets out the softest moan and sits up just enough to wrap both hands around your chest, thumbing over your nipples like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

then, almost bashfully, he pulls you down and takes one into his mouth.

you let him, sighing at the feeling, the hot swirl of his tongue and the needy little noises he makes as he sucks, open-mouthed and worshipful. you keep your hips still, watching him from above with a smirk, until he pulls off with a whimper and looks up at you like he's about to cry.

"please," he says again, and this time his voice cracks. "please baby, i need it. can you—fuck—can you please move now?"

you hum softly, brush the hair off his forehead, then finally roll your hips in one slow, deep motion.

his entire body shudders. he moans so loud it borders on a sob, one hand flying back to your hip like he needs something to hold while the other stays clutched around your waist.

"th-thank you," he stutters, already unraveling. "feels s'good, fuck, feels s’good—been waiting for it all night, baby, please don't stop, please—"

you keep your pace steady, grinding down onto him with slow, deliberate rolls, pressing kisses to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. he keeps babbling, all cracked-up thank yous and breathy gasps and wet little moans that make you want to ruin him and hold him at the same time.

"you're mine," you whisper into his ear. "you don't have to do anything but let me take care of you."

he nods, eyes fluttering shut like the words physically hit him. you feel him tighten beneath you, every muscle trembling, and when he finally cums, it's with a soft cry, like he's been holding it in for hours.

you ride him through it slowly, coaxing every last sound out of his mouth, and he collapses back into the pillows, flushed and panting, arms still wrapped around your waist like he never wants to let go.

"you did so good, sweet boy," you murmur, kissing his temple. "so, so good for me."

and he just nods again, breath catching as he whispers, "anything for you. always."

𐔌 note from kaeli `𓂃⊹ — is "cums" even a word...?

ˇ ⋆ ╱ 🔗 ❛ @matties-angel @maliaforstvrns @matthewswife0

click here 222 be added to my taglist ❜

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

[petalmatt]

Will you ever write series or AUs? You write so well, so I was just wondering

yes, i've been thinking about starting an au soon, but it feels a little early since i don't have many followers or much interaction yet. but we'll see.

[petalmatt]

my birthday is in 8 days, i'm lowk shitting my pants.

[petalmatt]

your accounts so cutee🫶🏾

thank you sweetsss!

[petalmatt]

⠀⊹⠀. 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ toxic ex!matt best paired with ex!reader ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌

!! toxic ex dynamic, emotionally manipulative dialogue, rough sex, degradation, possessiveness, spanking, no aftercare, etc.

you almost don't get up when the knock comes. it's late, too late for anyone who respects you. the guy from earlier had already left—barely said thank you, didn't even look back when the door shut behind him. your thighs still ache a little, your lips taste like someone else, and you were ready to put this night behind you. until now. the second knock is harder, sharper. impatient. you sigh, dragging yourself to the door, assuming it's a charger or a wallet left behind. but the second you open it, your stomach drops.

matt's standing there like he never left. leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other brushing the blunt tucked behind his ear. he looks at you with that sick little smirk—eyes flicking down your bare legs, across the hoodie clinging to your hips, clearly recognizing it as his.

"heard you've been real busy." the words drip from his mouth like a challenge.

you blink at him, stunned, still gripping the doorknob. he doesn't wait for permission. just steps forward, brushing past you, slow and smug. your skin prickles when his shoulder grazes yours.

"bet none of 'em fuck you right."

you slam the door shut behind him, voice already sharp. "what the fuck are you doing?"

he's already scanning the place, jaw ticking. he glances toward your couch like he knows exactly what happened there earlier. then his gaze swings back to you—like he's daring you to lie. "you're not over me," he says calmly, stepping in close until your back hits the wall. "if you were, you wouldn't open the door f'me at 1 in the morning wearin' my hoodie." his hand lifts, brushing a thumb across your cheek with all the mockery of affection. "you let 'em touch you like i used to?"

you shove him hard in the chest. he stumbles back a step but doesn't flinch. just laughs under his breath, the sound dark and low and cruel. "that's cute," he mutters, before grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward the couch without another word. he doesn't ask. doesn't explain. just takes what he wants.

you open your mouth to object, but he's already got you bent over the armrest, sweatshirt bunched up around your waist. his hand splays across your back, pressing you down until your cheek hits the cushion. his other hand yanks your panties to the side and exposes you like a secret he's sick of waiting to see. the cool air hits you first, then his voice.

