strnsk

[strnsk]

and for chris & matt’s birthday, i’ll rub birthday cake all over my tits and let them eat it off of me. thank you, and goodnight.

[strnsk]

ᴄʜʀɪꜱ & ᴍᴀᴛᴛ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀᴛ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴍᴀꜱʜ

public sex. pussy eating. threesome (no incest obviously). throat fucking. unprotected sex. cum eating.

the bass is loud enough to shake the bones in your chest. lights flash like lightning, the crowd sways like one breathing organism, and the air is thick with sweat and the smell of cheap weed. it’s overwhelming in the best kind of way—too much to think straight, too loud to feel anything but the moment.

you lose chris and matt in the chaos for a second, until you feel a hand slide low around your waist. matt. his smirk is lazy, but there’s a spark in his eyes when he leans down, voice almost drowned out by the music.

“you looked like you needed saving,” he says into your ear, fingers pressing possessively into your hip.

“i was fine.”

he doesn’t argue. he just kisses your neck—quick, like he’s testing boundaries you both know don’t exist anymore. and then another hand joins the mess. this one rougher, pulling you back by your wrist. chris.

“she’s been teasing both of us all night,” chris mutters, his breath hot against your cheek, fingers threading with yours like he owns you. “you think we’re gonna let that slide?”

“definitely not,” matt murmurs.

you don’t resist when they tug you away from the crowd. past the beer tents, past the food stalls, past the parked vans and trailers. until you’re swallowed by shadows behind a row of temporary fencing and unused equipment crates, hidden just enough that no one would find you unless they were really looking.

you’re pushed gently against one of the crates, cool metal meeting your spine as they close in. chris stands behind you, arms wrapped around your middle, and matt’s in front of you, eyes low, dangerous. hungry.

“you sure?” matt asks. it’s just a whisper, but it cuts through the hum of distant music.

you nod. chris’ hands are already under your shirt, dragging it up, warm palms splayed across your stomach. his mouth finds your neck while matt crouches in front of you, fingers already undoing your shorts with practiced ease. you gasp when chris bites gently at the edge of your jaw, and matt presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“she’s soaking,” matt murmurs, looking up at chris. “fuck.”

“then don’t waste time,” chris mutters, pushing your top higher, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “she’s been waiting for it all night.”

matt doesn’t. one second your head’s tipping back against chris’s chest, the next, matt’s tongue is on you, slow and dirty. chris holds you still, hips pressed to your ass, groaning softly as you writhe between them. you’re shaking by the time matt stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes glazed.

“you want her first?” chris asks him.

“nah,” matt breathes, thumb rubbing over your lower lip. “i’ve got her like this.”

chris lets you go just long enough to shove his pants down, and you barely get the chance to breathe before he’s pushing inside you from behind, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

matt watches your reaction. jerking himself off lazily, lips parted, until he steps forward, sliding his cock into your mouth as you moan around him.

you take both of them like you were made for this—chris driving into you from behind, slow and deep, matt fucking your throat with messy rhythm, both of them groaning like they’ve needed this as much as you did.

it’s filthy. it’s frantic. the sounds you’re making, the way they’re handling you like something precious and ruined all at once. when you start to cumm, you’re barely aware of it, the pleasure crashing through you like the bass from the stage a hundred yards away. chris curses under his breath, pulling out to finish all over your lower back, while matt groans, hips stuttering as he spills into your mouth, watching you swallow every drop with glassy eyes.

you’re all breathless when it’s over. flushed and wrecked and trying to remember how to move.

“fuck,” chris mutters, pulling your shirt back down gently, like aftercare comes naturally.

matt’s tucking himself back in, eyes still on you. “we’re doing that again tomorrow.”

“you think i’ll still want you after this?” you tease, voice hoarse.

chris smirks. “you already do.”

and they’re right. you do. even if you’re not supposed to. especially when it feels this good to be ruined by them.

[strnsk]

ㅤִㅤ 𓆩ㅤ𝖻𝗌𝖿 .ᐟ 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗌 ⠀ ⠀ ✦ ࣪ ⠀ 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁

𑂯   ฺ  ๋ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 this is a weird mix between angst & fluff, so i don't really think there's need to add specific tw. in case you consider the opposite, please let me know and i'll do it immediately.

the rain battered the cracked skylight of the attic is the old summer house, a rundown place by the coast where you’d both holed up for the weekend to escape.

the air was thick with the smell of mildew and sea salt, and a single bulb hung from a frayed cord, casting a harsh, yellow light over the cluttered space—boxes of forgotten junk, a sagging armchair, a warped floorboard or two. you sat on an old sleeping bag, back against a stack of moldy encyclopedias, staring at the rain smearing the grimy glass. work had been a meat grinder—deadlines piling up, your boss breathing down your neck, and a nagging sense that you were just treading water. it felt like you were carrying a boulder, and it was only getting heavier

the trapdoor groaned, and chris climbed up, his hoodie soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead from the downpour. he looked wrecked: not the usual loud, charming chris who could bullshit his way through anything. his eyes were bloodshot, his jaw tight, like he’d been grinding his teeth for hours. he dropped his duffel with a wet thud, standing there like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“you’re up here?” his voice was low, rough, like he’d been yelling or crying or both. “it’s fucking freezing.”