"fuckin' pathetic," he mutters, and you barely have a second to process it before he's inside you—one harsh thrust that makes your whole body jolt. no warning, no buildup, just the thick stretch of him filling you rough and deep, like he's trying to erase whatever came before him.

his fingers dig into your hips like he wants bruises there. "this pussy's been ruined by losers," he grits, thrusting harder, rougher, with every word. "you really let some nobody touch what used to be mine?"

you moan, breath catching, body arching back against him before you can even think about it. he huffs out a bitter laugh.

"don't fake it. you only ever came f'me."

his pace is brutal—hips slamming against yours, every drag of him deeper than the last. you're loud, moaning his name, voice cracked and messy. you don't mean to say it, don't even realize you are, until he snaps.

"oh my god, shut the fuck up and take it."

his voice is sharp and irritated, laced with disgust. you barely have time to brace yourself before his palm cracks against your ass, open and harsh. the sting is instant, a sharp burn blooming under your skin.

you yelp. he does it again. harder.

and then he leans in, teeth grazing the back of your neck as he growls, "you sound so desperate to impress me. maybe if you shut up, you'd actually make me cum."

so you try. you really try—pressing your face into the couch cushion, biting your lip until it hurts, holding every sound in your throat like a hostage. but the way he's fucking you makes it impossible. his hand is locked around your waist, pulling you back into each punishing thrust, the couch creaking under both of you. your breath hitches. your moans slip out in fragments. he doesn't slow down. doesn't soften. doesn't let up for a second.

and when he finishes, it's without warning—just a deep, final thrust, a guttural groan, and then heat spilling inside you like he meant to leave something behind. he stays there for a second, pressed deep, breathing heavy against your back like he needed to mark his territory.

"gotta make sure the next guy tastes me."

you try to catch your breath, but your legs feel unsteady, your body still burning from every place he touched too hard. matt pulls out with a low sigh, stands up like he's done something mundane, and wipes his hands clean on the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

then he lights the blunt. the flick of the lighter echoes in the silence. he doesn't even look at you as he takes the first slow drag, eyes fixed on some spot across the room.

"i'll see you next time they disappoint you."

you stay quiet, still folded over the couch, body sore, heart stubborn.

he doesn't need your answer. he already knows it.

𐔌 note from kaeli `𓂃⊹ — honestly don't know how to feel about this one.

ˇ ⋆ ╱ 🔗 ❛ @matties-angel

click here 222 be added to my taglist ❜

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

[petalmatt]

wait do we have the same name just spelled differently

ooou, i believe so! pronounced (KAY-lee) right?

[petalmatt]

luv your theme!! 🩶🩶

thaaaank you mama.

[petalmatt]

lmao you’re matching usernames with @petalchris

i sawww. i sent something cute in her inbox about it, but she hasn't answered yet lmao.

[petalmatt]

⠀⊹⠀. 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ soft dom!chris best paired with praise-drunk!reader ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌

!! smut, praise kink, unprotected sex, use of pet names (baby, mama), etc.

his hips roll slow, deep, steady—just enough to make you gasp when his tip brushes the end of you. the room's quiet except for the wet sound of skin meeting skin, the occasional breathy moan slipping out of your throat like you're trying to hold them back. and chris? he's watching you like he's memorizing every sound, every twitch of your mouth, every tiny shake in your legs as he presses in again.

"y'know," he hums low, thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he sinks in fully, "every time you let out one of those pretty little noises, you get a gold star."

you barely register the words before his hips drag back and thrust again, slow and smooth and deep enough that another soft cry spills from you. he smiles. really smiles. that soft, cocky little thing he does when he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having.