you shrugged, pulling your knees closer. “needed to think. you good?”

he snorted, a bitter sound, and kicked off his soggy sneakers, pacing a step before sinking to the floor beside you. his hands fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. “nah. today was a shitstorm. got into it with my buddy over sleeping with fans—again. then matt’s car’s acting up because i fucked up, check engine light’s on, and i can’t afford him to get mad at me. just…” he rubbed his face, hard, like he could scrub away the frustration. “feels like everything’s falling apart, and i’m just standing there, watching.”

your stomach twisted. you knew that feeling too well—the way life could pile on until you felt like you were drowning in it. you reached out, your hand brushing his. his fingers were cold, clammy, but he grabbed on tight, like you were the only thing keeping him from spiraling.

“chris,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “you don’t have to have it all figured out. not with me.”

he shook his head, jaw clenching. “i hate this. feeling like a fucking failure. i’m trying, y/n, but it’s like… i keep coming up short. always.” his voice cracked, and he looked away, staring at the rain-streaked skylight. “why do you even stick around? i’m a mess.”

the words hit hard, not because they were aimed at you, but because you could hear the shame in them. you shifted closer, your hand sliding to his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “don’t do that,” you said, sharper than you meant. “you’re not a failure. you’re just… dealing with life. same as me.”

his eyes met yours, red and raw, searching for something to hold onto. “maybe we humans come into this world like puzzle pieces,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “and there will always be moments when we need others to feel whole.” he swallowed, a tear slipping down his cheek, catching the light. “you’re the only thing that makes sense right now.”

your throat tightened, and you brushed the tear away, your own eyes stinging. “you make sense to me too,” you said, voice rough. “even when i’m up here, feeling like i’m failing at everything—work, life, all of it—you’re what keeps me from falling apart.”

he let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, his forehead pressing against yours. his hands found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to feel real, like he needed to know you were there. “i love you,” he said, low and raw. “i don’t say it enough. i’m shit at this, but i mean it.”

“i love you too,” you said, hands cupping his face, holding him close. “and i’m not bailing, chris, not when shit gets hard, not ever.”

he closed his eyes, a tremor running through him as he leaned into you, his face burying in the crook of your neck. you felt the dampness of his hair, the uneven hitch of his breath, like he was letting go of something he’d been holding too tight. you wrapped your arms around him, one hand in his hair, the other rubbing slow, steady circles on his back. the rain kept hammering, the bulb flickering above, but it was just you two, tangled in the mess of it all.

you didn’t try to fix him, didn’t throw out empty promises about how it’d all be okay. you just held him, letting the warmth of your body and the weight of your touch anchor him. the attic groaned under the storm, the world outside a blur, but here, it was enough to just be.

“i'd be so fucked without you,” he mumbled, voice muffled, small in a way that made your chest ache.

“you don’t have to worry about that,” you said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “puzzle pieces, right? we fit.”

he nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering as he pulled back to look at you. his eyes were still tired, still heavy, but there was a glint of something lighter, something that looked like hope; and as you sat there, pressed together on that damp sleeping bag, the rain drowning out the world, you knew that no matter how many jagged edges you both had, you’d always find a way to fit together.

𝗲𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝘀ㅤ♡︎ㅤcopies, translations and / or  adaptations of my works is absolutely prohibited.

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[strnsk]

ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

tit sucking. hickeys. pussy eating. overstim.

chris always had an oral fixation—everyone knew it. chewing on bottle caps, biting his nails, lollipops tucked in the corner of his mouth, something always between his lips. but when you two got together, that habit turned into obsession. he was constantly on your skin, sucking hickeys into your neck like he needed to mark what was his. “out of love,” he’d mumble against your throat, “turning a bad habit into something pretty.”

you wore those bruises like jewelry. your tits? forget it—he was obsessed. mouth always on them, kissing, licking, sucking until your skin burned and he was groaning like it was his only source of oxygen. and when his kisses trailed lower, you knew it was going to be one of those nights.

because the thing about chris’s fixation? it made him insatiable. the kind of guy who could eat you out for hours without coming up for air, tongue buried in you like you were the last thing on earth worth tasting. and when you’re trembling, wrung out and overstimulated—he’s moaning more than you are, like he’s the one losing his mind from pleasure. he says you drive him fucking insane. and he shows it. again. and again. and again.

someone might have already written something similar so please lmk so i can give credit

[strnsk]

‿⊱༒︎༻ ᴋ ɪ ʟ ᴀ ༺༒︎⊰‿

⏾ // adult. south american. she/her.

❝ 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎? 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. ❞

m.list ✰ ✰ ✰ t.list

[strnsk]

⌗ — masterlist

ᴄ ʜ ʀ ɪ ꜱ

oral fixation

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ᴍ ᴀ ᴛ ᴛ

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ᴄ ʜ ʀ ᴀ ᴛ ᴛ

summer smash

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[strnsk]

ꜱᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴏᴜʟ

⌗ — taglist

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