"mm," he hums, like he's thinking. "that one definitely earned you a sticker."

he leans over to the nightstand without pulling out, grabbing a small sheet of gold stars. the edge of the sheet crinkles in his fingers as he peels one off with slow, deliberate care. he doesn't rush—just holds your face in one hand, presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and smooths the star right onto your cheekbone.

"there we go," he murmurs. "good girl."

his next thrust is slower, deeper, and when your mouth falls open around a whimper, he groans under his breath. his hand slides down to your thigh, lifting it a little higher so he can press in closer. the angle makes your breath hitch again and he eats it up like he's starving.

"you sound so pretty, baby," he whispers, hips rocking gently against yours. "makin' such a mess all over me."

his fingers curl tighter around your thigh, the drag of his dick pushing you closer with every slow, praising stroke. when you moan again, high and breathy, he pulls back just long enough to reach for another sticker. this one he presses just above your temple with a quiet, pleased hum.

"two already," he murmurs. "you're on a roll."

you whimper, and his chuckle is warm against your neck as he licks over the pulse there. he stays close, whispering right against your skin.

"doin' so good f'me," he breathes. "always take me so well, mama."

your hands clutch at his shoulders as he fucks into you again, the pace still slow but deep enough to make your toes curl. every sound you give him is answered with more praise, more kisses, more warmth in his voice like he's falling harder every time you moan for him.

"fuck, y'er squeezin' me so tight," he groans. "you close, baby?"

you nod, your breath stuttering as his thumb grazes over your waist. he doesn't stop—just keeps whispering, keeps praising, keeps rolling his hips with that same steady rhythm. another moan slips from your lips and he reaches for another star, placing it right on your collarbone with a smile.

"there's my girl," he says softly. "takin' it like a fuckin' angel."

his mouth follows the sticker with a kiss, then another just below it. your body trembles beneath him, and he doesn't let up—he keeps you grounded with his touch, his voice, his warmth.

"you wan' another one?" he murmurs, pressing one to your jaw. "huh, baby? wan' one right here?"

you cry out when he thrusts in just a little harder, and he grins, dragging his lips over your neck. "that's what i thought."

you start to spill over him with a soft, choked whimper, and chris is right there with you—holding you through it, whispering in your ear.

"that's it, baby," he says, breath catching. "fuck, jus' like that. good girl. so good f'me."

his hand doesn't leave your face, thumb stroking gently as he thrusts through the aftershocks. he presses another sticker to the center of your chest, just above where your heart's pounding, and kisses the spot once before pulling out carefully.

you're still shaking when he leans back and takes in the view—gold stars scattered across your cheeks, your jaw, your collarbone. he grins, then peels off a few more and sticks one to your shoulder, another on your tummy, then one just above your brow.

"you earned 'em," he says, lips brushing your ear. "every single one."

you try to swat at him, but your limbs are jelly, and he just laughs—low and happy—before kissing your temple where another sticker shines.

"if this is how you react to praise," he murmurs, smug and breathless, "m'gonna need a whole new sheet."

𐔌 note from kaeli `𓂃⊹ — based off that one tweet chris reposted on his story a while ago.

click here 222 be added to my taglist ❜

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

[petalmatt]

i love your theme soso much omg !!

thank youuu, i love yours sooo much more.

[petalmatt]

⠀⊹⠀. 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ bratty!chris best paired with dom!reader ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌

!! punishment, orgasm denial, soft control power play, mild humiliation, handjob, explicit language, use of pet names (mama, baby), etc.

you've been watching him all night.

he's in rare form—bouncing from conversation to conversation like he owns the room, eyes sparkling with mischief, laughter too loud, and that little smirk that he throws over his shoulder every few minutes just to check if you're watching. and you are. arms crossed in the corner of the living room, leaning against the doorframe, pretending to scroll on your phone while chris flirts with the spotlight.

he's been testing you since everyone arrived for the birthday get-together. bratty. smug. challenging. the kind of cocky energy he saves for when he knows you won't drag him away in front of people. he's cracked jokes under his breath, brushed off your subtle looks, and given you eye rolls that made your jaw tighten. he's been smug on purpose—showing out in front of his friends, tugging at the leash in just the right ways, thinking you'll let it slide because you're surrounded.

you were willing to let it go. once, twice. but when he leans back on the couch and says, loud enough for the whole room to hear, "she gets so bossy in public—s'cute," that's it.

you don't say anything.

you push up from the wall slowly, walk toward him, and grab his wrist.

his brows lift in surprise, but he follows, playing it up for the room like it's still part of some joke. someone whistles. a friend makes a low "ooohh" sound. chris grins like he's won something, like being pulled away is a reward.

he doesn't realize what he's in for.

you walk him down the basement steps, straight to his room. the hallway is quiet now, music from upstairs just a dull thump through the floor. he's behind you, still smiling, fingers grazing along your hip like he thinks he's still got the upper hand.

you open his bedroom door, push him inside, and close it behind you with a soft click. the lock slides into place.

you turn to face him.

his back's to the bed, and he's still got that little grin—but it's hesitant now, softer, unsure. "you mad, mama?" he asks, voice playful.

you don't respond.

you walk forward until he has no choice but to back up, knees hitting the edge of the mattress. his hands fall to his sides like he's not sure what to do with them. you crowd his space, slow and calm, and when your fingers reach for the button on his jeans, his breath catches.

"you wanna act like a brat?" you murmur, undoing the zipper. "then you'll get treated like one."

his cocky expression falters.

you push his jeans down to his thighs, boxers sliding with them just enough to expose him. he's already half hard. of course he is—he likes getting in trouble. likes being dragged away and punished for it. he spreads his legs automatically as he sits, trying not to make a sound as your hand wraps around him.

you stroke him slow.

the kind of slow that makes his thighs tense and his hips twitch forward, desperate for more friction. but you don't give it to him. you stay lazy, inconsistent. just enough to make him ache. just enough to keep him close, but never enough to let him get there.

"mama, fuck," he groans, head tilting back. "y'er teasing."

you hum. "i know. you don't get to cum. not after showing out like that."

his breath stutters. "baby, please—i didn't mean—i wasn't actually—"

you squeeze just slightly, cutting off his words. "you were," you whisper. "you wanted to be a brat in front of your friends. now you get to sit here and take it."

you keep stroking. slow and mean. chris whines, hands gripping the bedsheets, back arching every time your fingers pause. his eyes flutter shut when you let your thumb glide over his tip, jaw slack, breath hitching in his throat.

"f-fuuck," he whimpers. "mama… i can't—please, please jus' let me—"

"no," you say calmly. "not yet. be patient."

he moans under his breath, head shaking like he's trying to physically fight the urge to fall apart. your touch has him on the edge, twitching in your hand, thighs trembling with every shallow breath. he looks completely wrecked—all the confidence drained out of him, replaced with flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and parted lips whispering your name like it's a prayer.

and then—your phone buzzes.

you glance at the screen.

nick ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵

"we're about to sing. come up now."

you sigh.

chris notices instantly. his eyes shoot open. "no—nonono, please," he rushes out, hips lifting off the bed. "m'so close, please baby—don't stop, i swear m'sorry, i'll be good—"

you let go of him. slow and intentional.

he makes a broken sound, something between a moan and a sob, hand flying to his stomach, desperate to hold himself together.

"aw," you coo, voice syrupy and sweet. "gotta go sing happy birthday."

"baby, please—" he starts again, but you've already moved away.

you stand, fix your shirt, run your palms over your jeans in the mirror. behind you, chris is still sitting on the edge of the bed, jeans down, dick hard and flushed, chest rising fast. he looks ruined.

you head for the door.

"clean up," you say over your shoulder, pausing just before you walk out. "and don't touch yourself. or you'll be in more trouble than you already are."

then you shut the door behind you.

chris groans into his palms, dropping back against the mattress with a frustrated grunt. it takes him a full minute to pull himself together—to tuck himself back into his boxers, shimmy his jeans back up, button with shaky fingers. he breathes hard through his nose, runs a hand through his hair to fix it, then stares at his reflection in the mirror.

and with one last defeated sigh, he heads upstairs—still aching, still throbbing, still desperate—just in time to sing happy birthday.

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